ther wild
plums and great lavender lilies, and going on at the will of fancy. Idle
and keen perceptions guided them equally.

"Oh, let us climb there!" cried Bess, pointing upward to a small space
of terrace left green and shady between huge abutments of broken cliff.
And they climbed to the nook and rested and looked out across the valley
to the curling column of blue smoke from their campfire. But the cool
shade and the rich grass and the fine view were not what they had
climbed for. They could not have told, although whatever had drawn
them was well-satisfying. Light, sure-footed as a mountain goat, Bess
pattered down at Venters's heels; and they went on, calling the dogs,
eyes dreamy and wide, listening to the wind and the bees and the
crickets and the birds.

Part of the time Ring and Whitie led the way, then Venters, then Bess;
and the direction was not an object. They left the sun-streaked shade of
the oaks, brushed the long grass of the meadows, entered the green
and fragrant swaying willows, to stop, at length, under the huge old
cottonwoods where the beavers were busy.

Here they rested and watched. A dam of brush and logs and mud and stones
backed the stream into a little lake. The round, rough beaver houses
projected from the water. Like the rabbits, the beavers had become shy.
Gradually, however, as Venters and Bess knelt low, holding the dogs, the
beavers emerged to swim with logs and gnaw at cottonwoods and pat mud
walls with their paddle-like tails, and, glossy and shiny in the sun, to
go on with their strange, persistent industry. They were the builders.
The lake was a mud-hole, and the immediate environment a scarred and
dead region, but it was a wonderful home of wonderful animals.

"Look at that one--he puddles in the mud," said Bess. "And there! See
him dive! Hear them gnawing! I'd think they'd break their teeth. How's
it they can stay out of the water and under the water?"

And she laughed.

Then Venters and Bess wandered farther, and, perhaps not all
unconsciously this time, wended their slow steps to the cave of the
cliff-dwellers, where she liked best to go.

The tangled thicket and the long slant of dust and little chips of
weathered rock and the steep bench of stone and the worn steps all
were arduous work for Bess in the climbing. But she gained the shelf,
gasping, hot of cheek, glad of eye, with her hand in Venters's. Here
they rested. The beautiful valley glittered below with its mi