Marion was not dead, she was not the king's wife--and
it was not of another that he had accepted proof of her love for him,
for he had felt the pressure of her arms about his neck and the warmth
of her lips upon his face. He had until night--and the dawn was just
beginning to break. Ten or fifteen miles to the north there were
settlements, and between there were scores of settlers' homes and
fishermen's shanties. Surely within an hour or two he would find a boat.
He turned where the edge of the forest came down to meet the white
water-run of the sea, and set off at a slow, steady trot into the north.
If he could reach a boat soon he might overtake Marion in mid-lake. The
thought thrilled him, and urged him to greater speed. As the stars faded
away in the dawn he saw the dark barrier of the forest drifting away,
and later, when the light broke more clearly, there stretched out ahead
of him mile upon mile of desert dunes. As far as he could see there was
no hope of life. He slowed his steps now, for he would need to preserve
his strength. Yet he experienced no fear, no loss of confidence. Each
moment added to his faith in himself. Before noon he would be on his
way to the Mormon kingdom, by nightfall he would be upon its shores.
After that--
He examined the pistol that Winnsome had given him. There were five
shots in it and he smiled joyously as he saw that it had been loaded by
an experienced hand. It would be easy enough for him to find Strang. He
would not consider the woman--his wife.
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