" He
curled his lip disdainfully. "It's no good. Might as well be here as
anywhere. So I came back--like the cat."
He fell silent again, looking through the trees out over the stone rim
under which Bland's house stood by the river. He sat there beside
Hollister until the bolt gang, moving out of the bunk house to work,
saw and hailed him. He answered briefly. Then he rose without another
word to Hollister and carried in his pack. Hollister saw him go about
selecting tools, shoulder them and walk away to work in the timber.
That night Hollister wakened out of a sound sleep to sniff the air
that streamed in through his open windows. It was heavy with the
pungent odor of smoke. He rose and looked out. The silence of night
lay on the valley, over the dense forest across the river, upon the
fir-swathed southern slope. No leaf stirred. Nothing moved. It was
still as death. And in this hushed blackness--lightened only by a pale
streak in the north and east that was the reflection of snowy mountain
crests standing stark against the sky line--this smoky wraith crept
along the valley floor.
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