“Will you be coming home to us soon, Donnie?” asked his father as he was leaving. Donald looked down at Connie.
“We’ll visit you on our honeymoon, Dad,” responded Donald happily. He swept his arm toward the mountains. “I could never leave this. The spell of the Great West has entered my blood.”
Janet had spent the afternoon paddling idly on the lake. When she received the news of Donald’s engagement she concealed the ache in her heart by an outward air of indifference. The pretence of a headache enabled her to keep in her cabin and she did not appear for dinner. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
When the shadows lengthened, Donald and Connie moved slowly along the path toward the bluff. As they turned a curve in the trail Janet came to the window of her cabin and stood watching them until they disappeared from sight.
Andy, sitting a few feet distant with his back against a tree, noted the look of despondency on Janet’s face. He came to his feet and walked slowly toward the kitchen. “As Methusalem said through ’is whiskers, ‘ ’e who ’olds ’is ’ead too ’igh will ’t ’is blinkin’ toe.’ ”
As the lovers were about to turn up the mountain trail, the trapper emerged from the woods with his old pack-horse. The cayuse was piled high with luggage.
“Where are you going, John?” queried Donald.
“I’m hittin’ the trail, ol’ timer.”
“I hope you are not leaving us,” said Connie.
“Yes, I’m quittin’ the country.”