The willows at the lower end of the meadow were pushed cautiously aside, and Hand’s head appeared in the opening. For two days he had lain hidden awaiting an opportunity to waylay Donald. The day after the fight he had boarded the train for the Coast, but had slipped from the car at the station below.
His face—unprepossessing at its best—was now a horrible sight. The thick lips were swollen and cracked, the eyes discoloured and puffed, and the broken teeth bared in a snarl as he saw Donald lying by the stream. Every hour since the fight Hand’s hatred for Donald had grown blacker. He would show him that he, Ole Hand, deserved his reputation as a fighter. He would hold this crippled man helpless while he showered blows on his unprotected face, make him cry out for mercy on bended knees; perhaps kill him. His hatred grew hotter and deeper as he watched him lying peacefully beside the girl who had been the cause of the fight in which he had been ignominiously whipped.
Connie sat gazing intently down on the sleeper. A sudden thought seized her, bringing a warm flush to her cheeks. Why not? No one would ever know. Would she dare? She glanced timorously about her, then leaned slowly over, her curls falling about her face, and touched her soft lips to Donald’s cheek.
A bluejay screamed derisively. Connie came to her feet, her face crimson. Donald stirred, opened his eyes, and painfully raised himself.
“I’m sorry, Connie,” he apologized, “it was very rude of me to go to sleep.”
A moment later he walked down the hill. Connie accompanied him a short distance, then turned up a steep path, and from a high, rocky ridge she watched his retreating figure as he turned toward the dam.
A huge bucket on a cable, that had been used during construction for carrying men and material across the roaring chasm below the falls, still hung above the boiling waters.
For Donald there was a certain thrill, a keen exhilaration, in swinging in mid-air in this crude conveyance. He stepped into the bucket and with his one good arm pulled it along the rusty cable.
The Breed, hidden near the trail, saw Donald as he walked toward the dam. The venomous look in his eyes gave place to one of strained interest as he saw the two men skulking menacingly after the unsuspecting man. With a feeling of malignant exultation, as he sensed disaster to the man he hated, he hobbled to the trail and furtively followed.