ThatwasthefirstthingTheaKronborgfeltabouttheforest，asshedrovethroughitoneMaymorninginHenryBiltmer’sdemocratwagon——anditwasthefirstgreatforestshehadeverseen。ShehadgotoffthetrainatFlag—
　　staffthatmorning，rolledoffintothehigh，chillairwhenallthepinesonthemountainwerefiredbysunrise，sothatsheseemedtofallfromsleepdirectlyintotheforest。
　　OldBiltmerfollowedafaintwagontrailwhichransouth—
　　east，andwhich，astheytraveled，continuallydippedlower，fallingawayfromthehighplateauontheslopeofwhichFlagstaffsits。Thewhitepeakofthemountain，thesnow
　　gorgesabovethetimber，nowdisappearedfromtimetotimeastheroaddroppedanddropped，andtheforestclosedbehindthewagon。Morethanthemountaindisappearedastheforestclosedthus。Theaseemedtobetakingverylittlethroughthewoodwithher。Thepersonalityofwhichshewassotiredseemedtoletgoofher。Thehigh，spark—
　　lingairdrankituplikeblotting—paper。ItwaslostinthethrillingblueofthenewskyandthesongofthethinwindinthePINONS。Theold，frettedlineswhichmarkedoneoff，whichdefinedher，——madeherTheaKronborg，Bowers’saccompanist，asopranowithafaultymiddlevoice，——wereallerased。
　　Sofarshehadfailed。HertwoyearsinChicagohadnotresultedinanything。ShehadfailedwithHarsanyi，andshehadmadenogreatprogresswithhervoice。ShehadcometobelievethatwhateverBowershadtaughtherwasofsecondaryimportance，andthatintheessentialthingsshehadmadenoadvance。Herstudentlifeclosedbehindher，liketheforest，andshedoubtedwhethershecouldgobacktoitifshetried。Probablyshewouldteachmusicinlittlecountrytownsallherlife。Failurewasnotsotragicasshewouldhavesupposed；shewastiredenoughnottocare。
　　Shewasgettingbacktotheearliestsourcesofgladnessthatshecouldremember。Shehadlovedthesun，andthebrilliantsolitudesofsandandsun，longbeforetheseotherthingshadcomealongtofastenthemselvesuponherandtormenther。Thatnight，whensheclamberedintoherbigGermanfeatherbed，shefeltcompletelyreleasedfromtheenslavingdesiretogetonintheworld。Darknesshadonceagainthesweetwonderthatithadinchildhood。
　　II
　　THEA’SlifeattheOttenburgranchwassimpleandfulloflight，likethedaysthemselves。Sheawokeeverymorningwhenthefirstfierceshaftsofsunlightdartedthroughthecurtainlesswindowsofherroomattheranchhouse。Afterbreakfastshetookherlunch—basketandwentdowntothecanyon。Usuallyshedidnotreturnuntilsunset。
　　PantherCanyonwaslikeathousandothers——oneofthoseabruptfissureswithwhichtheearthintheSouthwestisriddled；soabruptthatyoumightwalkovertheedgeofanyoneofthemonadarknightandneverknowwhathadhappenedtoyou。ThiscanyonheadedontheOttenburgranch，aboutamilefromtheranchhouse，anditwasacces—
　　sibleonlyatitshead。Thecanyonwalls，forthefirsttwohundredfeetbelowthesurface，wereperpendicularcliffs，stripedwitheven—runningstrataofrock。Fromthereontothebottomthesideswerelessabrupt，wereshelving，andlightlyfringedwithPINONSanddwarfcedars。Theeffectwasthatofagentlercanyonwithinawilderone。
　　ThedeadcitylayatthepointwheretheperpendicularouterwallceasedandtheV—shapedinnergorgebegan。
　　Thereastratumofrock，softerthanthoseabove，hadbeenhollowedoutbytheactionoftimeuntilitwaslikeadeepgrooverunningalongthesidesofthecanyon。Inthishollow（likeagreatfoldintherock）theAncientPeoplehadbuilttheirhousesofyellowishstoneandmor—
　　tar。Theover—hangingcliffabovemadearooftwohun—
　　dredfeetthick。Thehardstratumbelowwasanever—
　　lastingfloor。Thehousesstoodalonginarow，likethebuildingsinacityblock，orlikeabarracks。
　　Inbothwallsofthecanyonthesamestreakofsoftrock
