“What we’re seekin’ is behind that mountain,” he said.  “It’s ten miles from here.”  He turned to the girl.  “Are you gettin’ lame, Mis’ Joanne?”

Aldous saw her lips tighten.

“No.  Let us go on, please.”

She was staring fixedly at the sombre red mass of the mountain.  Her eyes did not take in the magnificent sweep of the valley below.  They saw nothing of the snow-capped peaks beyond.  There was something wild and unnatural in their steady gaze.  Aldous dropped behind her as they began the gradual descent from the crest of the break and his own heart began to beat more apprehensively; the old question flashed back upon him, and he felt again the oppression that once before had held him in its grip.  His eyes did not leave Joanne.  And always she was staring at the mountain behind which lay the thing they were seeking!  It was not Joanne herself that set his blood throbbing.  Her face had not paled.  Its colour was like the hectic flush of a fever.  Her eyes alone betrayed her; their strange intensity—­the almost painful steadiness with which they hung to the distant mountain, and a dread of what was to come seized upon him.  Again he found himself asking himself questions which he could not answer.  Why had Joanne not confided more fully in him?  What was the deeper significance of this visit to the grave, and of her mission in the mountains?

Down the narrow Indian trail they passed into the thick spruce timber.  Half an hour later they came out into the grassy creek bottom of the valley.  During that time Joanne did not look behind her, and John Aldous did not speak.  MacDonald turned north, and the sandstone mountain was straight ahead of them.  It was not like the other mountains.  There was something sinister and sullen about it.  It was ugly and broken.  No vegetation grew upon it, and through the haze of sunlight its barren sides and battlemented crags gleamed a dark and humid red after the morning mists, as if freshly stained with blood.  Aldous guessed its effect upon Joanne, and he determined to put an end to it.  Again he rode up close beside her.

“I want you to get better acquainted with old Donald,” he said.  “We’re sort of leaving him out in the cold, Ladygray.  Do you mind if I tell him to come back and ride with you for a while?”

“I’ve been wanting to talk with him,” she replied.  “If you don’t mind——­”

“I don’t,” he broke in quickly.  “You’ll love old Donald, Ladygray.  And, if you can, I’d like to have you tell him all that you know about—­Jane.  Let him know that I told you.”

She nodded.  Her lips trembled in a smile.

“I will,” she said.

A moment later Aldous was telling MacDonald that Joanne wanted him.  The old mountaineer stared.  He drew his pipe from his mouth, beat out its half-burned contents, and thrust it into its accustomed pocket.

“She wants to see me?” he asked.  “God bless her soul—­what for?”