ve rows of seats, and looking very much like a small
edition of the sightseeing cars one finds in tourist-infested cities.

"Heyl's place," said Fanny. Suppose it failed to work!

Said the blond god, "Stopping at the Inn overnight, I s'pose."

"Why--I don't know," faltered Fanny. "Can't I go right on to--to--Heyl's
place?"

"Can." Mountain steamer men are not loquacious. "Sure. Better not. You
won't get to the Inn till dark. Better stay there over night, and go on
up to Heyl's place in the morning."

Then he leaned forward, clawed about expertly among what appeared to
Fanny's eyes to be a maze of handles, brakes, valves; and the great car
glided smoothly off, without a bump, without a jar. Fanny took a long
breath.

There is no describing a mountain. One uses words, and they are futile.
And the Colorado Rockies, in October, when the aspens are turning! Well,
aspens turn gold in October. People who have seen an aspen grove in
October believe in fairies. And such people need no clumsy descriptive
passages to aid their fancies. You others who have not seen it?
There shall be no poor weaving together of words. There shall be no
description of orange and mauve and flame-colored sunsets, no juggling
with mists and clouds, and sunrises and purple mountains. Mountain
dwellers and mountain lovers are a laconic tribe. They know the futility
of words.

But the effect of the mountains on Fanny Brandeis. That is within our
province. In the first place, they made her hungry. That was the crisp,
heady air. The mountain road, to one who has never traveled it, is a
thing of delicious thrills and near-terror. A narrow, perilous ribbon
of road, cut in the side of the rock itself; a road all horseshoe curves
and hairpin twists. Fanny found herself gasping. But that passed after
a time. Big Thompson canyon leaves no room for petty terror. And the
pongee person was so competent, so quietly sure, so angularly graceful
among his brakes and levers. Fanny stole a side glance at him now and
then. He looked straight ahead. When you drive a mountain steamer you do
look straight ahead. A glance to the right or left is so likely to mean
death, or at best a sousing in the Thompson that foams and rushes below.

Fanny ventured a question. "Do you know Mr. Heyl?"

"Heyl? Took him down day before yesterday."

"Down?"

"To the village. He's gone back east."

Fanny was not quite sure whether the pang she felt was relief or
consternation.

A