“But if you have no experience in climbing?” objected Isobel in a tone that transmuted the young man’s angry flush into a glow of delight.
“Don’t inexperienced climbers go up the Alps with guides?” he nonchalantly replied. “I can trust Blake to get me safe to the bottom. He will need me in his business.”
“Good for you, Lafe!” commended Blake.
It was the first time that he had ever addressed Ashton so familiarly. He accompanied it with the 273 proffer of his hand. But Ashton did not look at him. He was basking in the frankly admiring gaze of Miss Knowles.
The party returned in the same manner that they had come out, for Isobel firmly refused to permit Ashton to walk. Blake allowed her to set the pace, and she chose such a rapid one that they reached camp a full half hour before sunset.
A few minutes later, as they were sitting down to a hastily prepared supper, Gowan appeared with the second load from the lower camp. Blake and Ashton sprang up to loosen the packs of the sweating, panting horses. The puncher swung down from his saddle, not to assist them, but to remonstrate with Isobel.
“Been expecting to meet you, all the way up, Miss Chuckie,” he said. “Ain’t you staying too late? You won’t get home before long after dark.”
“Mrs. Blake and I are not going down tonight, Kid,” replied the girl, and she explained the change of plans.
Gowan listened attentively, though without commenting either by look or word. When she had quite finished, he asked a single question: “Think your Daddy won’t mind, Miss Chuckie?”
“He will understand that we simply can’t leave here until Lafe and––Mr. Blake are safe up out of the cañon.”