ses undulated under
a sleek coating of moisture. Back of the train, the horsemen rode,
heads lowered against the vicious slant, shadowy forms like drooping,
dispirited ghosts. The road wound into a gorge where the walls rose
straight, the black and silver of the river curbed between them in
glossy outspreadings and crisp, bubbling flashes. The place was full
of echoes, held there and buffeted from wall to wall as if flying back
and forth in a distracted effort to escape.

David was driving in the lead, Susan under cover beside him. The
morning's work had exhausted him and he felt ill, so she had promised
to stay with him. She sat close at his back, a blanket drawn over her
knees against the intruding wet, peering out at the darkling cleft.
The wagon, creaking like a ship at sea, threw her this way and that.
Once, as she struck against him he heard her low laugh at his ear.

"It's like a little earthquake," she said, steadying herself with a
grab at his coat.

"There must have been a big earthquake here once," he answered. "Look
at the rocks. They've been split as if a great force came up from
underneath and burst them open."

She craned her head forward to see and he looked back at her. Her face
was close to his shoulder, glowing with the dampness. It shone against
the shadowed interior rosily fresh as a child's. Her eyes, clear black
and white, were the one sharp note in its downy softness. He could see
the clean upspringing of her dark lashes, the little whisps of hair
against her temple and ear. He could not look away from her. The
grinding and slipping of the horses' hoofs did not reach his senses,
held captive in a passionate observation.

"You don't curl your hair any more?" he said, and the intimacy of this
personal query added to his entrancement.

She glanced quickly at him and broke into shamefaced laughter. A
sudden lurch threw her against him and she clutched his arm.

"Oh, David," she said, gurgling at the memory. "Did _you_ know that?
I curled it for three nights on bits of paper that I tore out of the
back of father's diary. And now I don't care what it looks like. See
how I've changed!"

And she leaned against him, holding the arm and laughing at her past
frivolity. His eyes slid back to the horses, but he did not see them.
With a slight, listening smile he gave himself up to the intoxication
of the moment, feeling the pressure of her body soft against his arm.

The reins whi