“I’d like to ride him.  Can he run?”

“Run?  He’s a demon.  Swiftest horse on the sage!  I hope he’ll stay in that canyon.

“He’ll stay.”

They left camp to wander along the terraces, into the aspen ravines, under the gleaming walls.  Ring and Whitie wandered in the fore, often turning, often trotting back, open-mouthed and solemn-eyed and happy.  Venters lifted his gaze to the grand archway over the entrance to the valley, and Bess lifted hers to follow his, and both were silent.  Sometimes the bridge held their attention for a long time.  To-day a soaring eagle attracted them.

“How he sails!” exclaimed Bess.  “I wonder where his mate is?”

“She’s at the nest.  It’s on the bridge in a crack near the top.  I see her often.  She’s almost white.”

They wandered on down the terrace, into the shady, sun-flecked forest.  A brown bird fluttered crying from a bush.  Bess peeped into the leaves.  “Look!  A nest and four little birds.  They’re not afraid of us.  See how they open their mouths.  They’re hungry.”

Rabbits rustled the dead brush and pattered away.  The forest was full of a drowsy hum of insects.  Little darts of purple, that were running quail, crossed the glades.  And a plaintive, sweet peeping came from the coverts.  Bess’s soft step disturbed a sleeping lizard that scampered away over the leaves.  She gave chase and caught it, a slim creature of nameless color but of exquisite beauty.

“Jewel eyes,” she said.  “It’s like a rabbit—­afraid.  We won’t eat you.  There—­go.”

Murmuring water drew their steps down into a shallow shaded ravine where a brown brook brawled softly over mossy stones.  Multitudes of strange, gray frogs with white spots and black eyes lined the rocky bank and leaped only at close approach.  Then Venters’s eye descried a very thin, very long green snake coiled round a sapling.  They drew closer and closer till they could have touched it.  The snake had no fear and watched them with scintillating eyes.

“It’s pretty,” said Bess.  “How tame!  I thought snakes always ran.”

“No.  Even the rabbits didn’t run here till the dogs chased them.”

On and on they wandered to the wild jumble of massed and broken fragments of cliff at the west end of the valley.  The roar of the disappearing stream dinned in their ears.  Into this maze of rocks they threaded a tortuous way, climbing, descending, halting to gather wild plums and great lavender lilies, and going on at the will of fancy.  Idle and keen perceptions guided them equally.

“Oh, let us climb there!” cried Bess, pointing upward to a small space of terrace left green and shady between huge abutments of broken cliff.  And they climbed to the nook and rested and looked out across the valley to the curling column of blue smoke from their campfire.  But the cool shade and the rich grass and the fine view were not what they had climbed for.  They could not have told, although whatever had drawn them was well-satisfying.  Light, sure-footed as a mountain goat, Bess pattered down at Venters’s heels; and they went on, calling the dogs, eyes dreamy and wide, listening to the wind and the bees and the crickets and the birds.