All through the luncheon that was eaten in an ancient community house, with the magnificent view of mountain and canyon spread out before them, General Gordon was regarding Grace perplexedly.
“I believe she really intends to try it,” he muttered. “How, I do not know. She does, though, and I have no doubt the plan is already clearly outlined under that head of fair brown hair.”
“So you do not believe I can do it, eh?” chided Grace, favoring the officer with a brilliant smile.
“Do not believe—Mrs. Gray, are you a mind reader?” demanded the general.
“When a mental process is reflected in a face as it has been in yours for the last five minutes, the reading is easy.”
The general shrugged his shoulders in true French form.
“I give up,” he exclaimed.
“I wish the walls of this ancient place might be read as easily,” added Grace. “Do you think the ladies can stand a climb to the top of the mountain?”
“Oh, yes; it is not a long nor a very hard climb, I should judge from the looks of it,” replied the general.
It was decided to leave the hampers at the lunching place, but to carry their mess kits. Grace told Ike Fairweather to take the rope with him, as it might be needed. In her own kit she carried a ball of stout twine, ammunition for her rifle and for the automatic that swung in its holster.