through branches and brambles and 

 logs we reached the stream. Of 

 course, the little meadow of rank 

 grass was on the opposite side. We 

 crossed over on the rocks more 

 rocks, I had hoped to have seen the 

 last of them. The inevitable slip 

 occurred midstream and Nimrod 

 fished me out, wet to the waist. 



It was only one thing more. He 

 made a tiny fire, Indian fashion. 

 "Fool white man makes heap fire 

 and gets away, Indian make little 

 fire, stays close," and then proposed 

 that he should leave me. 



Does that strike a chill down your 

 spine ? No ? Then you are not a 

 woman, or have no imagination of 

 how it feels to be left alone at dusk 

 in the wilderness, untracked save by 

 wolves and lions and bears and other 

 "ravening monsters seeking whom 

 they may devour." 



Sommers should have arrived long 

 before, something had undoubtedly 

 happened to detain him. Just then 

 we heard the sound of a distant shot, 

 Sommers signalling for help. Nimrod 

 must go. There was no alternative. 



"I'll be back as soon as possible 



