quiet shadows
under the wall near the river trail. He meant to stay there until August
Naab had pronounced his son and Mescal man and wife. The dull roar of
the rapids borne on a faint puff of westerly breeze was lulled into a
soothing murmur. A radiant white star peeped over the black rim of the
wall. The solitude and silence were speaking to Hare's heart, easing his
pain, when a soft patter of moccasined feet brought him bolt upright.

A slender form rounded the corner wall. It was Mescal. The white dog
Wolf hung close by her side. Swiftly she reached Hare.

"Mescal!" he exclaimed.

"Hush! Speak softly," she whispered fearfully. Her hands were clinging
to his.

"Jack, do you love me still?"

More than woman's sweetness was in the whisper; the portent of
indefinable motive made Hare tremble like a shaking leaf.

"Good heavens! You are to be married in a few minutes--What do you mean?
Where are you going? this buckskin suit--and Wolf with you--Mescal!"

"There's no time--only a word--hurry--do you love me still?" she panted,
with great shining eyes close to his.

"Love you? With all my soul!"

"Listen," she whispered, and leaned against him. A fresh breeze bore the
boom of the river. She caught her breath quickly: "I love you!--I love
you!--Good-bye!"

She kissed him and broke from his clasp. Then silently, like a shadow,
with the white dog close beside her, she disappeared in the darkness of
the river trail.

She was gone before he came out of his bewilderment. He rushed down the
trail; he called her name. The gloom had swallowed her, and only the
echo of his voice made answer.

XII. ECHO CLIFFS

WHEN thought came clearly to him he halted irresolute. For Mescal's sake
he must not appear to have had any part in her headlong flight, or any
knowledge of it.

With stealthy footsteps he reached the cottonwoods, stole under the
gloomy shade, and felt his way to a point beyond the twinkling
lights. Then, peering through the gloom until assured he was safe from
observation, and taking the dark side of the house, he gained the hall,
and his room. He threw himself on his bed, and endeavored to compose
himself, to quiet his vibrating nerves, to still the triumphant
bell-beat of his heart. For a while all his being swung to the
palpitating consciousness of joy--Mescal had taken her freedom. She had
escaped the swoop of the hawk.

While Hare lay there, trying to gather his shattered senses, the merry
s