“I wouldn’t anything of the kind,” declared Bess, indignantly.

“Well—­perhaps not lie.  But you’d have had the sweethearts—­You couldn’t have helped that—­being so pretty.”

This remark appeared to be a very clever and fortunate one; and the work of selecting and then of stowing all the packs in the cave went on without further interruption.

Venters closed up the opening of the cave with a thatch of willows and aspens, so that not even a bird or a rat could get in to the sacks of grain.  And this work was in order with the precaution habitually observed by him.  He might not be able to get out of Utah, and have to return to the valley.  But he owed it to Bess to make the attempt, and in case they were compelled to turn back he wanted to find that fine store of food and grain intact.  The outfit of implements and utensils he packed away in another cave.

“Bess, we have enough to live here all our lives,” he said once, dreamily.

“Shall I go roll Balancing Rock?” she asked, in light speech, but with deep-blue fire in her eyes.

“No—­no.”

“Ah, you don’t forget the gold and the world,” she sighed.

“Child, you forget the beautiful dresses and the travel—­and everything.”

“Oh, I want to go.  But I want to stay!”

“I feel the same way.”

They let the eight calves out of the corral, and kept only two of the burros Venters had brought from Cottonwoods.  These they intended to ride.  Bess freed all her pets—­the quail and rabbits and foxes.

The last sunset and twilight and night were both the sweetest and saddest they had ever spent in Surprise Valley.  Morning brought keen exhilaration and excitement.  When Venters had saddled the two burros, strapped on the light packs and the two canteens, the sunlight was dispersing the lazy shadows from the valley.  Taking a last look at the caves and the silver spruces, Venters and Bess made a reluctant start, leading the burros.  Ring and Whitie looked keen and knowing.  Something seemed to drag at Venters’s feet and he noticed Bess lagged behind.  Never had the climb from terrace to bridge appeared so long.

Not till they reached the opening of the gorge did they stop to rest and take one last look at the valley.  The tremendous arch of stone curved clear and sharp in outline against the morning sky.  And through it streaked the golden shaft.  The valley seemed an enchanted circle of glorious veils of gold and wraiths of white and silver haze and dim, blue, moving shade—­beautiful and wild and unreal as a dream.

“We—­we can—­th—­think of it—­always—­re—­remember,” sobbed Bess.

“Hush!  Don’t cry.  Our valley has only fitted us for a better life somewhere.  Come!”

They entered the gorge and he closed the willow gate.  From rosy, golden morning light they passed into cool, dense gloom.  The burros pattered up the trail with little hollow-cracking steps.  And the gorge widened to narrow outlet and the gloom lightened to gray.  At the divide they halted for another rest.  Venters’s keen, remembering gaze searched Balancing Rock, and the long incline, and the cracked toppling walls, but failed to note the slightest change.