his long brass
telescope the old mountaineer was scanning the valley out of which they had
come. Under them lay Tete Jaune, gleaming in the morning sun, and it dawned
suddenly upon Aldous that this was the spot from which MacDonald had spied
upon his enemies. He looked at Joanne. She was breathing quickly as she
looked upon the wonder of the scene below them. Suddenly she turned, and
encountered his eyes.

"They might--follow?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"No danger of that," he assured her.

MacDonald had dismounted, and now he lay crouched behind a rock, with his
telescope resting over the top of it. He had leaned his long rifle against
the boulder; his huge forty-four, a relic of the old Indian days, hung at
his hip. Joanne saw these omens of preparedness, and her eyes shifted again
to Aldous. His .303 swung from his saddle. At his waist was the heavy
automatic. She smiled. In her eyes was understanding, and something like a
challenge. She did not question him again, but under her gaze Aldous
flushed.

A moment later MacDonald closed his telescope and without a word mounted
his horse. Where the descent into the second valley began he paused again.
To the north through the haze of the morning sun gleamed the snow-capped
peaks of the Saw Tooth Range. Apparently not more than an hour's ride
distant rose a huge red sandstone giant which seemed to shut in the end of
the valley MacDonald stretched forth a long arm in its direction.

"What we're seekin' is behind that mountain," he said. "It's ten miles from
here." He turned to the girl. "Are you gettin' lame, Mis' Joanne?"

Aldous saw her lips tighten.

"No. Let us go on, please."

She was staring fixedly at the sombre red mass of the mountain. Her eyes
did not take in the magnificent sweep of the valley below. They saw
nothing of the snow-capped peaks beyond. There was something wild and
unnatural in their steady gaze. Aldous dropped behind her as they began the
gradual descent from the crest of the break and his own heart began to beat
more apprehensively; the old question flashed back upon him, and he felt
again the oppression that once before had held him in its grip. His eyes
did not leave Joanne. And always she was staring at the mountain behind
which lay the thing they were seeking! It was not Joanne herself that set
his blood throbbing. Her face had not paled. Its colour was like the hectic
flush of a fever. Her eyes alone betrayed her; their strange