e easy," she said.

In his stocking-feet he had no great difficulty walking up the first
bulge of the walls. And from there she led him up the strange waves of
wind-worn rock. He could not attend to anything save the red, polished
rock under him, and so saw little. The ascent was longer than he would
have imagined, and steep enough to make him pant, but at last a huge
round summit was reached.

From here he saw down into the valley where the village lay. But for the
lazy columns of blue smoke curling up from the pinyons the place would
have seemed uninhabited. The wall on the other side was about level with
the one upon which he stood. Beyond rose other walls and cliffs, up
and up to the great towering peaks between which the green-and-black
mountain loomed. Facing the other way, Shefford had only a restricted
view. There were low crags and smooth stone ridges, between which were
aisles green with cedar and pinyon. Shefford's companion headed toward
one of these, and when he had followed her a few steps he could no
longer see down into the valley. The Mormon village where she lived was
as if it were lost, and when it vanished Shefford felt a difference.
Scarcely had the thought passed when Mary removed the dark hood. Her
small head glistened like gold in the sunlight.

Shefford caught up with her and walked at her side, but could not bring
himself at once deliberately to look at her. They entered a narrow,
low-walled lane where cedars and pinyons grew thickly, their fragrance
heavy in the warm air, and flowers began to show in the grassy patches.

"This is Indian paint-brush," she said, pointing to little, low, scarlet
flowers. A gray sage-bush with beautiful purple blossoms she called
purple sage; another bush with yellow flowers she named buck-brush,
and there were vermilion cacti and low, flat mounds of lavender daisies
which she said had no name. A whole mossy bank was covered with lace
like green leaves and tiny blossoms the color of violets, which she
called loco.

"Loco? Is this what makes the horses go crazy when they eat it?" he
asked.

"It is, indeed," she said, laughing.

When she laughed it was impossible not to look at her. She walked a
little in advance. Her white cheek and temple seemed framed in the gold
of her hair. How white her skin! But it was like pearl, faintly veined
and flushed. The profile, clear-cut and pure, appeared cold, almost
stern. He knew now that she was singularly beautiful, th