But there was only an hour of this. Thereafter they rode down a long slope and into a long, narrow, twisting ravine, rocky cliffs on one hand and a noisy stream on the other, a fair trail underfoot. Nearly always now King rode ahead, finding the way for her; and Gloria, her spirits drooping again with the advancing afternoon, vaguely oppressed by the solemn stillness about her, was glad that she too could be silent. When he did call to her she needed only nod or smile; he turned to point out some rare view that appealed to him, a vista worth her seeing, a cascade or a fall of cliff, or a ferny nook, or perhaps a late ceanothus- blossom. He pointed out a scampering Douglas squirrel and had her hearken to a quail. "We're already in the finest timber belt in the world," he told her, full of enthusiastic loyalty to his beloved mountains. Thus, he leading the way, she following with head down and shoulders drooping, they came about four o'clock to a small meadow, cliff-ringed, studded with big yellow pines and here and there graced with an incense cedar. Stopping in the open, sitting sideways in the saddle, he waited for her. "And what do you think of this, Miss Gloria?" he called gaily as her horse thrust his black nose through the alders down by the creek. Gloria drew rein and looked at him with large eyes across the twenty paces separating them. "I can't go any further," she said bleakly. "I'm tired out!" He was quick to see a gathering of tears, and swung down from his horse and went to her with long strides, his own eyes filled with concern. "Poor little kidlet," he said humbly. "I've let you do yourself up...."