Lightly the golden glory rose till only the highest peaks retained its flame; then it leapt to the clouds behind the peaks, and gorgeously lit their somber sulphurous masses. The edges of the pool grew black as night; the voice of the stream grew stern; and a cold wind began to fall from the heights, sliding like an invisible but palpable icy cataract.
At last the girl rose. “It is getting dark. I must go back and get supper.”
“We don’t need any supper,” he protested.
“Father does, and you’ll be hungry before morning,” she retorted, with sure knowledge of men.
He turned from the scene reluctantly; but once at the camp-fire cheerfully gave his best efforts to the work in hand, seconding Berrie’s skill as best he could.
The trout, deliciously crisp, and some potatoes and batter-cakes made a meal that tempted even his faint appetite, and when the dishes were washed and the towels hung out to dry, deep night possessed even the high summit of stately Ptarmigan.
McFarlane then said: “I’ll just take a little turn to see that the horses are all right, and then I think we’d better close in for the night.”
When they were alone in the light of the fire, Wayland turned to Berrie: “I’m glad you’re here. It must be awesome to camp alone in a wilderness; and yet, I suppose, I must learn to do it.”
“Yes, the ranger often has to camp alone, ride alone, and work alone for weeks at a time,” she assured him. “A good trailer don’t mind a night trip any more than he does a day trip, or if he does he never admits it. Rain, snow, darkness, is all the same to him. Most of the boys are fifteen to forty miles from the post-office.”
He smiled ruefully. “I begin to have new doubts about this ranger business. It’s a little more vigorous than I thought it was. Suppose a fellow breaks a leg on one of those high trails?”