"Now," said Pierre, standing at her stirrup, his shining, smoke-blue

eyes lifted to her, his hand on her boot, "you'll be wantin' some

things--some clothes?"

"No," said Joan. "Maud went with me an' helped me buy things with my

pay just yesterday. I won't be needin' anything."

"All right," said he. "We're off, then!" And he flung himself with a

sudden wild, boyish "Whoopee!" on his pony, gave a clip to Joan's

horse and his own, and away they galloped, a pair of young, wild

things, out from the town through a straggling street to where the

road boldly stretched itself toward a great land of sagebrush, of

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buttes humping their backs against the brilliant sky. Down the valley

they rode, trotting, walking, galloping, till, turning westward, they

mounted a sharp slope and came up above the plain. Below, in the heart

of the long, narrow valley, the river coiled and wandered, divided and

came together again into a swift stream, amongst aspen islands and

willow swamps. Beyond this strange, lonely river-bed, the cottonwoods

began, and, above them, the pine forests massed themselves and strode

up the foothills of the gigantic range, that range of iron rocks,

sharp, thin, and brittle where they scraped the sky.

At the top of the hill, Pierre put out his hand and pulled Joan's

rein, drawing her to a stop beside him.

"Over yonder's my ranch," said he.

Joan looked. There was not a sign of house or clearing, but she

followed his gesture and nodded.

"Under the mountains?" she said.

"At the foot of Thunder Cañon. You can see a gap in the pines.

There's a waterfall just above--that white streak. Now you've got it.

Where you come from 's to the south, away yonder."

Joan would not turn her head. "Yes," said she, "I know."

Suddenly tears rushed to her eyes. She had a moment of unbearable

longing and regret. Pierre said nothing; he was not watching her.

"Come on," said he, "or your father will be takin' after us."

They rode at a gallop down the hill.




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