In exhaustion the camp lay resting, tents unpitched, the animals nosing
over the grass. David and Daddy John slept a dead sleep rolled in
blankets on the teeming ground. Courant built a fire, called Susan to
it, and bade her dry her wet skirts. He lay near it, not noticing her,
his glance ranging the distance. The line of whitened peaks began to
take on a golden glaze, and the shadows in the hollow mounted till the
camp seemed to be at the bottom of a lake in which a tide of some gray,
transparent essence was rising.
"That's where Lucy's gone," he said suddenly without moving his head.
Susan's eyes followed his.
"Poor Lucy!" she sighed.
"Why is she poor?"
"Why?" indignantly. "What a question!"
"But why do you call her poor? Is it because she has no money?"
"Of course not. Who was thinking of money? I meant she was
unfortunate to run away to such a life with a half-breed."
"She's gone out into the mountains with her lover. I don't call that
unfortunate, and I'll bet you she doesn't. She was brave enough to
take her life when it came. She was a gallant girl, that Lucy.
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