still forests and the thundering rivers; and this love came from his
softer side. It had cost him a wrench to leave. And all the way by
ship down the coast to San Diego and across the Sierra Madres by stage,
and so on to this last overland travel by horseback, he had felt a
retreating of the self that was tranquil and happy and a dominating
of this unknown somber self, with its menacing possibilities. Yet
despite a nameless regret and a loyalty to Oregon, when he lay in his
blankets he had to confess a keen interest in his adventurous future,
a keen enjoyment of this stark, wild Arizona. It appeared to be a
different sky stretching in dark, star-spangled dome over him--closer,
vaster, bluer. The strong fragrance of sage and cedar floated over
him with the camp-fire smoke, and all seemed drowsily to subdue his
thoughts.

At dawn he rolled out of his blankets and, pulling on his boots,
began the day with a zest for the work that must bring closer his
calling future. White, crackling frost and cold, nipping air were
the same keen spurs to action that he had known in the uplands of
Oregon, yet they were not wholly the same. He sensed an exhilaration
similar to the effect of a strong, sweet wine. His horse and mule had
fared well during the night, having been much refreshed by the grass
and water of the little canyon. Jean mounted and rode into the cedars
with gladness that at last he had put the endless leagues of barren
land behind him.

The trail he followed appeared to be seldom traveled. It led,
according to the meager information obtainable at the last settlement,
directly to what was called the Rim, and from there Grass Valley could
be seen down in the Basin. The ascent of the ground was so gradual
that only in long, open stretches could it be seen. But the nature