"No," she said. "We couldn't forsake it. It would be like forgetting my poor momma. No. The furniture and things are just as we used them when she was with us."
She passed from the parlor to the bedrooms, and the lean-to kitchen and washhouse. Everything was in perfect order, except for a slight dust which had gathered.
"You see, Hip-Lee and one of the choremen and I can fix it up in a day ready for occupation. That's how my daddy likes to have it. My daddy loved our lovely momma. I don't guess he'll ever get over losing her." Then she looked up, and her shadow of sadness had gone. "Come along," she cried. "You've seen it all. So we'll just shut it up again, and get back to our camp. I'm guessing that kettle'll be boiled dry."
But the kettle was only just on the boil, and the girl made the tea while Gordon set out the food and plates. Then, when all was ready, they sat down to their tête-à-tête picnic with all the enjoyment of two children, but with that between them which seemed to fill the whole air of the valley with an intoxicating sense of happiness and delight.
"And what about that other place—that log and adobe shack you told me of?" demanded Gordon, taking his tea-cup from the girl's hand.
Hazel laughed.
"That's a dandy shack, full of ants and crawly things, and its roof leaks water. It's up on a hill where the wind just blows pneumonia through it. If I showed it you I sort of reckon you'd be scared to use it for—for anything."
Gordon joined in her laugh.
"I guess it'll be the real thing for my job. Say, don't you sort of feel like a criminal? I do." He laughed again as he passed the plate of cut meats to his companion.
"Criminals?" laughed Hazel buoyantly. "Why, I just feel as if you and my daddy and I were all hanging by the neck on the highest peak of the Rockies. Say, you're sure—sure of things?"