r it was deep in the unsurveyed and
virgin wilderness; neither had he ever made his camp here with any
man, nor shared with any the intimate delight which the place gave him.
Therefore for many weeks he had planned to bring her here after their
wedding, upon the day itself, and show her and share with her his pines
and his fishing rock. He would bid her smell the first true breath of
the mountains, would watch with her the sinking camp-fire, and with her
listen to the water as it flowed round the island.

Until this wedding plan, it had by no means come home to him how deep a
hold upon him the island had taken. He knew that he liked to go there,
and go alone; but so little was it his way to scan himself, his mind, or
his feelings (unless some action called for it), that he first learned
his love of the place through his love of her. But he told her nothing
of it. After the thought of taking her there came to him, he kept his
island as something to let break upon her own eyes, lest by looking
forward she should look for more than the reality.

Hence, as they rode along, when the houses of the town were shrunk to
dots behind them, and they were nearing the gates of the foot-hills, she
asked him questions. She hoped they would find a camp a long way from
the town. She could ride as many miles as necessary. She was not tired.
Should they not go on until they found a good place far enough within
the solitude? Had he fixed upon any? And at the nod and the silence
that he gave her for reply, she knew that he had thoughts and intentions
which she must wait to learn.

They passed through the gates of the foot-hills, following the stream up
among them. The outstretching fences and the widely trodden dust were
no more. Now and then they rose again into view of the fields and houses
down in the plain below. But as the sum of the miles and hours grew,
they were glad to see the road less worn with travel, and the traces of
men passing from sight. The ploughed and planted country, that quilt of
many-colored harvests which they had watched yesterday, lay in another
world from this where they rode now. No hand but nature's had sown these
crops of yellow flowers, these willow thickets and tall cottonwoods.
Somewhere in a passage of red rocks the last sign of wagon wheels was
lost, and after this the trail became a wild mountain trail. But it was
still the warm air of the plains, bearing the sage-brush odor and not
the pine, that they b