d listen while you talk."

She made herself as comfortable as she could, drew her camera from its
case, and waited a patient quarter of an hour.

"I call upon you to give yourself up!" he shouted. "Stop, Red, or I
shoot this time!"

THE SHORT CUT

CHAPTER I

THE TRAGEDY

Here was a small stream of water, bright, clear and cool, running its
merry way among the tall pines, hurrying to the dense shade of the
lower valley. The grass on its banks stood tall, lush and faintly
odorous, fresh with the newly come springtime, delicately scented with
the thickly strewn field flowers. The sunlight lay bright and warm
over all; the sky was blue with a depth of colour intensified by the
few great white clouds drifting lazily across it.

No moving thing within all the wide rolling landscape save the
sun-flecked water, the softly stirring grass and rustling forests, the
almost motionless white clouds. For two miles the hills billowed away
gently to the northward, where at last they were swept up into the
thickly timbered, crag-crested mountains. For twice two miles toward
the west one might guess the course of the stream before here, too, the
mountains shut in, leaving only Echo Canon's narrow gap for the cool
water to slip through. To the south and to the east ridges and hollows
and mountains, and beyond a few fast melting patches of last winter's
snow clinging to the lofty summits, looking like fragments broken away
from the big white clouds and resting for a moment on the line where
land and sky met.

The stillness was too perfect to remain long unbroken. From a trail
leading down into the valley from the east a shepherd dog, running
eagerly, broke through the waving grass, paused a second looking back
expectantly, sniffed and ran on. Then a sound from over the ridge
through the trees, the sound of singing, a young voice lilting
wordlessly in enraptured gladness that life was so bright this morning.
And presently a horse, a dark bay saddle pony moving as lazily as the
clouds above, brought its rider down to the stream.

Surely the rider was just what the owner of the voice, half laughing,
half crooning, tenderly lilting, must be. It seemed that only since
the dawn of today had she become a woman having been a child until the
dusk of yesterday. The wide grey eyes, looking out upon a gentle
aspect of life, were inclined to be merry and musing at the same time,
soft with maidenhood's day dreaming, tender w