ession that had
held her too often in its grip since that terrible night of the storm.
For the first time she looked back at her father lurching along on the
load and at the team looking so funny with the collars pushed up on
their necks with the weight of the load behind.

With a quick impulse of penitence she waved her hand to Brit, who waved
back at her. Then she went on, feeling a bit less alone in the world.
After all, he was her dad, and his life had been hard. If he failed to
understand her and her mental hunger for real companionship, perhaps she
also failed to understand him.

They had left the timber line now and had come to the lip of the canyon
itself. Lorraine looked down its steep, rock-roughened sides and
thought how her old director would have raved over its possibilities in
the way of "stunts." Yellow jacket, she noticed, kept circumspectly to
the center of the trail and eyed the canyon with frank disfavor.

She did not know at just what moment she became aware of trouble behind
her. It may have been Yellowjacket, turning his head sidewise and
abruptly quickening his pace that warned her. It may have been the
difference in the sound of the wagon and the impact of the horses' hoofs
on the rocky trail. She turned and saw that something had gone wrong.
They were coming down upon her at a sharp trot, stepping high, the wagon
tongue thrust up between their heads as they tried to hold back the
load.

Brit yelled to her then to get out of the way, and his voice was harsh
and insistent. Lorraine looked at the steep bank to the right, knew
instinctively that Yellowjacket would never have time to climb it before
the team was upon them, and urged him to a lope. She glanced back again,
saw that the team was not running away, that they were trying to hold
the wagon, and that it was gaining momentum in spite of them.

"Jump, dad!" she called and got no answer. Brit was sitting braced with
his feet far apart, holding and guiding the team. "He won't jump--he
wouldn't jump--any more than I would," she chattered to herself, sick
with fear for him, while she lashed her own horse to keep out of their
way.

The next she knew, the team was running, their eyeballs staring, their
front feet flung high as they lunged panic-stricken down the trail. The
load was rocking along behind them. Brit was still braced and clinging
to the reins.

Panic seized Yellowjacket. He, too, went lunging down that trail, his
head thrown fr