Then of a sudden she had thought of the curious green light Greta had seen at a distance on that very ridge.
“What could have caused that light?” she had asked herself.
She asked it all over again as she trudged away over the moose trail.
“Of course,” she thought, “there’s the head hunter. But he’s out. Such men don’t climb ridges unless they’re obliged to—too lazy for that! And they don’t make divine music nor light green lamps at night.
“I suppose,” she whispered to herself after a time, “suppose I should have told Greta what Swen said, but—”
Well, she just hadn’t wanted to, that was all. Perhaps she had been selfish, she had wanted this trip so much. She had wanted company too. And too much talk about the secrets of Greenstone Ridge might have frightened Greta out altogether.
“Do you know why they call this Greenstone Ridge?” she said aloud to Greta.
“No. Why?”
“Because there is a kind of quartz embedded in some of the rocks. They call these greenstones. They are about the seventh most valuable stone in the world.”
“Shall we find some?” Greta’s tone was eager.