“Yet it is less than five miles away, and we shall christen it Spirit Lake, if you like the name, for it lies above Spirit Falls.”
“You are dreaming. There is no such lake.”
“I will show it to you. Come along.”
Upward and onward he led her over the range. And when they gained the summit, there at their feet lay the great new lake about which Buell Hampton had told him, fully seven miles long and two miles wide, and not less than six or seven hundred feet deep as Roderick knew, for he had gathered nuggets of gold on the floor of the little canyon now submerged beneath the placid blue waters.
Gail gazed in silent admiration. At last she exclaimed: “Spirit Lake! It is well named. It is more like a dream than reality.”
He helped her from the saddle. They tethered their mounts in western fashion by throwing the reins over the horses’ heads. They were standing under the branches of a big pine, and again they gazed over the waters. At the lower end of the lake was a most wonderful waterfall, dashing sheer down some four hundred feet into Spirit River.
For several minutes they continued to gaze in enraptured silence on the scene of tranquil beauty. Toward the east the forest was darkly purple—to the west, across the waters, the hills were silhouetted in splendid grandeur against a magnificent sunset. The whole range seemed clothed in a robe of finest tapestry. The sun was rapidly approaching the rim of the western horizon.
The afterglow of the red sunset marked paths of rippling gold on the waters. Vague violet shadows of dusk were merging over all. Nature was singing the lyric of its soul into things—crooning lake and mountains and forest-clad slopes to slumber.
It was Gail who at last broke the spell.
“Oh, how beautiful, how supremely beautiful,” she murmured.