ce. That implies war and
we haven't fought. It's not armed neutrality; it's not even watchful
waiting. It's my friend, Linda Strong. Me for her and her for me, if you
say so."

He reached out his hand. Linda laid hers in it, and looking into his
eyes, she said: "That is a compact. We'll test this friendship business
and see what there is to it. Now come on; let's run for the canyon."

It was only a short time until the Bear Cat followed its trail of the
previous Saturday, and, rushing across the stream, stopped at its former
resting place, while Linda and Donald sat looking at the sheer-walled
little room before them.

"I can see," said Linda, "a stronger tinge in the green. There are more
flowers in the carpet. There is more melody in the birds' song. We are
going to have a better time than we had last Saturday. First let's fix
up our old furnace, because we must have a fire today."

So they left the car, and under Linda's direction they reconstructed
the old fireplace at which the girl and her father had cooked when
botanizing in Multiflores. In a corner secluded from wind, using the
wall of the canyon for a back wall, big boulders the right distance
apart on each side, and small stones for chinking, Linda superintended
the rebuilding of the fireplace.

She unpacked the lunch box, set the table, and when she had everything
in readiness she covered the table, and taking a package, she carried it
on a couple of aluminium pie pans to where her fire was burning crisply.
With a small field axe she chopped a couple of small green branches,
pointed them to her liking, and peeled them. Then she made a poker from
one of the saplings they had used to move the rocks, and beat down her
fire until she had a bright bed of deep coals. When these were arranged
exactly to her satisfaction, she pulled some sprays of deer weed
bloom from her bundle and, going down to the creek, made a lather and
carefully washed her hands, tucking the towel she used in drying them
through her belt. Then she came back to the fire and, sitting down
beside it, opened the package and began her operations. On the long,
slender sticks she strung a piece of tenderloin beef, about three inches
in circumference and one fourth of an inch in thickness, then half a
slice of bacon, and then a slice of onion. This she repeated until her
skewer would bear no more weight. Then she laid it across the rocks
walling her fire, occasionally turning it while she filled