　　hadbeenwashedout，andthelonghorizontalgroovehadbeenbuiltupwithhouses。Thedeadcityhadthustwostreets，onesetineithercliff，facingeachotheracrosstheravine，withariverofblueairbetweenthem。
　　Thecanyontwistedandwoundlikeasnake，andthesetwostreetswentonforfourmilesormore，interruptedbytheabruptturningsofthegorge，butbeginningagainwithineachturn。Thecanyonhadadozenofthesefalseendingsnearitshead。Beyond，thewindingswerelargerandlessperceptible，anditwentonforahundredmiles，toonarrow，precipitous，andterribleformantofollowit。
　　TheCliffDwellerslikedwidecanyons，wherethegreatcliffscaughtthesun。PantherCanyonhadbeendesertedforhundredsofyearswhenthefirstSpanishmissionariescameintoArizona，butthemasonryofthehouseswasstillwonderfullyfirm；hadcrumbledonlywherealandslideorarollingboulderhadtornit。
　　Allthehousesinthecanyonwerecleanwiththeclean—
　　nessofsun—baked，wind—sweptplaces，andtheyallsmelledofthetoughlittlecedarsthattwistedthemselvesintotheverydoorways。Oneoftheserock—roomsTheatookforherown。Fredhadtoldherhowtomakeitcomfortable。ThedayaftershecameoldHenrybroughtoverononeofthepack—poniesarollofNavajoblanketsthatbelongedtoFred，andThealinedhercavewiththem。Theroomwasnotmorethaneightbytenfeet，andshecouldtouchthestoneroofwithherfinger—tips。Thiswasheroldidea：anestinahighcliff，fullofsun。Allmorninglongthesunbeatuponhercliff，whiletheruinsontheoppositesideofthecanyonwereinshadow。Intheafternoon，whenshehadtheshadeoftwohundredfeetofrockwall，theruinsontheothersideofthegulfstoodoutintheblazingsun—
　　light。Beforeherdoorranthenarrow，windingpaththathadbeenthestreetoftheAncientPeople。Theyuccaandniggerheadcactusgreweverywhere。Fromherdoorstepshelookedoutontheocher—coloredslopethatrandown
　　severalhundredfeettothestream，andthishotrockwassparselygrownwithdwarftrees。Theircolorsweresopalethattheshadowsofthelittletreesontherockstoodoutsharperthanthetreesthemselves。WhenTheafirstcame，thechokecherrybusheswereinblossom，andthescentofthemwasalmostsickeninglysweetafterashower。Attheverybottomofthecanyon，alongthestream，therewasathreadofbright，flickering，golden—green，——cottonwoodseedlings。Theymadealiving，chatteringscreenbehindwhichshetookherbatheverymorning。
　　TheawentdowntothestreambytheIndianwatertrail。Shehadfoundabathing—poolwithasandbottom，wherethecreekwasdamnedbyfallentrees。Theclimbbackwaslongandsteep，andwhenshereachedherlittlehouseinthecliffshealwaysfeltfreshdelightinitscom—
　　fortandinaccessibility。Bythetimeshegotthere，thewoollyred—and—grayblanketsweresaturatedwithsun—
　　light，andshesometimesfellasleepassoonasshestretchedherbodyontheirwarmsurfaces。Sheusedtowonderatherowninactivity。Shecouldlietherehourafterhourinthesunandlistentothestridentwhirofthebiglocusts，andtothelight，ironicallaughterofthequakingasps。Allherlifeshehadbeenhurryingandsputtering，asifshehadbeenbornbehindtimeandhadbeentryingtocatchup。Now，shereflected，asshedrewherselfoutlongupontherugs，itwasasifshewerewaitingforsomethingtocatchupwithher。Shehadgottoaplacewhereshewasoutofthestreamofmeaninglessactivityandundirectedeffort。
　　Hereshecouldlieforhalfadayundistracted，holdingpleasantandincompleteconceptionsinhermind——almostinherhands。Theywerescarcelyclearenoughtobecalledideas。Theyhadsomethingtodowithfragranceandcolorandsound，butalmostnothingtodowithwords。Shewassingingverylittlenow，butasongwouldgothroughherheadallmorning，asaspringkeepswellingup，anditwas
　　likeapleasantsensationindefinitelyprolonged。Itwasmuchmorelikeasensationthanlikeanidea，oranactofremembering。Musichadnevercometoherinthatsensu—
