This remark appeared to be a very clever and fortunate one; and
the work of selecting and then of stowing all the packs in the

cave went on without further interruption.
Venters closed up the opening of the cave with a thatch of

willows and aspens, so that not even a bird or a rat could get in
to the sacks of grain. And this work was in order with the

precautionhabitually observed by him. He might not be able to
get out of Utah, and have to return to the valley. But he owed it

to Bess to make the attempt, and in case they were compelled to
turn back he wanted to find that fine store of food and grain

intact. The outfit of implements and utensils he packed away in
another cave.

"Bess, we have enough to live here all our lives," he said once,
dreamily.

"Shall I go roll Balancing Rock?" she asked, in light speech, but
with deep-blue fire in her eyes.

"No--no."
"Ah, you don't forget the gold and the world," she sighed.

"Child, you forget the beautiful dresses and the travel--and
everything."

"Oh, I want to go. But I want to stay!"
"I feel the same way."

They let the eight calves out of the corral, and kept only two of
the burros Venters had brought from Cottonwoods. These they

intended to ride. Bess freed all her pets--the quail and rabbits
and foxes.

The last sunset and twilight and night were both the sweetest and
saddest they had ever spent in Surprise Valley. Morning brought

keen exhilaration and excitement. When Venters had saddled the
two burros, strapped on the light packs and the two canteens, the

sunlight was dispersing the lazy shadows from the valley. Taking
a last look at the caves and the silver spruces, Venters and Bess

made a reluctant start, leading the burros. Ring and Whitie
looked keen and knowing. Something seemed to drag at Venters's

feet and he noticed Bess lagged behind. Never had the climb from
terrace to bridge appeared so long.

Not till they reached the opening of the gorge did they stop to
rest and take one last look at the valley. The tremendous arch of

stone curved clear and sharp in outline against the morning sky.
And through it streaked the golden shaft. The valley seemed an

enchanted circle of glorious veils of gold and wraiths of white
and silver haze and dim, blue, moving shade--beautiful and wild

and unreal as a dream.
"We--we can--th--think of it--always--re--remember," sobbed Bess.

"Hush! Don't cry. Our valley has only fitted us for a better life
somewhere. Come!"

They entered the gorge and he closed the willow gate. From rosy,
golden morning light they passed into cool, dense gloom. The

burros pattered up the trail with little hollow-cracking steps.
And the gorge widened to narrow outlet and the gloom lightened to

gray. At the divide they halted for another rest. Venters's keen,
remembering gaze searched Balancing Rock, and the long incline,

and the cracked toppling walls, but failed to note the slightest
change.

The dogs led the descent; then came Bess leading her burro; then
Venters leading his. Bess kept her eyes bent downward. Venters,

however, had an irresistible desire to look upward at Balancing
Rock. It had always haunted him, and now he wondered if he were

really to get through the outlet before the huge stone thundered
down. He fancied that would be a miracle. Every few steps he

answered to the strange, nervous fear and turned to make sure the
rock still stood like a giant statue. And, as he descended, it

grew dimmer in his sight. It changed form; it swayed it nodded
darkly; and at last, in his heightened fancy, he saw it heave and

roll. As in a dream when he felt himself falling yet knew he
would never fall, so he saw this long-standingthunderbolt of the

little stone-men plunge down to close forever the outlet to
Deception Pass.

And while he was giving way to unaccountable dread imaginations
the descent was accomplished without mishap.

"I'm glad that's over," he said, breathing more freely. "I hope
I'm by that hanging rock for good and all. Since almost the

moment I first saw it I've had an idea that it was waiting for
me. Now, when it does fall, if I'm thousands of miles away, I'll

hear it."
With the first glimpses of the smooth slope leading down to the

grotesque cedars and out to the Pass, Venters's cool nerve
returned. One long survey to the left, then one to the right,

satisfied his caution. Leading the burros down to the spur of
rock, he halted at the steep incline.

"Bess, here's the bad place, the place I told you about, with the
cut steps. You start down, leading your burro. Take your time and

hold on to him if you slip. I've got a rope on him and a
half-hitch on this point of rock, so I can let him down safely.

Coming up here was a killing job. But it'll be easy going
down."

Both burros passed down the difficult stairs cut by the
cliff-dwellers, and did it without a misstep. After that the

descent down the slope and over the mile of scrawled, ripped, and
ridged rock required only careful guidance, and Venters got the

burros to level ground in a condition that caused him to
congratulate himself.

"Oh, if we only had Wrangle!" exclaimed Venters. "But we're
lucky. That's the worst of our trail passed. We've only men to

fear now. If we get up in the sage we can hide and slip along
like coyotes."

They mounted and rode west through the valley and entered the
canyon. From time to time Venters walked, leading his burro. When

they got by all the canyons and gullies opening into the Pass
they went faster and with fewer halts. Venters did not confide in

Bess the alarming fact that he had seen horses and smoke less
than a mile up one of the intersecting canyons. He did not talk

at all. And long after he had passed this canyon and felt secure
once more in the certainty that they had been unobserved he never

relaxed his watchfulness. But he did not walk any more, and he
kept the burros at a steady trot. Night fell before they reached

the last water in the Pass and they made camp by starlight.
Venters did not want the burros to stray, so he tied them with

long halters in the grass near the spring. Bess, tired out and
silent, laid her head in a saddle and went to sleep between the

two dogs. Venters did not close his eyes. The canyon silence
appeared full of the low, continuous hum of insects. He listened

until the hum grew into a roar, and then, breaking the spell,
once more he heard it low and clear. He watched the stars and the

moving shadows, and always his glance returned to the girl's
dimly pale face. And he remembered how white and still it had

once looked in the starlight. And again stern thought fought his
strange fancies. Would all his labor and his love be for naught?

Would he lose her, after all? What did the dark shadow around her
portend? Did calamity lurk on that long upland trail through the

sage? Why should his heart swell and throb with nameless fear? He
listened to the silence and told himself that in the broad light

of day he could dispel this leaden-weighted dread.
At the first hint of gray over the eastern rim he awoke Bess,

saddled the burros, and began the day's travel. He wanted to get