At this point one of the guides spoke up, saying: “If the women would be more comfortable in a cabin, there’s one down here in the brush by the lake. I found it this morning when I was wranglin’ the horses.”
“A cabin! In this wild place?” said Alice.
“Yes, ma’am—must be a ranger’s cabin.”
Ward mused. “If it’s habitable it would be warmer and safer than a tent. Let’s go see about it.”
He came back jubilant. “It doesn’t seem to have been occupied very recently, but is in fair shape. We’ll move you right down there.”
The wounded girl welcomed the shelter of a roof, and it was good to feel solid logs about her helpless self. The interior of the hut was untidy and very rude, but it stood in a delightful nook on the bank of a pond just where a small stream fell into the valley, and it required but a few minutes of Mrs. Adams’ efforts to clear the place out and make it cozy, and soon Alice, groaning faintly, was deposited in the rough pole bunk at the dark end of the room. What an inglorious end to her exalted ride!
Ward seemed to understand her tears as he stood looking down upon her, but he only said: “I dislike leaving you, even for the day. I shall give up my trip.”
“No, no! you must go on!” she cried out. “I shall hate myself if you don’t go on.”
He reluctantly yielded to her demand, but said: “If I find that we can’t get back to-morrow I will send Gage back. He’s a trusty fellow. I can’t spare Adams, and Smith and Todd—as you know—are paying for their trip.”
Mrs. Adams spoke up firmly. “You need not worry about us. We can get along very well without anybody. If you climb the peak you’ll need Gage. I’m not afraid. We’re the only people in this valley, and with this staunch little cabin I feel perfectly at home.”