whisper in the camp yesterday that the lass was like to be in a bad
way."

Cardigan scuffed with his foot a clear space in the brown litter.
"Take two men from the section-gang, McTavish," he ordered, "and have
them dig her grave here; then swamp a trail through the underbrush
and out to the donkey-landing, so we can carry her in. The funeral
will be private."

McTavish nodded. "Any further orders, sir?"

"Yes. When you come to that little gap in the hills, cease your
logging and bear off yonder." He waved his hand. "I'm not going to
cut the timber in this valley. You see, McTavish, what it is. The
trees here--ah, man, I haven't the heart to destroy God's most
wonderful handiwork. Besides, she loved this spot, McTavish, and she
called the valley her Valley of the Giants. I--I gave it to her for a
wedding present because she had a bit of a dream that some day the
town I started would grow up to yonder gap, and when that time came
and we could afford it, 'twas in her mind to give her Valley of the
Giants to Sequoia for a city park, all hidden away here and
unsuspected.

"She loved it, McTavish. It pleased her to come here with me; she'd
make up a lunch of her own cooking and I would catch trout in the
stream by the dogwoods yonder and fry the fish for her. Sometimes I'd
barbecue a venison steak and--well, 'twas our playhouse, McTavish,
and I who am no longer young--I who never played until I met her--I--
I'm a bit foolish, I fear, but I found rest and comfort here,
McTavish, even before I met her, and I'm thinking I'll have to come