64 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 



I was glad she suffered poor little girl ! . . . Well, 

 I found lier finally. . . . She'd died the night be- 

 fore I reached her. I buried her and swore on her 

 grave to find the blackguard that left her to die and 

 kill him. . . . And all the time I'd as good as mur- 

 dered her myself!" 



Ewing stopped and bit on his pipestem till the 

 hard rubber snapped. 



"Yes, I murdered her," he went on at length, in 

 a husky whisper. "It came to me after a time 

 a long, hard time. And now now I can't tell her ! ' ' 



"Perhaps, in some other life " 



"Oh, I've thought of that," broke in the packer. 

 "But some other life isn't this one and it's in this 

 one I killed her, with my damned selfishness. No! 

 I've got to take my medicine, as she took hers and, 

 by God, as Donohue'll take his when I get him!" 



He seemed on the verge of a breakdown. 



"Have you had any trace of Donohue?'*' I asked. 



"He's in the Rio Grande Valley somewhere, right 

 now," said Ewing, more quietly. "I don't know 

 where, but he's hiding somewhere. He knows I'll 

 get him. I was broke when this job came along, so I 

 took it for a grub stake. When I'm through. ..." 



He shook himself and rose abruptly, and his old 

 manner returned. 



"It's good of you to listen to all this," he said, 

 "and it's helped me. Some times I've thought I'd 

 go insane. It's helped a whole lot just telling some 

 one about it. I think I'll turn in." 



