The Bear Paws
stood behind her; nearer they were--so near they lost the glamour of
mysterious blue shadows, and became merely a sprawling group of huge,
pine-covered hills, with ranches dotted here and there in sheltered
places, with squares of fresh, dark green that spoke of growing crops.
Ten days, and the metropolitan East had faded and become as hazy and
vague as the Highwoods. Ten days, and the witchery of the West leaped in
her blood and held her fast in its thralldom.
A sound of scrambling behind her was immediately followed by a
smothered epithet. Beatrice turned in time to see Sir Redmond pick
himself up.
"These grass slopes are confounded slippery, don't you know," he
explained apologetically. "How did you manage that climb?"
"I didn't." Beatrice smiled. "I came around the end, where the ascent is
gradual; there's a good path."
"Oh!" Sir Redmond sat down upon a rock and puffed. "I saw you up
here--and a fellow doesn't think about taking a roundabout course to
reach his heart's--"
"Isn't it lovely?" Beatrice made haste to inquire.
"Lovely isn't half expressive enough," he told her. "You look--"
"The river is so very blue and dignified. I've been wondering if it has
forgotten how it must have danced through those hills, away off there.
When it gets down to the cities--this blue water--it will be muddy and
nasty looking.
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