A minute afterward she slid the savory food from a skewer upon one of the pie pans, tossed back the cover from the little table, stacked some bread-and-butter sandwiches beside the meat and handed the pan to Donald.
“Fall to,” she said, “and prove that you’re a man with an appreciative tummy. Father used to be positively ravenous for this stuff. I like it myself.”
She slid the food from the second skewer to a pan for herself, settled the fire to her satisfaction and they began their meal. Presently she filled a cup from the bucket beside her and handed it to Donald. At the same time she lifted another for herself.
“Here’s to the barrel cactus,” she said. “May the desert grow enough of them so that we’ll never lack one when we want to have a Saturday picnic.”
Laughingly they drank this toast; and the skewers were filled a second time. When they could eat no more they packed away the lunch things, buried the fire, took the axe and the field glasses, and started on a trip of exploration down the canyon. Together they admired delicate and exquisite ferns growing around great gray boulders. Donald tasted hunters’ rock leek, and learned that any he found while on a hunting expedition would furnish a splendid substitute for water. Linda told him of rare flowers she lacked and what they were like and how he would be able to identify what she wanted in case he should ever find any when he was out hunting or with his other friends. They peeped into the nesting places of canyon wrens and doves and finches, and listened to the exquisite courting songs of the birds whose hearts were almost bursting with the exuberance of spring and the joy of home making. When they were tired out they went back to the dining room and after resting a time, they made a supper from the remnants of their dinner. When they were seated in the car and Linda’s hand was on the steering wheel, Donald reached across and covered it with his own.
“Wait a bit,” he said. “Before we leave here I want to ask you a question and I want you to make me a promise.”
“All right,” said Linda. “What’s your question?”
“What is there,” said Donald, “that I can do that would give you such pleasure as you have given me?”
Linda could jest on occasions, but by nature she was a serious person. She looked at Donald reflectively.
“Why, I think,” she said at last, “that having a friend, having someone who understands and who cares for the things I do, and who likes to go to the same places and to do the same things, is the biggest thing that has happened to me since I lost my father. I don’t see that you are in any way in my debt, Donald.”