What was happening within both of them was a great nervous relaxation. They knew where Taggart and Gallup were, or at least were confident that there was no immediate danger of Taggart and Gallup overhauling them; they knew where Mexicali Joe was and where he was going. For the moment they were freed from that crushing sense of uncertainty welded to menace which had borne down upon them ever since they fled from Big Pine. And consequently joy of life sprang up as a spring leaps the instant that the weight is plucked from it. "It's our lucky day!" said Deveril. For the sun was scarcely up when a plump young rabbit hopped square into their path, and Deveril, with a lucky throw, killed it with a rock. And just as they were speaking of thirst, they came to a tiny trickle of water among the rocks; and while Lynette was boiling coffee over a tiny blaze, Deveril was preparing grilled cottontail for breakfast. Savory odors floating out through the woodlands. Lynette was singing softly: "_Merry it is in the good Greenwood!_" They ate and rested and the sun warmed them. For a full two hours they scarcely stirred. Then they drank again; Lynette bathed her hands and face and arms; she set her hair in order, refashioning the two thick braids. She shut one eye and then the other, striving to make certain that there was not a black smudge somewhere upon her nose. They were starting on when Deveril said soberly: "Shall I save the rabbit skin?" "Why?" she asked innocently. A twinkle came into his eyes. "A few more days of this sort of life, and My Lady Linnet is going to require a new gown! Perhaps rabbit furs, if hunting is good, will do it!" She laughed at him, and her eyes were daring as she sang, improvising as to melody: "And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, That wont on harp to stray, A cloak must sheer from the slaughtered deer, To keep the cold away!" "_Lynette!_" A flash from her gay mood had set his eyes on fire. He sprang up and came toward her, his two hands out. But as a black cloud can run over the face of the young moon, so did a sudden change of mood wipe the tempting look out of her eyes and darken them. Her spirit had peeped forth at him, merry-making; as quick as bird-flight it was gone, and she stepped back and looked at him steadily, cool now and aloof and dampening to a man's ardent nonsense. "You have a way of saying something, Babe Deveril," she told him coolly, "which appeals to me. In your own upstanding words: 'Let's go!'" He laughed back at her lightly, hiding under a light cloak his own chagrin. At that moment he had wanted her in his arms; had wanted that as he wanted neither Mexicali Joe's gold nor any other coldly glittering thing. Now he felt himself growing angry with her.... "Right. You've said it. Let's go."