THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
began moving cautiously down the clearing, keeping close under the windows as she had when they had passed the hotel. Past the door, and past the corner of the house, and to the farther edge of the clearing. Here she turned, smiled, and touched Carron with propitiatory fingers. "He isn't there," she whispered. "He is in town for the night. I arranged it," and, without waiting for further explanation, stepped over a low ledge of rock as sharp as the edge of a table.
From here an empty, almost barren, stretch of hillside, scattered stones and wider scattered pines, extended downward to a solid mass of trees. Beyond these the dark heads of the Sugar Loafs stood against a bright sky. There was no time for amazement, scarcely time to think how to find footing, if he were to keep up with her. She kept a good three yards in front, stopping now and then to scan what lay below, but seeming never at a loss. She was aiming, it appeared, for the formidable black encampment in the cañon, and aiming for one spot in its impregnable front. It was austere and large enough to awe even a woodsman's eye, seeing it for the first time, but the girl approached it with the assurance of one treading known ground. She did not hesitate even when she stood on the verge of it. No break in the trees was visible, from beneath their
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