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Not until Joanne had disappeared into the house with Peggy Blackton did Aldous feel that he had descended firmly upon his feet once more into a matter-of-fact world.
"It's a splendid idea!" He set at once about unpacking the horses, and Joanne followed close at his side to help him. MacDonald mounted his horse and rode at a trot in the direction of the break in the mountain.
The moon rose until it was straight overhead, flooding the valley in a golden splendour that he wished Joanne might have seen. Then it began sinking into the west; slowly at first, and then more swiftly, its radiance diminished. He looked at his watch before the yellow orb effaced itself behind the towering peak of a distant mountain. It was a quarter of two.
For the world trusts us with power, and the world is right. They trust us to be fair, and restrained. They trust us to be on the side of decency. They trust us to do what's right. I use those words advisedly. A few days after the war began, I received a telegram from Joanne Speicher, the wife of the first pilot killed in the gulf, Lieutenant Commander Scott Speicher.
"I'm just getting ready to give 'im the proper sort of a handshake if he should happen to come this way, Joanne. You know a grizzly ain't pertic'lar afraid of anything on earth as I know of, an' they're worse 'n a dynamite explosion when they come head-on. There he's goin' over the slope!" "Got our wind," said Aldous. They went on, a colour in Joanne's face like the vivid sunset.
She had drawn one of his hands into her lap and was fondling it with her own soft palm and fingers. "Of course, you must, John. I love old Donald." "And I must go soon," he added. "It is only fair to him that you should," she agreed. "He he is determined we shall go in the morning," he finished, keeping his eyes from her. For a moment Joanne did not answer.
Neither Joanne nor Aldous asked the question that was in their hearts. But even in the darkness they felt something. It was as if not only the torrent rushing through the chasm, but MacDonald's heart as well, was charging the air with a strange and subdued excitement. And when MacDonald spoke, that which they had felt was in his voice. "You ain't seen or heard anything, Johnny?" "Nothing.
For three minutes the frightful convulsions continued, and the tongues of flame leaped into the night. Then the lurid lights died out, shorter and shorter grew the sullen flashes, and then again fell silence! During those appalling moments, unconscious of the act, Joanne had shrank close to Aldous, so that he felt the soft crush of her hair and the swift movement of her bosom.
He ran with the quickness of a hare around the end of the cabin, past the window, and then stopped to listen, his automatic in his hand, his eye piercing the gloom for some moving shadow. He had not counted on an instant's hesitation. He would shoot Quade, for he knew why the mottled beast had been at the window. Stevens' boy had been right. Quade was after Joanne.
"Did Quade get me with the knife?" he asked. "No, no." "Am I shot?" "No, dear." "Any bones broken?" "Donald says not." "Then please give me my pipe, Joanne and let me get up. Why do you want me to lie here when I'm strong like an ox, as Donald says?" Joanne laughed happily. "You are getting better every minute," she cried joyously. "But you were terribly beaten by the rocks, John.
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