r some time Aaron King sat, without speaking, looking about at the world
that was so far from that other world--the world he had always known. The
girl, too,--seeming to understand the thoughts that he himself, perhaps,
could not have expressed,--was silent.

Then he said slowly, "I don't think that I care for fame as I did before
you taught me to know the mountains. It doesn't, somehow, now, seem to
matter so much. It's the _work_ that really matters--after all--isn't it?"

And Sibyl Andres, smiling, answered, "Yes, it's the work that really
matters. I'm sure that _must_ be so."

In the afternoon, they went on, still following the fire-break, down to
where it is intersected by the pipe-line a mile from the reservoir on the
hill above the power-house; then back to Oak Knoll, again on the pipe-line
trail all the way--a beautiful and never-to-be-forgotten walk.

The sun was just touching the tops of the western mountains when they
started down Oak Knoll. The canyon below, already, lay in the shadow. When
they reached the foot of the trail, it was twilight. Across the road, by a
small streamlet--a tributary to Clear Creek--a party of huntsmen were
making ready to spend the night. The voices of the men came clearly
through the gathering gloom. Under the trees, they could see the
camp-fire's ruddy gleam. They did not notice the man who was standing,
half hidden, in the bushes beside the road, near the spot where the trail
opens into it. Silently, the man watched them as they turned up the road
which they would follow a little way before crossing the canyon to Sibyl's
home. Fifty yards farther on, they met Brian Oakley.

"Howdy, you two," called the Ranger, cheerily--without stopping his horse.
"Rather late to-night, ain't you?"

"We'll be there by dark," called the artist And the Ranger passed on.

At sound of the mountaineer's voice, the man in the bushes drew quickly
back. The officer's trained eyes caught the movement in the brush, and he
leaned forward in the saddle.

A moment later, the man reappeared in the road, farther down, around the
bend. As the Ranger approached, he was hailed by a boisterous, "Hello,
Brian! better stop and have a bite."

"How do you do, Mr. Rutlidge?" came the officer's greeting, as he reined
in his horse. "When did you land in the hills?"'

"This afternoon," answered the other. "We're just making camp. Come and
meet the fellows. You know some of them."

"Thanks, not to-night,"--retur