ods
were flying light as feathers; plum-trees were pink in blossom; there
were vines twining all about; through the openings in the foliage shone
the blue of sky and red of cliff. Patches of blossoming Bowers were here
and there lit to brilliance by golden shafts of sunlight. The twitter of
birds and hum of bees were almost drowned in the soft roar of water.

"Is that the Colorado I hear?" asked Hare.

"No, that's Thunder River. The Colorado is farther down in the Grand
Canyon."

"Farther down! Mescal, I must have come a mile from the rim. Where are
we?"

"We are almost at the Colorado, and directly under the head of Coconina.
We can see the mountain from the break in the valley below."

"Come sit by me here under this tree. Tell me--how did you ever get
here?"

Then Mescal told him how the peon had led her on a long trail from
Bitter Seeps, how they had camped at desert waterholes, and on the
fourth day descended to Thunder River.

"I was quite happy at first. It's always summer down here. There were
rabbits, birds, beaver, and fruit--we had enough to eat. I explored the
valley with Wolf or rode Noddle up and down the canyon. Then my peon
died, and I had to shift for myself. There came a time when the beaver
left the valley, and Wolf and I had to make a rabbit serve for days. I
knew then I'd have to get across the desert to the Navajos or starve in
the canyon. I hesitated about climbing out into the desert, for I wasn't
sure of the trail to the waterholes. Noddle wandered off up the canyon
and never came back. After he was gone and I knew I couldn't get out I
grew homesick. The days weren't so bad because I was always hunting for
something to eat, but the nights were lonely. I couldn't sleep. I lay
awake listening to the river, and at last I could hear whispering and
singing and music, and strange sounds, and low thunder, always low
thunder. I wasn't really frightened, only lonely, and the canyon was
so black and full of mutterings. Sometimes I'd dream I was back on the
plateau with you, Jack, and Bolly and the sheep, and when I'd awake in
the loneliness I'd cry right out--"

"Mescal, I heard those cries," said Hare.

"It was strange--the way I felt. I believe if I'd never known and--and
loved you, Jack, I'd have forgotten home. After I'd been here a while, I
seemed to be drifting, drifting. It was as if I had lived in the canyon
long before, and was remembering. The feeling was strong, but always
thoughts