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Joan Randle rode on and on, through the canon, out at its head and

over a pass into another canon, and never did she let it be possible

for Kells to see her eyes until she knew beyond peradventure of a

doubt that they hid the strength and spirit and secret of her soul

The tih that she must

think first of her horse and her own safety Kells led up over a

rock-jue, where she had sometimes to follow on

foot It seemed miles across that wilderness of stone Foxes and

wolves trotted over open places, watching stealthily All around

dark mountain peaks stood up The afternoon was far advanced when

Kells started to descend again, and he rode a zigzag course on

weathered slopes and over brushy benches, down and down into the

canons again

A lonely peak was visible, sunset-flushed against the blue, froest ride Joan

had ever made in one day For miles and miles they had climbed and

descended and wound into the mountains Joan had scarcely any idea

of direction She was completely turned around and lost This spot