Pritchard nodded, pressing the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe with his forefinger.

“You’re right, Tavernake,” he agreed.  “One loses one’s sense of proportion.  Men in the cities are all alike.  They go about in disguise.”

“I should like,” Tavernake said, inconsequently, “to have Mr. Dowling out here.”

“Amusing fellow?” Pritchard inquired.

Tavernake shook his head, smiling.

“Not in the least,” he answered, “only he was a very small man.  Out here it is difficult to keep small.  Don’t you feel it, Pritchard?  These mountains make our hills at home seem like dust-heaps.  The skies seem loftier.  Look down into that valley.  It’s gigantic, immense.”

Pritchard yawned.

“There’s a little place in the Bowery,” he began,—­

“Oh, I don’t want to know any more about New York,” Tavernake interrupted.  “Lean back and close your eyes, smell the cinnamon trees, listen to that night bird calling every now and then across the ravine.  There’s blackness, if you like; there’s depth.  It’s like a cloak of velvet to look into.  But you can’t see the bottom—­no, not in the daytime.  Listen!”

Pritchard sat up.  For a few moments neither spoke.  A dozen yards or so off, a scattered group—­the rest of the party—­were playing cards around a fire.  The green wood crackled, an occasional murmur of voices, a laugh or an exclamation, came to their ears, but for the rest, an immense, a wonderful silence, a silence which seemed to spread far away over that weird, half-invisible world!  Tavernake listened reverently.

“Isn’t it marvelous!” he exclaimed.  “We haven’t seen a human being except our own party, for three days.

There probably isn’t one within hearing of us now.  Very likely no living person has ever set foot in this precise spot.”

“Oh, it’s big,” Pritchard admitted, “it’s big and it’s restful, but it isn’t satisfying.  It does for you for a time because you started life wrong and you needed a reaction.  But for me—­ah, well!” he added, “I hear the call right across these thousands of miles of forests and valley and swamp.  I hear the electric cars and the clash of the overhead railway, I see the flaring lights of Broadway and I hear the babel of tongues.  I am going back to it, Tavernake.  There’s plenty to go on with.  We’ve done more than carry out our program.”

“Back to New York!” Tavernake muttered, disconsolately.

“So you’re not ready yet?” Pritchard demanded.

“Heavens, no!” Tavernake answered.  “Who would be?  What is there in New York to make up for this?”

Pritchard was silent for a moment.

“Well,” he said, “one of us must be getting back near civilization.  The syndicate will be expecting to hear from us.  Besides, we’ve reports enough already.  It’s time something was decided about that oil country.  We’ve done some grand work there, Tavernake.”