"When you told me last night . . . when you put your rope around me and
said that I might fall half a dozen feet. . . ."
"Had we fallen it would have been a hundred feet, many a time," he said
quietly. "But I knew we wouldn't fall. And," looking into her face
with an expression in his eyes which the shadows hid, "I shouldn't have
sought to minimize the danger to you had I known you as well as I think
I know you now."
"Thank you," she said lightly. But she was conscious of a warm
pleasurable glow throughout her entire being. It was good to live life
in the open, it was good to stand upon the cliff tops with a man like
Roderick Norton, it was good to have such a man speak thus.
Five minutes later they were making their way down the cliffs toward
the horses.
CHAPTER IX
YOUNG PAGE COMES TO TOWN
Here and there throughout the great stretches of the sun-smitten
southwest are spots which still remain practically unknown, wherein men
come seldom or not at all, where no man cares to tarry. Barren
mountains that are blistering hot, sucked dry long ago of their last
vestige of moisture; endless drifts of sand where the silent animal
life is scanty, where fanged cactus and stubborn mesquite fight their
eternal battles for life; mesas and lomas little known, shunned by
humanity.
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