“That’s quite true,” replied Ward in a relieved tone. “We are above the hunters—no one ever crosses here now. But it will be lonely.”
“Not at all!” Alice assured him. “We shall enjoy being alone in the forest.”
With slow and hesitating feet Ward left the two women and swung into his saddle. “I guess I’ll send Gage back, anyhow,” he said.
“Don’t think of it!” called Peggy.
As a matter of fact, Alice was glad to have the men pull out. Their pity, their reproach, irritated her. It was as if they repeated aloud a scornful phrase—“You’re a lovely and tempting creature, but you’re a fool-hen just the same.”
The two women spent the day peacefully, save now and then when Alice’s wounded foot ached and needed care; but as night began to rise in the cañon like the smoke of some hidden, silent, subterranean fire, and the high crags glowed in the last rays of the sun, each of them acknowledged a touch of that immemorial awe of the darkness with which the race began.
Peggy, seating herself in the doorway, described the scene to her patient, who could see but little of it. “Oh, but it’s gloriously uncanny to be here. Only think! We are now alone with God and His animals, and the night.”
“I hope none of God’s bears is roaming about,” replied Alice, flippantly.
“There aren’t any bears above the berries. We’re perfectly safe. My soul! but it’s a mighty country! I wish you could see the glow on the peaks.”
“I’m taking my punishment,” replied Alice. “Freeman was very angry, wasn’t he?”