noon
Bowed slightly under the weight , the man passed within twenty feet of her , so close that she could see the sweat-beads glisten on that side of his face , and saw also that the load he carried was the carcass of a deer . Gaining the beach and laying the animal across a boulder , he straightened himself up and drew a long breath . Then he wiped the sweat off his face . She recognized him as the man who had thrown the logger down the slip that day at noon , -- presumably Jack Fyfe . A sturdily built man about thirty , of Saxon fairness , with a tinge of red in his hair and a liberal display of freckles across nose and cheek bones . He was no beauty , she decided , albeit he displayed a frank and pleasing countenance . That he was a remarkably strong and active man she had seen for herself , and if the firm round of his jaw counted for anything , an individual of considerable determination besides .