As usual at the noon rest, mules and horses were unharnessed and led down to the stream to be watered and fed.  Fires were built and rustic cranes improvised to hang the pots and kettles gypsy style.  Since the first day out old Martha had been constituted cook and old John butler to our party.

In a short time Martha had prepared such a hot dinner as was practicable under the circumstances, and John had laid the cloth.

When all was ready the party of four sat down on the dry grass to partake of the meal, to every course of which they all did ample justice.

“This is our last al fresco feast,” said Captain Neville, after dinner, as he filled the glasses of the two ladies and of Clarence Rockharrt and proposed the toast: 

“Our lasting friendship and companionship.”

It was honored warmly.

Next Clarence proposed: 

“Mrs. Neville,” which was also honored and responded to by the captain in a neat little speech, at the end of which he proposed: 

“Mrs. Rothsay.”

This was duly met by Clarence with a brief acknowledgment.  Mr. Clarence was no speechmaker.  But he proposed the health of—­

“Our gallant captain,” which was drank with enthusiasm.

The captain responded, and proposed—­

“Mr. Clarence Rockharrt,” which was cordially honored.

Then Mr. Clarence made his last little speech of personal thanks.

After this the company arose and separated, to wander about the camping ground, to stretch their cramped limbs before returning to their seats on their carryalls.

“Come, Clarence, let us follow this little stream up to its head.  It cannot be far away,” said Corona.

Mr. Clarence silently drew her arm within his, and they walked on up the little valley until it narrowed into a gorge, clothed with stunted trees in brilliant autumn hues, through which the gray rocks jutted.  The tinkling of the spring which supplied the stream could be heard while it was yet out of sight.

“Did you bring your drinking cup with you, Clarence?  I should like a draught from the spring,” said Corona.

“Oh, yes,” said her uncle, producing the silver cup.  They clambered up the side of the gorge until they reached the spring—­a great jet of water issuing from the rock.  But there both stopped short, spellbound, in amazement.  On a ledge of rock above the spring, and facing them, stood a majestic man, clothed in coat of buckskin, faced and bordered with fur, leggings of buckskin and sandals of buffalo hide.  On his head he wore a fur cap that half concealed his tawny hair.  The face was fine, but sunburnt and half covered with a long, tawny beard.  Corona looked up, and recognized—­Regulas Rothsay!

With a cry of terror, she struck her hands to her eyes, as if to dispel an optical illusion, and sank half fainting, to be caught in the arms of her uncle and laid against the side of the rocks, while he sprinkled her face with water from the spring.