“They’re gone!” said Lassiter.  “An’ they’re safe now.  An’ there’ll never be a day of their comin’ happy lives but what they’ll remember Jane Withersteen an’—­an’ Uncle Jim!...I reckon, Jane, we’d better be on our way.”

The burros obediently wheeled and started down the break with little cautious steps, but Lassiter had to leash the whining dogs and lead them.  Jane felt herself bound in a feeling that was neither listlessness nor indifference, yet which rendered her incapable of interest.  She was still strong in body, but emotionally tired.  That hour at the entrance to Deception Pass had been the climax of her suffering—­the flood of her wrath—­the last of her sacrifice—­the supremity of her love—­and the attainment of peace.  She thought that if she had little Fay she would not ask any more of life.

Like an automaton she followed Lassiter down the steep trail of dust and bits of weathered stone; and when the little slides moved with her or piled around her knees she experienced no alarm.  Vague relief came to her in the sense of being enclosed between dark stone walls, deep hidden from the glare of sun, from the glistening sage.  Lassiter lengthened the stirrup straps on one of the burros and bade her mount and ride close to him.  She was to keep the burro from cracking his little hard hoofs on stones.  Then she was riding on between dark, gleaming walls.  There were quiet and rest and coolness in this canyon.  She noted indifferently that they passed close under shady, bulging shelves of cliff, through patches of grass and sage and thicket and groves of slender trees, and over white, pebbly washes, and around masses of broken rock.  The burros trotted tirelessly; the dogs, once more free, pattered tirelessly; and Lassiter led on with never a stop, and at every open place he looked back.  The shade under the walls gave place to sunlight.  And presently they came to a dense thicket of slender trees, through which they passed to rich, green grass and water.  Here Lassiter rested the burros for a little while, but he was restless, uneasy, silent, always listening, peering under the trees.  She dully reflected that enemies were behind them—­before them; still the thought awakened no dread or concern or interest.

At his bidding she mounted and rode on close to the heels of his burro.  The canyon narrowed; the walls lifted their rugged rims higher; and the sun shone down hot from the center of the blue stream of sky above.  Lassiter traveled slower, with more exceeding care as to the ground he chose, and he kept speaking low to the dogs.  They were now hunting-dogs—­keen, alert, suspicious, sniffing the warm breeze.  The monotony of the yellow walls broke in change of color and smooth surface, and the rugged outline of rims grew craggy.  Splits appeared in deep breaks, and gorges running at right angles, and then the Pass opened wide at a junction of intersecting canyons.