CHAPTER XV
THE SUPERB MOMENT
FOR a time which he had no way of measuring he knew he was beside himself. He was Carron, perhaps, but he was Carron translated, caught up in the flesh into paradise. Voices from the earth were shouting anxiously, "Look out, look out, he'll get away! That stuff will never stand it!" He laughed at them. It was only canvas—but hadn't Carron set it up there? That was reason enough for its never coming down. He published himself the conqueror of the unconquerable, and, staggering with success, he still remembered to order some of those vague people around him to make sure the gate closing the corral was fast. He had a coil of rope in his hand, ready with the lasso lest there be any danger of escape. Himself with the others made sure of the barrier by light of lanterns and the clouded moon. His heart was going a hundred to the minute, but his watch measured off the minutes as it had measured them two weeks ago, or an hour ago. The caps of the mountains stood steady, extraordinarily insensible against the sky.
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