Joshua had given up all thought of going East to try and solve the mystery of Felix Wolfgang’s long-distance persecution. He had been impulsive when he informed The Whimperer that he would do so, knowing when he spoke that it would be folly for him to leave the mountains when so many things demanded his immediate attention. Besides, he would not have left Madge and her mother to prepare for the coming of a mountain winter with no man about to help them. Most of their neighbor homesteaders had left the country as soon as the skies showed blustery clouds and squalls began to scurry over the lake. And the three had only a speaking acquaintance with the few who had resolved to brave the winter through. He was too busy, even, to give Felix Wolfgang much thought—too happy with Shanty Madge in daylight hours, and with the precious telescope, dimly outlined in a corner of the cabin, through moonlit nights.
Late one afternoon they finished the trail, laid down their picks and shovels, and stood side by side looking down on the wind-swept desert four thousand feet below them, stretching away in three directions, an awe-inspiring sight under the mystic spell of the fleeting winter afternoon.
“Isn’t it glorious!” Madge exclaimed. “I feel like a bird. Like an eagle. If I had wings that I could lift, and could soar away over that tantalizing yellow waste, away over those calico buttes far to the east that seem to be calling me, I—I— Well, I’d just lift ’em and soar, that’s all.”
“And where would you end?” asked Cole of Spyglass Mountain softly.
“I’d never end, I guess. I’d keep on soaring forever.”
“And never come back to Spyglass Mountain?”
“Well, when I wanted to rest and lay my plans for another soar, perhaps.”
“I’d be here waiting for you,” he told her significantly.
“Would you? Keeper of my home port of the skies? If I could soar away, east and west and north and south, I think I’d like to keep this pinnacle in mind. I would become confused, perhaps, and lose my bearings. Then I could turn and head for Spyglass Mountain again, which seems to me to overlook the earth and sky. And you’d be here to correct my course for me and point out where I had missed the way. Then I’d rearrange my ruffled feathers and try once more; and you’d watch me through your telescope until I’d be only a tiny speck a thousand miles away. Oh, this is silly, isn’t it?”
“Madge,” he said, and his tone trembled, “I want you never to forget what you’ve just said. It isn’t silly. If Spyglass Mountain turns out to be the ideal place for astronomical observations, I shall always be here—always, that is, as human beings speak of always in connection with their brief lives. You may soar away—something tells me that you will. But remember—I’ll always be here waiting for your return.