he
cottonwoods. Wolf came trotting into camp proudly carrying a rabbit.

"Mescal, can we get across the Colorado and find a way up over
Coconina?" asked Hare.

"Yes, I'm sure we can. My peon never made a mistake about directions.
There's no trail, but Navajos have crossed the river at this season, and
worked up a canyon."

The shadows had gathered under the cliffs, and the rosy light high up
on the ramparts had chilled and waned when Hare and Mescal sat down to
their meal. Wolf lay close to the girl and begged for morsels. Then in
the twilight they sat together content to be silent, listening to the
low thunder of the river. Long after Mescal had retired into her hogan
Hare lay awake before her door with his head in his saddle and listened
to the low roll, the dull burr, the dreamy hum of the tumbling waters.
The place was like the oasis, only infinitely more hidden under the
cliffs. A few stars twinkled out of the dark blue, and one hung,
beaconlike, on the crest of a noble crag. There were times when he
imagined the valley was as silent as the desert night, and other times
when he imagined he heard the thundering roll of avalanches and
the tramp of armies. Then the voices of Mescal's solitude spoke to
him--glorious laughter and low sad wails of woe, sweet songs and
whispers and murmurs. His last waking thoughts were of the haunting
sound of Thunder River, and that he had come to bear Mescal away from
its loneliness.

He bestirred himself at the first glimpse of day, and when the gray
mists had lifted to wreathe the crags it was light enough to begin the
journey. Mescal shed tears at the grave of the faithful peon. "He loved
this canyon," she said, softly. Hare lifted her upon Silvermane. He
walked beside the horse and Wolf trotted on before. They travelled
awhile under the flowering cottonwoods on a trail bordered with green
tufts of grass and great star-shaped lilies. The river was still hidden,
but it filled the grove with its soft thunder. Gradually the trees
thinned out, hard stony ground encroached upon the sand, bowlders
appeared in the way; and presently, when Silvermane stepped out of the
shade of the cottonwoods, Hare saw the lower end of the valley with its
ragged vent.

"Look back!" said Mescal.

Hare saw the river bursting from the base of the wall in two white
streams which soon united below, and leaped down in a continuous
cascade. Step by step the stream plunged through the deep gorge, a
broken