with his chin above her shoulder, and said something in her
ear. Thea laughed and turned toward him. They left the stone-pile
carelessly, as if they had never been interested in it, rounded the
yellow tower, and disappeared into the second turn of the canyon, where
the dead city, interrupted by the jutting promontory, began again.

Old Biltmer had been somewhat embarrassed by the turn the game had
taken. He had not heard their conversation, but the pantomime against
the rocks was clear enough. When the two young people disappeared, their
host retreated rapidly toward the head of the canyon.

"I guess that young lady can take care of herself," he chuckled. "Young
Fred, though, he has quite a way with them."

VI

DAY was breaking over Panther Canyon. The gulf was cold and full of
heavy, purplish twilight. The wood smoke which drifted from one of the
cliff-houses hung in a blue scarf across the chasm, until the draft
caught it and whirled it away. Thea was crouching in the doorway of her
rock house, while Ottenburg looked after the crackling fire in the next
cave. He was waiting for it to burn down to coals before he put the
coffee on to boil.

They had left the ranch house that morning a little after three o'clock,
having packed their camp equipment the day before, and had crossed the
open pasture land with their lantern while the stars were still bright.
During the descent into the canyon by lantern-light, they were chilled
through their coats and sweaters. The lantern crept slowly along the
rock trail, where the heavy air seemed to offer resistance. The voice of
the stream at the bottom of the gorge was hollow and threatening, much
louder and deeper than it ever was by day--another voice altogether. The
sullenness of the place seemed to say that the world could get on very
well without people, red or white; that under the human world there was
a geological world, conducting its silent, immense operations which were
indifferent to man. Thea had often seen the desert sunrise,--a
lighthearted affair, where the sun springs out of bed and the world is
golden in an instant. But this canyon seemed to waken like an old man,
with rheum and stiffness of the joints, with heaviness, and a dull,
malignant mind. She crouched against the wall while the stars faded, and
thought what courage the early races must have had to endure so much for
the little they got out of life.

At last a kind of hopefulness broke in the air.