　　ousformbefore。Ithadalwaysbeenathingtobestruggledwith，hadalwaysbroughtanxietyandexaltationandcha—
　　grin——nevercontentandindolence。Theabegantowon—
　　derwhetherpeoplecouldnotutterlylosethepowertowork，astheycanlosetheirvoiceortheirmemory。Shehadalwaysbeenalittledrudge，hurryingfromonetasktoanother——asifitmattered！Andnowherpowertothinkseemedconvertedintoapowerofsustainedsensation。Shecouldbecomeamerereceptacleforheat，orbecomeacolor，likethebrightlizardsthatdartedaboutonthehotstonesoutsideherdoor；orshecouldbecomeacontinuousrepeti—
　　tionofsound，likethecicadas。
　　III
　　THEfacultyofobservationwasneverhighlydevelopedinTheaKronborg。Agreatdealescapedhereyeasshepassedthroughtheworld。Butthethingswhichwereforher，shesaw；sheexperiencedthemphysicallyandre—
　　memberedthemasiftheyhadoncebeenapartofherself。
　　Therosessheusedtoseeintheflorists’shopsinChicagoweremerelyroses。Butwhenshethoughtofthemoon—
　　flowersthatgrewoverMrs。Tellamantez’sdoor，itwasasifshehadbeenthatvineandhadopenedupinwhiteflow—
　　erseverynight。Therewerememoriesoflightonthesandhills，ofmassesofprickly—pearblossomsshehadfoundinthedesertinearlychildhood，ofthelateafternoonsunpour—
　　ingthroughthegrapeleavesandthemintbedinMrs。
　　Kohler’sgarden，whichshewouldneverlose。Theserecol—
　　lectionswereapartofhermindandpersonality。InChicagoshehadgotalmostnothingthatwentintohersubconsciousselfandtookrootthere。Buthere，inPantherCanyon，therewereagainthingswhichseemeddestinedforher。
　　PantherCanyonwasthehomeofinnumerableswallows。
　　TheybuiltnestsinthewallfarabovethehollowgrooveinwhichThea’sownrockchamberlay。Theyseldomven—
　　turedabovetherimofthecanyon，totheflat，wind—swepttableland。Theirworldwastheblueair—riverbetweenthecanyonwalls。Inthatbluegulfthearrow—shapedbirdsswamalldaylong，withonlyanoccasionalmovementofthewings。Theonlysadthingaboutthemwastheirtim—
　　idity；thewayinwhichtheylivedtheirlivesbetweentheechoingcliffsandneverdaredtoriseoutoftheshadowofthecanyonwalls。Astheyswampastherdoor，Theaoftenfelthoweasyitwouldbetodreamone’slifeoutinsomecleftintheworld。
　　Fromtheancientdwellingtherecamealwaysadignified，unobtrusivesadness；nowstronger，nowfainter，——likethearomaticsmellwhichthedwarfcedarsgaveoutinthesun，——butalwayspresent，apartoftheaironebreathed。
　　Atnight，whenTheadreamedaboutthecanyon，——orintheearlymorningwhenshehurriedtowardit，anticipatingit，——herconceptionofitwasofyellowrocksbakinginsunlight，theswallows，thecedarsmell，andthatpeculiarsadness——avoiceoutofthepast，notveryloud，thatwentonsayingafewsimplethingstothesolitudeeternally。
　　Standingupinherlodge，Theacouldwithherthumbnaildislodgeflakesofcarbonfromtherockroof——thecooking—smokeoftheAncientPeople。Theywerethatnear！Atimid，nest—buildingfolk，liketheswallows。HowoftenThearememberedRayKennedy’smoralizingaboutthecliffcities。Heusedtosaythatheneverfeltthehard—
　　nessofthehumanstruggleorthesadnessofhistoryashefeltitamongthoseruins。Heusedtosay，too，thatitmadeonefeelanobligationtodoone’sbest。OnthefirstdaythatTheaclimbedthewatertrailshebegantohaveintui—
　　tionsaboutthewomenwhohadwornthepath，andwhohadspentsogreatapartoftheirlivesgoingupanddownit。Shefoundherselftryingtowalkastheymusthavewalked，withafeelinginherfeetandkneesandloinswhichshehadneverknownbefore，——whichmusthavecomeuptoheroutoftheaccustomeddustofthatrockytrail。ShecouldfeeltheweightofanIndianbabyhangingtoherbackassheclimbed。
