Henry West asked Bess if she would ride part way with one of the women who was returning to her home at Dayton Creek. “By the time you return the branding will be over for today, and then tomorrow I will accompany you and Mrs. White part of the way home. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you are feeling so disturbed,” said West. “I am ashamed of being such a—a baby, but the sight of pain or suffering always fills me with horror. I cannot bear it,” answered Bess, putting on her gloves and sombrero preparatory to accompanying the woman on her long ride. How glad she was to leave the camp behind and to ride out into the clear, bright air! The gentle slopes on either side of the Big Draw were soft with the delicate green of the tamaracks, whose vivid verdure was enhanced by the dark branches of the pines and fir trees. Great rocks of varied hues jutted forth in places as if they concealed the den of some formidable mountain lion. So impressed was Bess at the sublime grandeur and beauty of the scene that she was oblivious of her companion. “You are enjoying the view, also, Miss Fletcher?” asked the woman. “I beg your pardon for being so rude. Somehow, words always spoil this for me,” answered the abstracted girl, as she drew herself together and made a sweeping gesture toward the bordering hills and distant mountains. Presently they neared the gulch with its deserted cabin, and Bess gave an involuntary shudder at the sight of its isolated loneliness. They started their horses into a swift gallop, and before long came in sight of the great, high cliff near Dayton Creek. “There, Miss Fletcher, I think you have come far enough. I’ll take the trail across to the cliff and will soon be home. I fear you have come too far. A storm seems to be coming.”