It struck him, all at once, that this was a new Joanne—­a Joanne who, at least for a brief spell, had broken the bondage of oppression and fear that had fettered her.  In the narrow trail up the mountain he rode behind her, and in this he found a pleasure even greater than when he rode at her side.  Only when her face was turned from him did he dare surrender himself at all to the emotions which had transformed his soul.  From behind he could look at her, and worship without fear of discovery.  Every movement of her slender, graceful body gave him a new and exquisite thrill; every dancing light and every darkening shadow in her shimmering hair added to the joy that no fear or apprehension could overwhelm within him now.  Only in those wonderful moments, when her presence was so near, and yet her eyes did not see him, could he submerge himself completely in the thought of what she had become to him and of what she meant to him.

During the first hour of their climb over the break that led into the valley beyond they had but little opportunity for conversation.  The trail was an abandoned Indian path, narrow, and in places extremely steep.  Twice Aldous helped Joanne from her horse that she might travel afoot over places which he considered dangerous.  When he assisted her in the saddle again, after a stiff ascent of a hundred yards, she was panting from her exertion, and he felt the sweet thrill of her breath in his face.  For a space his happiness obliterated all thoughts of other things.  It was MacDonald who brought them back.

They had reached the summit of the break, and through his long brass telescope the old mountaineer was scanning the valley out of which they had come.  Under them lay Tete Jaune, gleaming in the morning sun, and it dawned suddenly upon Aldous that this was the spot from which MacDonald had spied upon his enemies.  He looked at Joanne.  She was breathing quickly as she looked upon the wonder of the scene below them.  Suddenly she turned, and encountered his eyes.

“They might—­follow?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“No danger of that,” he assured her.

MacDonald had dismounted, and now he lay crouched behind a rock, with his telescope resting over the top of it.  He had leaned his long rifle against the boulder; his huge forty-four, a relic of the old Indian days, hung at his hip.  Joanne saw these omens of preparedness, and her eyes shifted again to Aldous.  His .303 swung from his saddle.  At his waist was the heavy automatic.  She smiled.  In her eyes was understanding, and something like a challenge.  She did not question him again, but under her gaze Aldous flushed.

A moment later MacDonald closed his telescope and without a word mounted his horse.  Where the descent into the second valley began he paused again.  To the north through the haze of the morning sun gleamed the snow-capped peaks of the Saw Tooth Range.  Apparently not more than an hour’s ride distant rose a huge red sandstone giant which seemed to shut in the end of the valley MacDonald stretched forth a long arm in its direction.