There were moments when to her Acey Smith seemed sublime—a sort of genie of this wild, wonderful country. She believed she liked him best in this mood. In his high boots, corduroys and stetson with its narrow limp brim slightly turned up off his forehead, he had the bearing and the mien of some fiercely handsome robber chieftain. His face, set like a mask, was never turned toward her; his eyes seemed always fixed on the trail above. She found herself walking in his wake, quite as naturally as the Indian woman trails after her brave in their journeys through the wild.
They paused for a few moments’ rest at the base of the cliff before starting the ascent of the winding pathway that led to the summit. Suddenly a rapidly-vibrating roaring sound broke in upon them from the upper air.
“The airplane has arrived,” commented Acey Smith, pointing to the machine swooping over the cliffs at the water-gate. “Just a little too late to find out anything worth while.”
“Who do you suppose it is?” asked the girl.
“It’s a government machine sent to locate you. I think likely it’s been put on the job at the request of your friend, Mr. Hammond.”
He watched her covertly as the colour came and went in her cheeks at the mention of Hammond’s name.
“Mr. Hammond!” she gasped. “Oh, then, we must go back and send word to him that I am safe and sound.”
“No, it will not be necessary,” he declared. “Mr. Hammond will be none the worse for a few hours’ suspense. You will meet him before the sun sets to-night, and you will then be the better able to explain everything.”
“Is he still down at the limits?”
“Yes, I think he’s back, though the last news I had of him he was in Kam City. He had a falling out with Norman T. Gildersleeve and quit the services of the International Investment outfit. I expect he discovered they weren’t altogether the innocent angels they pretended to be.” He paused a moment, then: “Hammond is what few men of ability are nowadays—clean-cut and honest to the core.”