"I reckon so," he answered briefly; and then, seeing her face flushed and embarrassed, the smile died out as he felt what her thoughts were. "Who do you want?" he added, leading Mowitza out and standing beside her, ready to mount.
She did not even look up. She felt exactly as she had when she told Hen that she knew she was right, and yet felt ashamed of herself.
"I thought if you could spare Kalitan—" she hesitated. "She knows him, and he has been with her so often up there, no one else would know so well where to look for her—that is, if you could spare him," she added helplessly.
"The chances are that I can," he said in a business-like way; "and if I was you I'd just keep quiet about the trip, or else tell them she has an Indian guide—and she will have. Can you give me a bottle of brandy and some biscuits?"
She ran into the house, and came back with them at once. He was mounted and a-waiting her.
"Kalitan has left the camp—gone over that hill;" and he motioned rather vaguely toward the ridge across the valley. "I'll just ride over and start him from there, so he won't need to go back to camp for rations. Don't you worry; just keep quiet, and she'll come back all right with Kalitan."
He turned without further words, and rode away through the soft flakes of snow that were already beginning to fall. He did not even say a good-bye; and Tillie, hedged in by her convictions and her anxiety, let him go without even a word of thanks.
"I simply did not dare to say 'thank you' to him," she thought, as he disappeared. And then she went into the house and eased Fred's heart and her own conscience with the statement that Kalitan, the best guide Rachel could have, had gone to meet her. She made no mention of the objectionable character who had sent Kalitan.
By the time of sunset, Scot's Mountain was smothered in the white cloud that had closed over it so suddenly, and the snow was still falling straight down, and so steadily that one could not retrace steps and find tracks ten minutes after they were made. Through the banked-up masses a white-coated unrecognizable individual plowed his way to MacDougall's door, and without ceremony opened it and floundered in, carrying with him what looked enough snow to smother a man; but his eyes were clear of it, and a glance told him the cabin had but one occupant.
"When did she leave?" was the salutation MacDougall received, after a separation of six weeks.