“I’ll get all of the parcels together,” was what she said, “while you go for the horses.  And you’ll hurry, won’t you, Mark?”

“On the run, Your Majesty,” he laughed.

When he had saddled and returned to her Gloria was waiting with the various purchases in a barley-sack; she made a great pretence of being weighted down by the great bulk of provisions demanded by man’s appetite.  He took the bag from her, lifted her into her saddle, and they rode away.  Gloria flicked her horse lightly with her whip and galloped ahead; as King followed he turned in the saddle and looked back toward Honeycutt’s cabin.  He was pulled two ways:  by the girlish figure ahead, which he must follow, since it was his responsibility to bring her back to his friend Ben; by what he fancied happening between Brodie and Honeycutt.  Brodie had been in ugly mood all along; he would be in uglier mood now after King’s interruption and the shotgun episode.  Nor could King forget what he had seen on Lookout Ridge.  If Swen Brodie were sure enough of what he was about to rid himself of Andy Parker, what would he not do with old Honeycutt?

“I ought to go back,” was what King said over and over to himself as he rode steadily on after Gloria.  The last roof lost to sight as they turned into the mouth of a canon, he shook off all thought of returning, overtook Gloria, and determined to forget both Honeycutt and Brodie for the rest of the day.  To-morrow would be another day.

“There are hundreds of pretty places to picnic,” said Gloria.  “But it is so much jollier by running water.”

“If you can fight down that hunger of yours for a few miles,” he told her, “I’ll show you the prettiest picnic spot you ever saw.  And one, by the way, that precious few folks know about.  It’s tucked away as if the mountains had the notion to hide it from all invaders.”

She was immediately all eagerness to come to it.  But she was quick to see that, though King laughed with her, he retained certain serious thoughts of his own.  Thoughts which, of course, had to do with his errand to-day.  She wondered what had happened at Honeycutt’s; if King had had any words with Swen Brodie.  She had been wondering that ever since he rejoined her under the tree.  But now, as then, she held back her question, since she was also wondering something else—­if he would tell her without being asked.

When they came to a spring freshet which they had crossed this morning King turned off to the right, riding up-stream, his horse’s hoofs splashing mightily in the water.  Gloria, looking on ahead, saw only rock-bound canon walls on either hand and a tangle of alder-bushes across the creek.

“Come on,” called King.  “Keep your horse right in the water and in two shakes I’ll show you my Hidden Place.  You are going to like it.”