"Stop right there!" said somebody, and Jim saw Carrie standing above them on the wall. She was in the moonlight and balanced a gun. Her face was white but resolute.

"Put down your ax. I mean to shoot!" she said.

Jim thought quickly. The distance was short, but he had not seen Carrie use a gun. She might miss and have some trouble to re-load.

Besides, he must save her the need for shooting, and the other's hesitation was his opportunity. Pulling himself together, he leaped upon the fellow, who stumbled and dropped his ax. Jim seized him round the waist and a savage grapple began. They swayed to and fro, kicking the ax that neither durst stoop to reach. The chopper's face was bleeding; Jim labored for breath, but he was moved by anger that gave him extra strength. The chopper felt his resolve in his tightening grip and knew it would go hard with him if he were beaten. It was plain that the boss meant to exact stern justice and he fought with instinctive fury for self-preservation.

The primitive pa.s.sions of both were unloosed. They strained and grappled like savage animals, and for a time their strength and stubbornness seemed evenly balanced. Then luck gave Jim an advantage, for as the other trod upon the ax the long handle tilted up and got between his legs. He stumbled, and Jim, with a tense effort, lifted him from the ground. Then, gathering all his strength, he tried to throw him backwards, but lost his balance, and both plunged down the slope.

The pitch was steep and they rolled for some distance until they struck a rocky ledge. The chopper let go, slipped across the ledge, and vanished. Jim, jarred by the shock, lay still for some moments, and when he got up awkwardly saw nothing among the rocks and trees below.

A rattle of gravel came out of the gloom, but it sounded some distance off. Then he heard a step and saw Carrie. She held the gun and was breathless. Her look was strained and her face white.

"Are you hurt, Jim?" she asked.

"No; not much, anyhow. Go back to the track. Give me the gun."

"Why do you want the gun?"

Jim made an impatient gesture. He had forgotten that Carrie had come to his help, and although he noted, mechanically, that she was highly strung and bearing some strain, he did not dwell on this. His antagonist had got away. He wanted to go after him, not to talk.

"The brute's not far off, and unless I'm quick he'll light out. Give me the gun!"

"I won't," said Carrie.

She stood a few yards above Jim, and jerked out the cartridges.

Stooping swiftly, she picked them up and threw them among the trees.

Then she laughed, a strained laugh, and held out the gun.

"You may have it now," she added. "You can't find the sh.e.l.ls."

"Then I'll go without them," Jim rejoined, and plunged down the hill.

When he had gone a short distance he stopped. His leg hurt and he had a dull recollection of a blow. His leg was not cut; perhaps the chopper had hit him with the flat of the ax or he had struck it on the rock. Anyhow, he was lame and could hardly keep his balance on the rough slope. There was no use in going on like that, particularly as he heard a faint rattle of gravel some distance off. It was obvious that the chopper had got away and Jim awkwardly climbed back. Now he was getting cool, he began to see what Carrie had done and when he joined her he felt embarra.s.sed.

"I'm sorry; I expect I was very rough," he remarked.

"Oh," she said, "that doesn't matter! I think I understand. Besides, you are hurt."

"Leg's stiff; that's all. I ought to have remembered. But, you see----"

Carrie smiled. "You mean you didn't think about me at all? You had concentrated on catching the fellow."

"Something like that," Jim admitted. "I ought to have thought, and after a few minutes I did think."

"When you found you couldn't walk?"

"Well," said Jim, awkwardly, "I now see how mean I was." He paused and resumed with sincere emotion: "If you hadn't come, the brute would have cut me down."

Carrie's rather ironical amus.e.m.e.nt vanished and she colored. "It doesn't matter, Jim. All that's important is, I did come. But you are lame and mustn't stand."

"I can stand as long as you can stand," said Jim, who pulled off his jacket and threw it on the ground. "You'll find this softer than the stones." He sat down opposite her and resumed: "Now, how did you happen----?"

"I found some flour and pork had gone. Since one can't get food between here and the settlement, it looked as if somebody meant to pull out before we broke camp."

Jim nodded. "The fellow said he'd made a cache. You're very smart.

But why didn't you tell Jake?"

"I suppose I ought to have told him," Carrie replied.

He mused for a few moments and then broke out: "We have taken you for granted. When a thing needs doing you don't talk, but get to work.

Perhaps this has drawbacks; it doesn't always strike one how fine you really are."

Carrie said nothing, and he went on. "Now I come to think of it, I've been strangely dull. You have cooked for us, and cared for us in ways we didn't know. I'd sometimes a notion my clothes were wearing longer than they ought--there was a jacket I meant to mend and when I got it out one evening I couldn't find the hole." He paused and spread out his hands. "Well, that's the kind of fool I am and the kind of girl you are!"

"The hole had bothered me for a long time. It was getting bigger and one doesn't like untidiness."

"I've been very dull, but so has Jake," Jim declared. "I saw a neat patch on his overalls and thought he'd made a better job than he generally does when he starts sewing. I imagine he doesn't know how that patch got there."

"I don't think he knows there is a patch," Carrie rejoined.

"It's possible," Jim agreed, and studied her, for the moon was bright.

Her plain dress was very neat and seemed to have stood rough wear well.

Besides, it was remarkably becoming; Carrie was tall and graceful. In fact, she was prettier than he had thought.

"The way you keep your clothes is rather wonderful," he went on. "One never sees you untidy; all you wear looks just as it ought to look.

One feels it wouldn't look half as well if it was worn by anybody else.

Yet you're generally occupied and your work's not clean. I can't touch a cooking pot without getting black, and Jake gets blacker."

Carrie laughed to hide a touch of embarra.s.sment. Jim was not trying to flatter; she saw he was navely following a new line of thought.

"Well, we must get back to camp," she said. "Can you walk?"

Jim got up quickly and gave her a suspicious glance. "I can walk to camp. I ought to have gone right off and sent the boys after that chopper. Looks as if you meant to keep me."

"I did mean to keep you. Let him go, Jim. He won't come back, and we have had trouble enough."

"He has not had much trouble," Jim rejoined. "However, I doubt if we could catch him, and I want the boys to move our truck at daybreak.

Then, in a way, I'd sooner they didn't know. Of course, I've got to tell Jake."

"You mustn't tell him I came," Carrie said, firmly.

"Why not?" Jim asked with some surprise.

Carrie hesitated. "Oh, well, I don't want him to know. For one thing, he might think I was rash----"

"You were splendidly plucky," Jim declared. "Of course, I won't tell Jake, if you'd sooner not. For all that, I don't understand----"

"It isn't worth puzzling about," Carrie answered with a smile, and they set off.