“What a view one should get from the edge!” she exclaimed, and turning from the spring, made her way through the scraggly timber to the rock wall beyond.  It was not a long climb and five minutes later she stood panting with exertion and leaned against an upstanding pinnacle of jagged rock.  For a long time she stood wonder-bound by the mighty grandeur of the panorama that swept before her to lose itself somewhere upon the dim horizon.  Her brain grasped for details.  It was all too big—­too unreal—­too unlike the world she had known.  In sheer desperation, for sight of some familiar thing, her eyes turned toward the camp.  There was the little white tent, and the horses grazing beyond.  Her elevation carried her range of vision over the jutting shoulder of rock, and she saw the Texan sitting beside his blankets drawing on his boots.  The blankets were mounded over the forms of the others, and without disturbing them, the cowboy put on his hat and started toward the spring.  At the sight of the little tent he paused and Alice saw him stand staring at the little patch of white canvas.  For a long time he stood unmoving, and then, impulsively, his two arms stretched toward it.  The arms were as quickly withdrawn.  The Stetson was lifted from his head and once more it seemed a long time that he stood looking at the little tent with the soft brim of his Stetson crushed tightly in his hand.

Evidently, for fear of waking her, the man did not go to the spring, but retraced his steps and Alice saw him stoop and withdraw something from his war-bag.  Thrusting the object beneath his shirt, he rose slowly and made his way toward the rim-rock, choosing for his ascent a steep incline which, with the aid of some rock ledges, would bring him to the top at a point not ten yards from where she stood.

It was with a sense of guilt that she realized she had spied upon this man, and her cheeks flushed as she cast about desperately for a means to escape unseen.  But no such avenue presented itself, and she drew back into a deep crevice of her rock pinnacle lest he see her.

A grubby, stunted pine somehow managed to gain sustenance from the stray earth among the rock cracks and screened her hiding-place.  The man was very close, now.  She could hear his heavy breathing and the click of his boot heels upon the bare rocks.  Then he crossed to the very verge of the precipice and seated himself with his feet hanging over the edge.  For some moments he sat gazing out over the bad lands, and then his hand slipped into the front of his shirt and withdrew a bottle of whiskey.

The girl’s lips tightened as she watched him from behind her screen of naked roots and branches.  He looked a long time at the bottle, shook it, and held it to the sun as he contemplated the little beads that sparkled at the edge of the liquor line.  He read its label, and seemed deeply interested in the lines of fine print contained upon an oval sticker that adorned its back.  Still holding the bottle, he once more stared out over the bad lands.  Then he drew the cork and smelled of the liquor, breathing deeply of its fragrance, and turning, gazed intently toward the little white tent beside the stunted pines.