The country was strange to
her, but she knew that they were making their way, far above the canyon
rim, on the side of the San Bernardino range, toward the distant Cold
Water country that opened into the great desert beyond.
As the light grew stronger, Sibyl saw her companion a man of medium
height, with powerful shoulders and arms; dressed in khaki, with mountain
boots. Under his arm, as he led the way with a powerful stride that told
of almost tireless strength, the girl saw the familiar stock of a
Winchester rifle. Presently he halted, and as he turned, she saw his face.
It was not a bad face. A heavy beard hid mouth and cheek and throat, but
the nose was not coarse or brutal, and the brow was broad and intelligent.
In the brown eyes there was, the girl thought, a look of wistful sadness,
as though there were memories that could not be escaped.
"We will have breakfast here, if you please, Miss Andres," he said
gravely.
"I'm so hungry," she answered, dismounting. "May I make the coffee?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry; but there must be no telltale smoke. The
Ranger and his riders are out by now, as like as not."
"You seem very familiar with the country," she said, moving easily toward
the rifle which he had leaned against a tree, while he busied himself with
the pack of supplies.
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