on top of us, and he threw me out of the way and set his own strength
against it. I couldn't see the rock, Pete, but it felt like a
mountain."

"It was big enough to smash you both," said Pete.

He looked at Hugh, whose eyes glared in a strained, shamed face. The
older man's fingers worked nervously; he opened his lips and closed
them again. It was easy to understand the travail of his mind,
unwilling to forego the imaginary bit of heroism, and yet abashed
by the boy's awareness of the lie.

Pete gave one short laugh; then, springing suddenly across a fallen
tree that separated them, he caught Sylvie up into his arms.

"You can't carry her with a wrenched arm," he said, half gayly, half
tauntingly, "and at the best rate she can go, it will be night before
we get her home. I'm strong. I'll carry her myself."

Sylvie laughed protesting that she was being treated like a doll,
and resigned herself to Pete's swift, smooth stride. It was as though
she were skimming through space, so quietly did his moccasined feet
press the pine-needled earth, so exquisitely did his young strength
save her from any jar. He whistled softly through his teeth as he
ran in long, swift strides. And as he did not speak to her, she lay
silent, yet strangely peaceful and happy. Hugh was left far behind.
The forest fragrance moved cool and resinous against her face.

"I feel as if we could go on and on forever," she said with a sigh,
"forever and ever and ever."