　　Theemptyhouses，amongwhichshewanderedintheafternoon，theblanketedoneinwhichshelayallmorning，werehauntedbycertainfearsanddesires；feelingsaboutwarmthandcoldandwaterandphysicalstrength。ItseemedtoTheathatacertainunderstandingofthoseoldpeoplecameuptoheroutoftherockshelfonwhichshelay；thatcertainfeelingsweretransmittedtoher，suggestionsthatweresimple，insistent，andmonotonous，
　　likethebeatingofIndiandrums。Theywerenotexpressi—
　　bleinwords，butseemedrathertotranslatethemselvesintoattitudesofbody，intodegreesofmusculartensionorrelaxation；thenakedstrengthofyouth，sharpasthesun—
　　shafts；thecrouchingtimorousnessofage，thesullennessofwomenwhowaitedfortheircaptors。Atthefirstturningofthecanyontherewasahalf—ruinedtowerofyellowmasonry，awatch—toweruponwhichtheyoungmenusedtoenticeeaglesandsnarethemwithnets。SometimesforawholemorningTheacouldseethecopperybreastandshouldersofanIndianyouththereagainstthesky；
　　seehimthrowthenet，andwatchthestrugglewiththeeagle。
　　OldHenryBiltmer，attheranch，hadbeenagreatdealamongthePuebloIndianswhoarethedescendantsoftheCliff—Dwellers。AftersupperheusedtositandsmokehispipebythekitchenstoveandtalktoTheaaboutthem。
　　Hehadneverfoundanyonebeforewhowasinterestedinhisruins。EverySundaytheoldmanprowledaboutinthecanyon，andhehadcometoknowagooddealmoreaboutitthanhecouldaccountfor。HehadgatheredupawholechestfulofCliff—DwellerrelicswhichhemeanttotakebacktoGermanywithhimsomeday。HetaughtTheahowtofindthingsamongtheruins：grinding—stones，anddrillsandneedlesmadeofturkey—bones。Therewerefrag—
　　mentsofpotteryeverywhere。OldHenryexplainedtoherthattheAncientPeoplehaddevelopedmasonryandpot—
　　teryfarbeyondanyothercrafts。Aftertheyhadmadehousesforthemselves，thenextthingwastohousethepreciouswater。Heexplainedtoherhowalltheircustomsandceremoniesandtheirreligionwentbacktowater。Themenprovidedthefood，butwaterwasthecareofthewo—
　　men。Thestupidwomencarriedwaterformostoftheirlives；theclevereronesmadethevesselstoholdit。Theirpotterywastheirmostdirectappealtowater，theenvelopeandsheathofthepreciouselementitself。Thestrongest
　　Indianneedwasexpressedinthosegracefuljars，fashionedslowlybyhand，withouttheaidofawheel。
　　WhenTheatookherbathatthebottomofthecanyon，inthesunnypoolbehindthescreenofcottonwoods，shesometimesfeltasifthewatermusthavesovereignquali—
　　ties，fromhavingbeentheobjectofsomuchserviceanddesire。Thatstreamwastheonlylivingthingleftofthedramathathadbeenplayedoutinthecanyoncenturiesago。Intherapid，restlessheartofit，flowingswifterthantherest，therewasacontinuityoflifethatreachedbackintotheoldtime。Theglitteringthreadofcurrenthadakindoflightlyworn，looselyknitpersonality，gracefulandlaughing。Thea’sbathcametohaveaceremonialgravity。
　　Theatmosphereofthecanyonwasritualistic。
　　Onemorning，asshewasstandinguprightinthepool，splashingwaterbetweenhershoulder—bladeswithabigsponge，somethingflashedthroughhermindthatmadeherdrawherselfupandstandstilluntilthewaterhadquitedrieduponherflushedskin。Thestreamandthebrokenpottery：whatwasanyartbutanefforttomakeasheath，amouldinwhichtoimprisonforamomenttheshining，elusiveelementwhichislifeitself，——lifehurryingpastusandrunningaway，toostrongtostop，toosweettolose？TheIndianwomenhadhelditintheirjars。InthesculptureshehadseenintheArtInstitute，ithadbeencaughtinaflashofarrestedmotion。Insinging，onemadeavesselofone’sthroatandnostrilsandhelditonone’sbreath，caughtthestreaminascaleofnaturalintervals。
　　IV
