the porch
and turned he was able to see under the hood. The face there was in
shadow, and for that very reason he answered to ungovernable impulse and
took a step closer to her. Dark, grave, sad eyes looked down at him, and
he felt as if he could never draw his own glance away. He seemed not
to see the rest of her face, and yet felt that it was lovely. Then a
downward movement of the hood hid from him the strange eyes and the
shadowy loveliness.

"I--I beg your pardon," he said, quickly, drawing back. "I'm rude. ...
Withers told me about a girl he called--he said looked like a sago-lily.
That's no excuse to stare under your hood. But I--I was curious. I
wondered if--"

He hesitated, realizing how foolish his talk was. She stood a moment,
probably watching him, but he could not be sure, for her face was
hidden.

"They call me that," she said. "But my name is Mary."

"Mary--what?" he asked.

"Just Mary," she said, simply. "Good night."

He did not say good night and could not have told why. She took up the
bucket and went into the dark house. Shefford hurried away into the
gathering darkness.

VI. IN THE HIDDEN VALLEY

Shefford had hardly seen her face, yet he was more interested in a woman
than he had ever been before. Still, he reflected, as he returned to
camp, he had been under a long strain, he was unduly excited by this new
and adventurous life, and these, with the mystery of this village, were
perhaps accountable for a state of mind that could not last.

He rolled in his blankets on the soft bed of moss and he saw the stars
through the needle-like fringe of the pinyons. It seemed impossible
to fall asleep. The two domed peaks split the sky, and back of them,
looming dark and shadowy, rose the mountain. There was something cold,
austere, and majestic in their lofty presence, and they made him feel
alone, yet not alone. He raised himself to see the quiet forms of
Withers and Nas Ta Bega prone in the starlight, and their slow, deep
breathing was that of tired men. A bell on a mustang rang somewhere off
in the valley and gave out a low, strange, reverberating echo from
wall to wall. When it ceased a silence set in that was deader than
any silence he had ever felt, but gradually he became aware of the low
murmur of the brook. For the rest there was no sound of wind, no bark of
dog or yelp of coyote, no sound of voice in the village.

He tried to sleep, but instead thought of this girl who was calle