“The air’s keen,” he said.  “Can’t we go back another way where we’ll get the sun?”

One of the party said there was a lower and more open trail, and they went down until they reached a narrow track that followed the edge of a steep fall to the river.  The hillside above made a sharp angle with the pines that cut, in scattered cones of somber green, against the long, glittering slope.  Below, the ground dropped nearly sheer to the green flood that roared among the ice.  Although the trail was safe enough, Lucy kept close to Lawrence and was glad to see Walters talking to one of the others some distance behind.  She felt jaded, for she had not relaxed her watchfulness since the man arrived.  By and by Lawrence gave her a grateful smile.

“You look tired; I expect I’m something of a responsibility.  If you like, I’ll make an excuse for stopping in until Walters goes.”

“No,” she said with an effort, “that would be cowardly and not good for you.  After all, I may be giving my imagination rein; but I wish he hadn’t come.”

“He won’t be here long.  Anyhow, we’ll keep out of his way as much as we can for the rest of the time.”

“That’s a relief.  Still, I expect you really think you are indulging me.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Lawrence replied.  “You’re clever, and Jake, who takes your view, is not a fool.  But it doesn’t look as if Walters meant to do me much harm.”

“He can’t, so long as you don’t give him an opportunity.”

Lawrence’s eyes twinkled.  “And you’ll take care that I don’t?  Well, it’s rather nice to be protected.”

Lucy blushed.  “If you would take things seriously sometimes——­”

“If I did, you’d find me dull.  Now I like you exactly as you are, except that, in one way, I’d sooner you were not so anxious about me.  That’s partly why I’m not so serious as you expect I’m afraid you’d get worse if I played up to you.”

“Never mind me,” said Lucy.  “Only take care!”

By and by the slope grew gentler, and tall forest crept up the hill when they came to a ravine a torrent had worn out of the mountain side.  The ravine was narrow and for a short distance below the top the banks shelved steeply; then a wall of rock fell straight to the water that brawled in the bottom of the deep gap.  The light was dim down there, but one could see livid flashes of foam through a haze of spray.  The trail had been made by lumbermen or prospectors, who had provided a bridge by chopping a big fir so that it fell across the chasm.  Somebody had made the passage easier by roughly squaring its upper surface, though it is seldom a Canadian bushman takes this precaution with his primitive bridge.  There was no reason anybody with normal nerve should hesitate to cross, but the party stopped.

“You have gone farther than usual to-day, Featherstone, and perhaps you’d sooner cut out the bridge,” said one.  “I think we could get round the head of the canon without lengthening the distance much.”