Foss River was far too sleepy to bother about these comings and goings.  Lablache, alone, of the sleepy hamlet, eyed the evening journeys with suspicion.  But even he was unable to fathom their object, and was forced to set them down, his whole being consumed with jealousy the while, to lovers’ wanderings.  However, these nightly rides were taken with purpose.  After galloping across the prairie in various directions they always, as darkness crept on, terminated at a certain spot—­the clump of willows and reeds at which the secret path across the great keg began.

The sun was well down below the distant mountain peaks when Jacky and her lover reached the scrubby bush of willows and reeds upon the evening before the day of the sale of Bill’s ranch.  As they drew up their panting horses, and dismounted, the evening twilight was deepening over the vast expanse of the mire.

The girl stood at the brink of the bottomless caldron of viscid muck and gazed out across the deadly plain.  Bill stood still beside her, watching her face with eager, hungry eyes.

“Well?” he said at last, as his impatience forced itself to his lips.

“Yes, Bill,” the girl answered slowly, as one balancing her decision well before giving judgment, “the path has widened.  The rain has kept off long enough, and the sun has done his best for us.  It is a good omen.  Follow me.”

She linked her arm through the reins of her horse’s bridle, and leading the faithful animal, stepped fearlessly out on to the muskeg.  As she trod the rotten crust she took a zigzag direction from one side of the secret path to the other.  That which, in early spring, had scarcely been six feet in width, would now have borne ten horsemen abreast.  Presently she turned back.  “We need go no further, Bill; what is safe here continues safe across the keg.  It will widen in places, but in no place will the path grow narrower.”

“But tell me,” said the man, anxious to assure himself that no detail was forgotten, “what about the trail of our footprints?”

The girl laughed.  Then indenting the ground with her shapely boot until the moisture below oozed into the imprint, she looked up into the lazy face before her.

“See—­we wait for one minute, and you shall see the result.”

They waited in silence in the growing darkness.  The night insects and mosquitoes buzzed around them.  The man’s attention was riveted upon the impression made by the girl’s foot.  Slowly the water filled the print, then slowly, under the moist influence, the ground, sponge-like, rose again, the water disappeared, and all sign of the footmark was gone.

When again the ground had resumed its natural appearance the girl looked up.

“Are you satisfied, Bill?  No man or beast who passes over this path leaves a trail which lasts longer than a minute.  Even the rank grass, however badly trodden down, rears itself again with amazing vitality.  I guess this place was created through the devil’s agency and for the purpose of devil’s work.”