We'll take a pack horse; we'll load him to the guards with the proper
sort of rations; we'll strike out into the heart of the California
sierra--where there are fine forests and little lakes and lonely trails
and peace over all of it."
Betty looked at him curiously, then away swiftly.
"Breakfast is ready," she announced.
He sipped at his coffee absently; his eyes, looking past Betty, saw
into a hidden, cliff-rimmed valley in those other, fresher mountains
further north, glimpsed vistas down narrow trails between tall pines
and cedars and firs, fancied a lodge made of boughs on the shore of a
little blue lake. He'd like to show Betty this camping spot; he'd like
to bring in for her a string of gleaming trout; he'd like to lie on his
side under the cliffs and just watch her. He had whittled two sticks
for spoons; he ate his stew with his and forgot to talk.
And Betty, watching him covertly, wondered astutely if over the first
meal she had cooked for him Jim Kendric wasn't readjusting his ancient
ideas of woman. For some hidden reason, or for no reason at all, her
silence was as deep as his.
After breakfast, however, it was Betty who started talk. They sought
to plan definitely for tonight. Kendric told her of the way he and
Barlow had come, of the _Half Moon_ awaiting his and Barlow's return,
of his determination to make use of the schooner if they could come to
it.
Pages:
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285