would have
forgotten where he was; the warm sun, the yellow fruit, the merry
screams of children, the joyous laughter of girls, were pleasant
reminders of autumn picnic days long gone. But, in the face of those
dominating wind-scarred walls, he could not forget.

That night Hare endeavored to see Mescal alone for a few moments, to
see her once more with unguarded eyes, to whisper a few words, to say
good-bye; but it was impossible.

On the morrow he rode out of the red cliff gate with Dave and the
pack-horses, a dull ache in his heart; for amid the cheering crowd of
children and women who bade them good-bye he had caught the wave of
Mescal's hand and a look of her eyes that would be with him always. What
might happen before he returned, if he ever did return! For he knew now,
as well as he could feel Silvermane's easy stride, that out there under
the white glare of desert, the white gleam of the slopes of Coconina,
was wild life awaiting him. And he shut his teeth, and narrowed his
eyes, and faced it with an eager joy that was in strange contrast to the
pang in his breast.

That morning the wind dipped down off the Vermillion Cliffs and whipped
west; there was no scent of river-water, and Hare thought of the
fatality of the sheep-drive, when, for one day out of the year, a
moistened dank breeze had met the flock on the narrow bench. Soon the
bench lay far behind them, and the strip of treacherous sand, and the
maze of sculptured cliff under the Blue Star, and the hummocky low
ridges beyond, with their dry white washes. Silvermane kept on in front.
Already Hare had learned that the gray would have no horse before him.
His pace was swift, steady, tireless. Dave was astride his Navajo mount,
an Indian-bred horse, half mustang, which had to be held in with a firm
rein. The pack train strung out far behind, trotting faithfully along,
with the white packs, like the humps of camels, nodding up and down.
Jack and Dave slackened their gait at the foot of the stony divide. It
was an ascent of miles, so long that it did not appear steep. Here the
pack-train caught up, and thereafter hung at the heels of the riders.

From the broad bare summit Jack saw the Silver Cup valley-range with
eyes which seemed to magnify the winding trail, the long red wall, the
green slopes, the dots of sage and cattle. Then he made allowance for
months of unobstructed vision; he had learned to see; his eyes had
adjusted themselves to distance and dim