Then he took possession of her hand again, and led her on in the night; and she felt that her attempt had been a failure, except that it showed how closely he held her regard, and she was too human not to be moved by the knowledge. Yes, he was very improper, as much so as most men, only it had happened to be in a way that was shocking to tenderfeet lucky enough to have families and homes as safeguards against evil. He was very disreputable, and, socially, a great gulf would be marked between them by their friends. But in the hills, where the universe dwindled to earth, sky, and two souls, they were but man and woman; and all the puzzling things about him that were blameful things melted away, as the snow that fell on their faces. She felt his strong presence as a guard about her, and without doubt or hesitation she kept pace beside him.
Once in the valley, she mounted Betty, and letting Mowitza follow, he walked ahead himself, to break the trail—a slow, slavish task, and the journey seemed endless. Hour after hour went by in that slow march—scarcely a word spoken, save when rest was necessary; and the snow never ceased falling—a widely different journey from that other time when he had hunted and found her.
"You have your own time finding the trail for me when I get lost," she said once, as he lifted her to the saddle after a short rest.
"You did the same thing for me one day, a good while ago," he answered simply.
The night had reached its greatest darkness, in the hours that presage the dawn, when they crossed the last ridge, and knew that rest was at last within comparatively easy reach. Then for the first time, Genesee spoke of his self-imposed search.
"I reckon you know I'm an Indian?" he said by way of preface.
"I don't know anything of the sort."
"But I am—a regular adopted son in the Kootenai tribe, four years old; so if they ask you if an Indian guide brought you home, you can tell them yes. Do you see?"
"Yes, I see, but not the necessity. Why should I not tell them you brought me?"
"May be you know, and may be you don't, that I'm not supposed to range far from camp. Kalitan was to go for you. Kalitan had some other work, and sent a Kootenai friend of his. The friend's name is Lamonti. Can you mind that? It means 'the mountain.' I come by it honest—it's a present Grey Eagle made me. If they ask questions about your guide, just put them off some way—tell them you don't know where he's gone to; and you won't. Now, can you do that?"