De Launay headed up into the hills, making for the spot he and others familiar with the region knew as The Crater. Back about half a mile from the rim of Shoestring Cañon, which, itself, had originally been cut out of lava from extinct volcanoes of the range, rose a vast basalt peak, smooth and precipitous on the side toward the cañon. Its lower slopes had once been terraced down to the flat bench land which rimmed the cañon, but, unnumbered ages ago, the subterranean forces had burst their way through and formed a crater whose sides fell steeply away to the flats on three sides. The fourth was backed by the basalt cliff.
Although long extinct, the volcano had left reminders in the shape of warm springs which had an appreciable effect on the temperature within the basin of the ancient crater. The atmosphere in the place was, even in winter, quite moderate compared with that of the rest of the range. There was, in the center of the crater, a small pond or lake, of which the somewhat lukewarm water was quite potable.
This spot, once a common enough rendezvous for 237 the riders on rodeo, was his objective and toward it he climbed, with mademoiselle’s warm body in his arms. Behind him straggled the pack horses.
Solange lay quiet, but under his arm he felt her shiver from time to time. His downward glance at her fell only on her hat and a casual wisp of glistening hair which escaped from it. He felt for and found one of her hands. It clutched his with a hot, dry clasp.
Somewhat alarmed, he raised his hand to her face. That she had fever was no longer to be doubted.
She was talking low to herself, but she spoke in Basque which he did not understand. He spoke to her in French.
“I knew you would come; that I should find you,” she answered at once. “That terrible man! He could not frighten me. It is certain that through you I shall find this Louisiana!”
“Yes,” he answered. “You’ll find Louisiana.”
He wondered what she knew of Louisiana and why she wished to find him, concluding, casually, that she had heard of him as one who might know something of her father’s death. Well, if she sought Louisiana, she had not far to look: merely to raise her head.
“I thought I heard him singing,” said Solange.