“I should be were we not in such a mess, dear.”
“Be thankful for small things, Emma. This really is quite comfy. All we need to complete our comfort are a few slices of bacon and a hot cup of coffee apiece,” chuckled Grace.
“Grace Harlowe, you are positively cruel to speak of it,” rebuked Emma. “For the moment I had forgotten that I was hungry, then you had to remind me of it. I could almost faint at thought of how hungry I am. Never, never again will I make fun of Hippy Wingate’s appetite. I never knew what a terrible thing an appetite could be.”
“I agree with you that it can be, in some circumstances,” admitted Grace. “Suppose you go to sleep now.”
“Oh, I can’t. I am too frightened,” protested Emma. “Isn’t it still, and isn’t the stillness in this canyon the noisiest thing you ever heard?”
Grace laughed merrily.
“You have expressed it exactly, little woman. Please get to sleep. I shall not answer another question, so do not ask any.”
Grace kept her word, and preserved a stony silence to all of her companion’s questions. Emma, soon tiring of asking questions that elicited no reply, ceased asking them and finally dozed off to sleep.
Grace Harlowe poked the fire and put on fresh fuel from time to time, keeping her lonely vigil, listening and wondering whether or not she would ever be able to find her way back to the camp of the Overton outfit.
Lulled by the warmth of the fire, and worn out from her trying experience, Grace’s head finally drooped until it rested on Emma Dean’s shoulder.