　　THEAhadasuperstitiousfeelingaboutthepotsherds，andlikedbettertoleavetheminthedwellingswhereshefoundthem。Ifshetookafewbitsbacktoherownlodgeandhidthemundertheblankets，shediditguiltily，asifshewerebeingwatched。Shewasaguestinthesehouses，andoughttobehaveassuch。Nearlyeveryafternoonshewenttothechamberswhichcontainedthemostinterestingfragmentsofpottery，satandlookedatthemforawhile。Someofthemwerebeautifullydeco—
　　rated。Thiscare，expendeduponvesselsthatcouldnotholdfoodorwateranybetterfortheadditionallaborputuponthem，madeherheartgoouttothoseancientpotters。Theyhadnotonlyexpressedtheirdesire，buttheyhadexpresseditasbeautifullyastheycould。Food，fire，water，andsomethingelse——evenhere，inthiscrackintheworld，sofarbackinthenightofthepast！Downhereatthebeginningthatpainfulthingwasalreadystirring；theseedofsorrow，andofsomuchdelight。
　　Therewerejarsdoneinadelicateoverlay，likepinecones；andthereweremanypatternsinalowrelief，likebasket—work。Someofthepotterywasdecoratedincolor，redandbrown，blackandwhite，ingracefulgeo—
　　metricalpatterns。Oneday，onafragmentofashallowbowl，shefoundacrestedserpent’shead，paintedinredonterra—cotta。Againshefoundhalfabowlwithabroadbandofwhitecliff—housespaintedonablackground。
　　Theywerescarcelyconventionalizedatall；theretheywereintheblackborder，justastheystoodintherockbeforeher。Itbroughthercenturiesnearertothesepeo—
　　pletofindthattheysawtheirhousesexactlyasshesawthem。
　　Yes，RayKennedywasright。Allthesethingsmadeonefeelthatoneoughttodoone’sbest，andhelptofulfillsomedesireofthedustthatsleptthere。Adreamhadbeendreamedtherelongago，inthenightofages，andthewindhadwhisperedsomepromisetothesadnessofthesavage。
　　Intheirownway，thosepeoplehadfeltthebeginningsofwhatwastocome。Thesepotsherdswerelikefettersthatboundonetoalongchainofhumanendeavor。
　　NotonlydidtheworldseemolderandrichertoTheanow，butsheherselfseemedolder。Shehadneverbeenaloneforsolongbefore，orthoughtsomuch。Nothinghadeverengrossedhersodeeplyasthedailycontemplationofthatlineofpale—yellowhousestuckedintothewrinkleofthecliff。MoonstoneandChicagohadbecomevague。Hereeverythingwassimpleanddefinite，asthingshadbeeninchildhood。Hermindwaslikearagbagintowhichshehadbeenfranticallythrustingwhatevershecouldgrab。Andhereshemustthrowthislumberaway。Thethingsthatwerereallyhersseparatedthemselvesfromtherest。Herideasweresimplified，becamesharperandclearer。Shefeltunitedandstrong。
　　WhenTheahadbeenattheOttenburgranchfortwomonths，shegotaletterfromFredannouncingthathe"mightbealongatalmostanytimenow。"Thelettercameatnight，andthenextmorningshetookitdownintothecanyonwithher。Shewasdelightedthathewascomingsoon。Shehadneverfeltsogratefultoanyone，andshewantedtotellhimeverythingthathadhappenedtohersinceshehadbeenthere——morethanhadhappenedinallherlifebefore。CertainlyshelikedFredbetterthananyoneelseintheworld。TherewasHarsanyi，ofcourse——butHarsanyiwasalwaystired。Justnow，andhere，shewantedsomeonewhohadneverbeentired，whocouldcatchanideaandrunwithit。
　　Shewasashamedtothinkwhatanapprehensivedrudge
　　shemustalwayshaveseemedtoFred，andshewonderedwhyhehadconcernedhimselfaboutheratall。Perhapsshewouldneverbesohappyorsogood—lookingagain，andshewouldlikeFredtoseeher，foronce，atherbest。
　　Shehadnotbeensingingmuch，butsheknewthathervoicewasmoreinterestingthanithadeverbeenbefore。
　　Shehadbeguntounderstandthat——withher，atleast——
　　voicewas，firstofall，vitality；alightnessinthebodyandadrivingpowerintheblood。Ifshehadthat，shecouldsing。Whenshefeltsokeenlyalive，lyingonthatinsensi—
　　bleshelfofstone，whenherbodyboundedlikearubberballawayfromitshardness，thenshecouldsing。This，too，shecouldexplaintoFred。Hewouldknowwhatshemeant。
