She went hurriedly to the top of the bank above the place where he worked.
He was not there.
Running back to the cabin she knocked again.
“Hugh—Oh, Hugh! What is the matter?”
There was no sound.
Pushing open the door she stood on the threshold. The room was empty.
The truth forced itself upon the girl with overwhelming weight. Hugh Edwards was gone. He had not merely left his cabin for an hour or a day. He had not stepped out somewhere to return again presently. He was gone. Sometime during the night he had packed his things and had disappeared with no parting word—no good-by—no promise—leaving no message. He had vanished.
The girl was stunned. She argued with herself dully that she must be mistaken—that it could not be so. Hugh, her Hugh, would never do such a cruel, cruel thing.
From the open doorway she looked out at the familiar scene, at the cañon walls, the mountain ridges and peaks, her home—nothing was changed. She turned again to the empty, silent room. Hugh was gone.
But there must be something—some word to tell her—to explain.