Jane had to be hauled up, and the task was a painful one for her.  Lassiter’s turn came then, and he showed more strength and agility than Shefford had supposed him capable of.  From the ledge they turned their attention to the narrow crack with its ladder of sticks.  Fay had already ascended and now hung over the rim, her white face and golden hair framed vividly in the narrow stream of blue sky above.

“Mother Jane!  Uncle Jim!  You are so slow,” she called.

“Wal, Fay, we haven’t been second cousins to a canyon squirrel all these years,” replied Lassiter.

This upper half of the climb bid fair to be as difficult for Jane, if not so painful, as the lower.  It was necessary for the Indian to go up and drop the rope, which was looped around her, and then, with him pulling from above and Shefford assisting Jane as she climbed, she was finally gotten up without mishap.  When Lassiter reached the level they rested a little while and then faced the great slide of jumbled rocks.  Fay led the way, light, supple, tireless, and Shefford never ceased looking at her.  At last they surmounted the long slope and, winding along the rim, reached the point where Fay had led out of the cedars.

Nas Ta Bega, then, was the one to whom Shefford looked for every decision or action of the immediate future.  The Indian said he had seen a pool of water in a rocky hole, that the day was spent, that here was a little grass for the mustangs, and it would be well to camp right there.  So while Nas Ta Bega attended to the mustangs Shefford set about such preparations for camp and supper as their light pack afforded.  The question of beds was easily answered, for the mats of soft needles under pinyon and cedar would be comfortable places to sleep.

When Shefford felt free again the sun was setting.  Lassiter and Jane were walking under the trees.  The Indian had returned to camp.  But Fay was missing.  Shefford imagined he knew where to find her, and upon going to the edge of the forest he saw her sitting on the promontory.  He approached her, drawn in spite of a feeling that perhaps he ought to stay away.

“Fay, would you rather be alone?” he asked.

His voice startled her.

“I want you,” she replied, and held out her hand.

Taking it in his own, he sat beside her.

The red sun was at their backs.  Surprise Valley lay hazy, dusky, shadowy beneath them.  The opposite wall seemed fired by crimson flame, save far down at its base, which the sun no longer touched.  And the dark line of red slowly rose, encroaching upon the bright crimson.  Changing, transparent, yet dusky veils seemed to float between the walls; long, red rays, where the sun shone through notch or crack in the rim, split the darker spaces; deep down at the floor the forest darkened, the strip of aspen paled, the meadow turned gray; and all under the shelves and in the great caverns a purple gloom deepened.  Then the sun set.  And swiftly twilight was there below while day lingered above.  On the opposite wall the fire died and the stone grew cold.