of the river--and you, too," she
addressed Berrie; but her tone was so conventionally polite that the
ranch-girl, burning with jealous heat, made no reply.

McFarlane led the way to the lake rapidly and in silence. The splendors
of the foliage, subdued by the rains, the grandeur of the peaks, the song
of the glorious stream--all were lost on Berrie, for she now felt herself
to be nothing but a big, clumsy, coarse-handed tomboy. Her worn gloves,
her faded skirt, and her man's shoes had been made hateful to her by that
smug, graceful, play-acting tourist with the cool, keen eyes and smirking
lips. "She pretends to be a kitten; but she isn't; she's a sly grown-up
cat," she bitterly accused, but she could not deny the charm of her
personality.

Wayland was forced to acknowledge that Berrie in this dark mood was not
the delightful companion she had hitherto been. Something sweet and
confiding had gone out of their relationship, and he was too keen-witted
not to know what it was. He estimated precisely the value of the
malicious parting words of Siona Moore. "She's a natural tease, the kind
of woman who loves to torment other and less fortunate women. She cares
nothing for me, of course, it's just her way of paying off old scores. It
would seem that Berrie has not encouraged her advances in times past."

That Berrie was suffering, and that her jealousy touchingly proved the
depth of her love for him, brought no elation, only perplexity. He was
not seeking such devotion. As a companion on the trail she had been a
joy--as a jealous sweetheart she was less admirable. He realized
perfectly that this return journey was of her arrangement, not
McFarlane's, and while he was not resentful of her care, he was in doubt
of the outcome. It hurried him into a further intimacy which might prove
embarrassing.

At the camp by the lake the Supervisor became sharply commanding. "Now
let's throw these packs on lively. It will be slippery on the high trail,
and you'll just naturally have to hit leather hard and keep jouncing if
you reach the wagon-road before dark. But you'll make it."

"Make it!" said Berrie. "Of course we'll make it. Don't you worry about
that for a minute. Once I get out of the green timber the dark won't
worry me. We'll push right through."

In packing the camp stuff on the saddles, Berrie, almost as swift and
powerful as her father, acted with perfect understanding of every task,
and Wayland's admiration of her skill