swiftly a realization of what it had meant for her—­the suspense, the terrific strain, the final shock and gruesome horror of it.  He was sure, without seeing, that she was huddled down on the blankets in the tent.  She had passed through an ordeal under which a strong man might have broken, and the picture he had of her struggle in there alone turned him from the tent filled with a determination to make her believe that the events of the morning, both with him and MacDonald, were easily forgotten.

He began to whistle as he threw back the wet canvas from over the camp outfit that had been taken from Pinto’s back.  In one of the two cow-hide panniers he saw that thoughtful old Donald had packed materials for their dinner, as well as utensils necessary for its preparation.  That dinner they would have in the valley, well beyond the red mountain.  He began to repack, whistling cheerily.  He was still whistling when MacDonald returned.  He broke off sharply when he saw the other’s face.

“What’s the matter, Mac?” he asked.  “You sick?”

“It weren’t pleasant, Johnny.”

Aldous nodded toward the tent.

“It was—­beastly,” he whispered.  “But we can’t let her feel that way about it, Mac.  Cheer up—­and let’s get out of this place.  We’ll have dinner somewhere over in the valley.”

They continued packing until only the tent remained to be placed on Pinto’s back.  Aldous resumed his loud whistling as he tightened up the saddle-girths, and killed time in half a dozen other ways.  A quarter of an hour passed.  Still Joanne did not appear.  Aldous scratched his head dubiously, and looked at the tent.

“I don’t want to disturb her, Mac,” he said in a low voice.  “Let’s keep up the bluff of being busy.  We can put out the fire.”

Ten minutes later, sweating and considerably smokegrimed, Aldous again looked toward the tent.

“We might cut down a few trees,” suggested MacDonald.

“Or play leap-frog,” added Aldous.

“The trees’d sound more natcherel,” said MacDonald.  “We could tell her——­”

A stick snapped behind them.  Both turned at the same instant.  Joanne stood facing them not ten feet away.

“Great Scott!” gasped Aldous.  “Joanne, I thought you were in the tent!”

The beautiful calmness in Joanne’s face amazed him.  He stared at her as he spoke, forgetting altogether the manner in which he had intended to greet her when she came from the tent.

“I went out the back way—­lifted the canvas and crawled under just like a boy,” she explained.  “And I’ve walked until my feet are wet.”

“And the fire is out!”

“I don’t mind wet feet,” she hurried to assure him.

Old Donald was already at work pulling the tent-pegs.  Joanne came close to Aldous, and he saw again that deep and wonderful light in her eyes.  This time he knew that she meant he should see it, and words which he had determined not to speak fell softly from his lips.