She shook her head. “No, I think we’d better stay right here. It’s a long, hard walk, and the trail is muddy.”
“But, dear girl,” he began, desperately, “it won’t do for us to camp here—alone—in this way another night. What will Cliff say?”
She flamed red, then whitened. “I don’t care what Cliff thinks—I’m done with him—and no one that I really care about would blame us.” She was fully aware of his anxiety now. “It isn’t our fault.”
“It will be my fault if I keep you here longer!” he answered. “We must reach a telephone and send word out. Something may have happened to your father.”
“I’m not worried a bit about him. It may be that there’s been a big snowfall up above us—or else a windstorm. The trail may be blocked; but don’t worry. He may have to go round by Lost Lake pass.” She pondered a moment. “I reckon you’re right. We’d better pack up and rack down the trail to the ranger’s cabin. Not on my account, but on yours. I’m afraid you’ve taken cold.”
“I’m all right, except I’m very lame; but I am anxious to go on. By the way, is this ranger Settle married?”
“No, his station is one of the lonesomest cabins on the forest. No woman will stay there.”
This made Wayland ponder. “Nevertheless,” he decided, “we’ll go. After all, the man is a forest officer, and you are the Supervisor’s daughter.”
She made no further protest, but busied herself closing the panniers and putting away the camp utensils. She seemed to recognize that his judgment was sound.
It was after three when they left the tent and started down the trail, carrying nothing but a few toilet articles.