day and a myriad winking eyes by night—soon would drive her mad, Hilma thought. She had heard her father tell of old trappers down from the Broken Horns who communed with "ha'ants" in every hollow stump and held long arguments with invisible creatures of the forests. Perhaps she would soon be making friends with the Unseen if she remained longer alone; when Hilma caught herself talking her thoughts aloud a cold terror of premonition swept over her.
The girl reviewed every possible course open to her. To return to Two Moons? Then she would be absolutely in the hollow of Original Bill's hand. Some caprice of his had freed her when he caught her escaping from jail; another caprice might just as easily lodge her behind bars. Moreover, Hilma feared she might not be able to hold herself in hand in the event of another encounter with the man. To go to the Spout? Even if Zang Whistler were there—and of a surety he was still in the care of that sheriff with the flaming beard—the girl could not bring herself to a surrender of convenience; only her pledged word pointed to Zang as an accepted master of her destinies.
But one course remained: She would go to