　　Anotherweekpassed。Theadidthesamethingsasbefore，feltthesameinfluences，wentoverthesameideas；
　　buttherewasaliveliermovementinherthoughts，andafresheningofsensation，likethebrightnesswhichcameovertheunderbrushafterashower。Apersistentaffirmation——
　　ordenial——wasgoingoninher，likethetappingofthewoodpeckerintheonetallpinetreeacrossthechasm。
　　Musicalphrasesdroveeachotherrapidlythroughhermind，andthesongofthecicadawasnowtoolongandtoosharp。Everythingseemedsuddenlytotaketheformofadesireforaction。
　　Itwaswhileshewasinthisabstractedstate，waitingfortheclocktostrike，thatTheaatlastmadeuphermindwhatshewasgoingtotrytodointheworld，andthatshewasgoingtoGermanytostudywithoutfurtherlossoftime。
　　OnlybythemerestchancehadsheevergottoPantherCanyon。TherewascertainlynokindlyProvidencethatdirectedone’slife；andone’sparentsdidnotintheleastcarewhatbecameofone，solongasonedidnotmisbehaveandendangertheircomfort。One’slifewasatthemercyofblindchance。Shehadbettertakeitinherownhandsandloseeverythingthanmeeklydrawtheploughundertherodofparentalguidance。Shehadseenitwhenshewasat
　　homelastsummer，——thehostilityofcomfortable，self—
　　satisfiedpeopletowardanyseriouseffort。Eventoherfatheritseemedindecorous。Whenevershespokeseriously，helookedapologetic。YetshehadclungfasttowhateverwasleftofMoonstoneinhermind。Nomoreofthat！TheCliff—Dwellershadlengthenedherpast。Shehadolderandhigherobligations。
　　V
　　ONESundayafternoonlateinJulyoldHenryBiltmerwasrheumaticallydescendingintotheheadofthecanyon。TheSundaybeforehadbeenoneofthosecloudydays——fortunatelyrare——whenthelifegoesoutofthatcountryanditbecomesagrayghost，anempty，shiveringuncertainty。Henryhadspentthedayinthebarn；hiscanyonwasarealityonlywhenitwasfloodedwiththelightofitsgreatlamp，whentheyellowrockscastpurpleshad—
　　ows，andtheresinwasfairlycookinginthecorkscrewcedars。Theyuccaswereinblossomnow。Outofeachclumpofsharpbayonetleavesroseatallstalkhungwithgreenish—whitebellswiththick，fleshypetals。Thenigger—
　　headcactuswasthrustingitscrimsonbloomsupoutofeverycreviceintherocks。
　　Henryhadcomeoutonthepretextofhuntingaspadeandpick—axethatyoungOttenburghadborrowed，buthewaskeepinghiseyesopen。Hewasreallyverycuriousaboutthenewoccupantsofthecanyon，andwhattheyfoundtodotherealldaylong。Helethiseyetravelalongthegulfforamileorsotothefirstturning，wherethefis—
　　surezigzaggedoutandthenrecededbehindastoneprom—
　　ontoryonwhichstoodtheyellowish，crumblingruinoftheoldwatch—tower。
　　Fromthebaseofthistower，whichnowthrewitsshadowforward，bitsofrockkeptflyingoutintotheopengulf——skatingupontheairuntiltheylosttheirmomen—
　　tum，thenfallinglikechipsuntiltheyrangupontheledgesatthebottomofthegorgeorsplashedintothestream。
　　Biltmershadedhiseyeswithhishand。Thereontheprom—
　　ontory，againstthecream—coloredcliff，weretwofiguresnimblymovinginthelight，bothslenderandagile，entirely
　　absorbedintheirgame。Theylookedliketwoboys。Bothwerehatlessandbothworewhiteshirts。
　　Henryforgothispick—axeandfollowedthetrailbeforethecliff—housestowardthetower。Behindthetower，ashewellknew，wereheapsofstones，largeandsmall，piledagainstthefaceofthecliff。HehadalwaysbelievedthattheIndianwatchmenpiledthemthereforammunition。
　　TheaandFredhadcomeuponthesemissilesandwerethrowingthemfordistance。AsBiltmerapproachedhecouldhearthemlaughing，andhecaughtThea’svoice，highandexcited，witharingofvexationinit。Fredwasteachinghertothrowaheavystonelikeadiscus。WhenitwasFred’sturn，hesentatriangular—shapedstoneoutintotheairwithconsiderableskill。Theawatchediten—