"Then I'm for the law every time, big or little. I seen enough of that other thing."
"Think it over, Lorry. Remember, you're free to do as you want to. I have made my offer. Then there is your mother—and the girl. It looks as though you had your hands full."
"You bet! Business and war and—and Dorothy is a right big order. I'm gettin' a headache thinkin' of it!"
Waring rose. "I'm going to turn in. I have to live pretty close to the clock these days."
"See you in the mornin'," said Lorry, giving his hand. "Good-night, dad."
"Good-night, boy."
CHAPTER XXXV
The High Trail
Black-edged against the silvery light of early dawn the rim of the world lay dotted with far buttes and faint ranges fading into the spaces of the north and south. The light deepened and spread to a great crimson pool, tideless round the bases of magic citadels and mighty towers. Golden minarets thrust their slender, fiery shafts athwart the wide pathway of the ascending sun. The ruddy glow palpitated like a live ember naked to the wind. The nearer buttes grew boldly beautiful. Slowly their molten outlines hardened to rigid bronze. Like ancient castles of some forgotten land, isolated in the vast mesa, empty of life, they seemed to await the coming of a host that would reshape their fallen arches and their wind-worn towers to old-time splendor, and perfect their imageries.
But the marching sun knew no such sentiment. Pitilessly he pierced their enchanted walls, discovering their pretense, burning away their shadowy glory, baring them for what they were—masses of jumbled rock and splintered spires; rain-gutted wraiths of clay, volcanic rock, the tumbled malpais and the tufa of the land.