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fluctuating； inexplicable little fool。
But for all that she found her mind had been made up for her； without
consent or desire； before her will had been consulted； and that
inevitably and unalterably she meant to see Jean Isbel again。
Long she battled with this strange decree。 One moment she won
a victory over； this new curious self； only to lose it the next。
And at last out of her conflict there emerged a few convictions
that left her with some shreds of pride。 She hated all Isbels；
she hated any Isbel； and particularly she hated Jean Isbel。 She was
only curiousintensely curious to see if he would come back； and if
he did come what he would do。 She wanted only to watch him from some
covert。 She would not go near him； not let him see her or guess of
her presence。
Thus she assuaged her hurt vanitythus she stifled her miserable doubts。
Long before the sun had begun to slant westward toward the
mid…afternoon Jean Isbel had set as a meeting time Ellen directed
her steps through the forest to the Rim。 She felt ashamed of her
eagerness。 She had a guilty conscience that no strange thrills could
silence。 It would be fun to see him； to watch him； to let him wait
for her； to fool him。
Like an Indian； she chose the soft pine…needle mats to tread upon；
and her light…moccasined feet left no trace。 Like an Indian also she
made a wide detour； and reached the Rim a quarter of a mile west of the
spot where she had talked with Jean Isbel； and here； turning east； she
took care to step on the bare stones。 This was an adventure； seemingly
the first she had ever had in her life。 Assuredly she had never before
come directly to the Rim without halting to look； to wonder； to worship。
This time she scarcely glanced into the blue abyss。 All absorbed was
she in hiding her tracks。 Not one chance in a thousand would she risk。
The Jorth pride burned even while the feminine side of her dominated
her actions。 She had some difficult rocky points to cross； then
windfalls to round； and at length reached the covert she desired。
A rugged yellow point of the Rim stood somewhat higher than the spot
Ellen wanted to watch。 A dense thicket of jack pines grew to the
very edge。 It afforded an ambush that even the Indian eyes Jean
Isbel was credited with could never penetrate。 Moreover； if by
accident she made a noise and excited suspicion； she could retreat
unobserved and hide in the huge rocks below the Rim； where a ferret
could not locate her。
With her plan decided upon； Ellen had nothing to do but wait；
so she repaired to the other side of the pine thicket and to the
edge of the Rim where she could watch and listen。 She knew that
long before she saw Isbel she would hear his horse。 It was altogether
unlikely that he would come on foot。
〃Shore； Ellen Jorth； y'u're a queer girl；〃 she mused。 〃I reckon I
wasn't well acquainted with y'u。〃
Beneath her yawned a wonderful deep canyon； rugged and rocky with but
few pines on the north slope； thick with dark green timber on the
south slope。 Yellow and gray crags； like turreted castles； stood up
out of the sloping forest on the side opposite her。 The trees were
all sharp； spear pointed。 Patches of light green aspens showed
strikingly against the dense black。 The great slope beneath Ellen
was serrated with narrow； deep gorges； almost canyons in themselves。
Shadows alternated with clear bright spaces。 The mile…wide mouth of
the canyon opened upon the Basin； down into a world of wild timbered
ranges and ravines； valleys and hills； that rolled and tumbled in
dark…green waves to the Sierra Anchas。
But for once Ellen seemed singularly unresponsive to this panorama
of wildness and grandeur。 Her ears were like those of a listening deer；
and her eyes continually reverted to the open places along the Rim。
At first； in her excitement； time flew by。 Gradually； however； as
the sun moved westward； she began to be restless。 The soft thud of
dropping pine cones； the rustling of squirrels up and down the
shaggy…barked spruces； the cracking of weathered bits of rock；
these caught her keen ears many times and brought her up erect and
thrilling。 Finally she heard a sound which resembled that of an
unshod hoof on stone。 Stealthily then she took her rifle and slipped
back through the pine thicket to the spot she had chosen。 The little
pines were so close together that she had to crawl between their trunks。
The ground was covered with a soft bed of pine needles； brown and
fragrant。 In her hurry she pricked her ungloved hand on a sharp pine
cone and drew the blood。 She sucked the tiny wound。 〃Shore I'm
wonderin' if that's a bad omen；〃 she muttered； darkly thoughtful。
Then she resumed her sinuous approach to the edge of the thicket；
and presently reached it。
Ellen lay flat a moment to recover her breath； then raised herself on
her elbows。 Through an opening in the fringe of buck brush she could
plainly see the promontory where she had stood with Jean Isbel； and
also the approaches by which he might come。 Rather nervously she
realized that her covert was hardly more than a hundred feet from
the promontory。 It was imperative that she be absolutely silent。
Her eyes searched the openings along the Rim。 The gray form of a
deer crossed one of these； and she concluded it had made the sound
she had heard。 Then she lay down more comfortably and waited。
Resolutely she held； as much as possible； to her sensorial perceptions。
The meaning of Ellen Jorth lying in ambush just to see an Isbel was a
conundrum she refused to ponder in the present。 She was doing it； and
the physical act had its fascination。 Her ears； attuned to all the
sounds of the lonely forest； caught them and arranged them according
to her knowledge of woodcraft。
A long hour passed by。 The sun had slanted to a point halfway between
the zenith and the horizon。 Suddenly a thought confronted Ellen Jorth：
〃He's not comin'；〃 she whispered。 The instant that idea presented
itself she felt a blank sense of loss； a vague regretsomething that
must have been disappointment。 Unprepared for this； she was held by
surprise for a moment； and then she was stunned。 Her spirit； swift
and rebellious； had no time to rise in her defense。 She was a lonely；
guilty； miserable girl； too weak for pride to uphold； too fluctuating
to know her real self。 She stretched there； burying her face in the
pine needles； digging her fingers into them； wanting nothing so much
as that they might hide her。 The moment was incomprehensible to Ellen；
and utterly intolerable。 The sharp pine needles； piercing her wrists
and cheeks； and her hot heaving breast； seemed to give her exquisite
relief。
The shrill snort of a horse sounded near at hand。 With a shock Ellen's
body stiffened。 Then she quivered a little and her feelings underwent
swift change。 Cautiously and noiselessly she raised herself upon her
elbows and peeped through the opening in the brush。 She saw a man
tying a horse to a bush somewhat back from the Rim。 Drawing a rifle
from its saddle sheath he threw it in the hollow of his arm and walked
to the edge of the precipice。 He gazed away across the Basin