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dreamy； lulling murmur of the water fall。 The old familiar
beauty； wildness； silence； and loneliness were there； but
the old content seemed strangely gone。
Soberly he confessed then that he missed the happy company
of the girls。 He did not distinguish Helen from Bo in his
slow introspection。 When he sought his bed he did not at
once fall to sleep。 Always； after a few moments of
wakefulness； while the silence settled down or the wind
moaned through the pines； he had fallen asleep。 This night
he found different。 Though he was tired； sleep would not
soon come。 The wilderness； the mountains； the park； the camp
all seemed to have lost something。 Even the darkness
seemed empty。 And when at length Dale fell asleep it was to
be troubled by restless dreams。
Up with the keen…edged； steely…bright dawn； he went at the
his tasks with the springy stride of the deer…stalker。
At the end of that strenuous day； which was singularly full
of the old excitement and action and danger； and of new
observations； he was bound to confess that no longer did the
chase suffice for him。
Many times on the heights that day； with the wind keen in
his face； and the vast green billows of spruce below him； he
had found that be was gazing without seeing； halting without
object； dreaming as he had never dreamed before。
Once； when a magnificent elk came out upon a rocky ridge
and； whistling a challenge to invisible rivals； stood there
a target to stir any hunter's pulse； Dale did not even raise
his rifle。 Into his ear just then rang Helen's voice： 〃Milt
Dale； you are no Indian。 Giving yourself to a hunter's
wildlife is selfish。 It is wrong。 You love this lonely life；
but it is not work。 Work that does not help others is not a
real man's work。〃
From that moment conscience tormented him。 It was not what
he loved； but what he ought to do； that counted in the sum
of good achieved in the world。 Old Al Auchincloss had been
right。 Dale was wasting strength and intelligence that
should go to do his share in the development of the West。
Now that he had reached maturity； if through his knowledge
of nature's law he had come to see the meaning of the strife
of men for existence； for place； for possession； and to hold
them in contempt； that was no reason why he should keep
himself aloof from them； from some work that was needed in
an incomprehensible world。
Dale did not hate work； but he loved freedom。 To be alone；
to live with nature； to feel the elements； to labor and
dream and idle and climb and sleep unhampered by duty； by
worry； by restriction； by the petty interests of men this
had always been his ideal of living。 Cowboys； riders；
sheep…herders； farmers these toiled on from one place and
one job to another for the little money doled out to them。
Nothing beautiful； nothing significant had ever existed in
that for him。 He had worked as a boy at every kind of
range…work； and of all that humdrum waste of effort he had
liked sawing wood best。 Once he had quit a job of branding
cattle because the smell of burning hide； the bawl of the
terrified calf； had sickened him。 If men were honest there
would be no need to scar cattle。 He had never in the least
desired to own land and droves of stock； and make deals with
ranchmen； deals advantageous to himself。 Why should a man
want to make a deal or trade a horse or do a piece of work
to another man's disadvantage？ Self…preservation was the
first law of life。 But as the plants and trees and birds and
beasts interpreted that law； merciless and inevitable as
they were； they had neither greed nor dishonesty。 They lived
by the grand rule of what was best for the greatest number。
But Dale's philosophy； cold and clear and inevitable； like
nature itself； began to be pierced by the human appeal in
Helen Rayner's words。 What did she mean？ Not that he should
lose his love of the wilderness； but that he realize
himself！ Many chance words of that girl had depth。 He was
young； strong； intelligent； free from taint of disease or
the fever of drink。 He could do something for others。 Who？
If that mattered； there； for instance； was poor old Mrs。
Cass； aged and lame now； there was Al Auchincloss； dying in
his boots； afraid of enemies； and wistful for his blood and
his property to receive the fruit of his labors； there were
the two girls； Helen and Bo； new and strange to the West；
about to be confronted by a big problem of ranch life and
rival interests。 Dale thought of still more people in the
little village of Pine of others who had failed； whose
lives were hard； who could have been made happier by
kindness and assistance。
What； then； was the duty of Milt Dale to himself？ Because
men preyed on one another and on the weak； should he turn
his back upon a so…called civilization or should he grow
like them？ Clear as a bell came the answer that his duty was
to do neither。 And then he saw how the little village of
Pine； as well as the whole world； needed men like him。 He
had gone to nature； to the forest； to the wilderness for his
development； and all the judgments and efforts of his future
would be a result of that education。
Thus Dale； lying in the darkness and silence of his lonely
park； arrived at a conclusion that he divined was but the
beginning of a struggle。
It took long introspection to determine the exact nature of
that struggle； but at length it evolved into the paradox
that Helen Rayner had opened his eyes to his duty as a man；
that he accepted it； yet found a strange obstacle in the
perplexing； tumultuous； sweet fear of ever going near her
again。
Suddenly； then； all his thought revolved around the girl；
and； thrown off his balance； he weltered in a wilderness of
unfamiliar strange ideas。
When he awoke next day the fight was on in earnest。 In his
sleep his mind had been active。 The idea that greeted him；
beautiful as the sunrise； flashed in memory of Auchincloss's
significant words； 〃Take your chance with the girl！〃
The old rancher was in his dotage。 He hinted of things
beyond the range of possibility。 That idea of a chance for
Dale remained before his consciousness only an instant。
Stars were unattainable； life could not be fathomed； the
secret of nature did not abide alone on the earth these
theories were not any more impossible of proving than that
Helen Rayner might be for him。
Nevertheless； her strange coming into his life had played
havoc； the extent of which he had only begun to realize。
For a month he tramped through the forest。 It was October； a
still golden； fulfilling season of the year； and everywhere
in the vast dark green a glorious blaze of oak and aspen
made beautiful contrast。 He carried his rifle； but he never
used it。 He would climb miles and go this way and that with
no object in view。 Yet his eye and ear had never been
keener。 Hours he would spend on a promontory； watching。 the
distance； where the golden patches of aspen shone bright out
of dark…green mountain slopes。 He loved to fling himself
down in an aspen…grove at the edge of a senaca； and there
lie in that radiance like a veil of gold and purple and red；
with the whi