ON the following afternoon Roderick saddled his pony Badger and rode over to the Conchshell ranch. The Holdens received the news of Buell Hampton’s mysterious departure with deep regret; the Major had become very dear to their hearts, how dear they only fully realized now that he was gone.

It was toward evening when Gail proposed that they go riding in the woods. The invitation delighted Roderick, and Fleetfoot and Badger were speedily got ready.

“Let us follow the old timber road to the south,” Roderick suggested. “I want to show you, only a few miles from here, a beautiful lake.”

“I know of no such lake,” she replied.

“Yet it is less than five miles away, and we shall christen it Spirit Lake, if you like the name, for it lies above Spirit Falls.”

“You are dreaming. There is no such lake.”

“I will show it to you. Come along.”

Upward and onward he led her over the range. And when they gained the summit, there at their feet lay the great new lake about which Buell Hampton had told him, fully seven miles long and two miles wide, and not less than six or seven hundred feet deep as Roderick knew, for he had gathered nuggets of gold on the floor of the little canyon now submerged beneath the placid blue waters.

Gail gazed in silent admiration. At last she exclaimed: “Spirit Lake! It is well named. It is more like a dream than reality.”

He helped her from the saddle. They tethered their mounts in western fashion by throwing the reins over the horses’ heads. They were standing under the branches of a big pine, and again they gazed over the waters. At the lower end of the lake was a most wonderful waterfall, dashing sheer down some four hundred feet into Spirit River.

For several minutes they continued to gaze in enraptured silence on the scene of tranquil beauty. Toward the east the forest was darkly purple—to the west, across the waters, the hills were silhouetted in splendid grandeur against a magnificent sunset. The whole range seemed clothed in a robe of finest tapestry. The sun was rapidly approaching the rim of the western horizon.

The afterglow of the red sunset marked paths of rippling gold on the waters. Vague violet shadows of dusk were merging over all. Nature was singing the lyric of its soul into things—crooning lake and mountains and forest-clad slopes to slumber.

It was Gail who at last broke the spell.

“Oh, how beautiful, how supremely beautiful,” she murmured.

“Well, it is the earthquake that has wrought all this wonderful change,” explained Roderick’. “And now, dear Gail, I have a story to tell you.”

And, seating her on the turf by his side, under the big pine, where the waters lapped at their very feet, he proceeded to relate the whole romantic story of his father’s lost find—his own lost claim. By the time the narrative was ended the sun had set behind the hills. Roderick rose, and giving his hands, helped Gail to her feet.

“So all this wonderful treasure of Hidden Valley lies beneath these waters,” she exclaimed.

“Yes, but for me the real treasure is here by my side.”

As he spoke these words his arm stole around her waist. She did not appear to notice his half timid embrace as together they stood viewing the panorama of a dying day. Presently he drew her closer.

“The day and the night blend,” he whispered softly as if fearful of disturbing the picture. “Shall not our lives, sweetheart,” asked Roderick with vibrant voice, “likewise blend forever and forever?”

Gail half turning lifted her slender hands to Roderick’s cheeks and he quickly clasped her tightly in his strong arms and kissed her madly on lips, eyes and silken hair.

“Roderick, my lover—my king,” said Gail through pearly tears of joy.

“My little Gail,” whispered Roderick, exultantly, “my sweetheart—my queen.”

Slowly the light of day vanished. The sounds of night began walking abroad in the world. Dusk wrapped these lovers in its mantle. The day slept and night brooded over forest, lake and hills.

In a little while they lifted the bridle reins of their mounts and turning walked arm in arm down the old timber road toward Conchshell ranch.

They halted in the darkness and Roderick said: “Do you mind, dear, if I smoke?”

“Certainly not,” was her cheery reply.

He bit the cigar and struck a match. The fight reflected on Gail’s radiant face. “Wonderful,” he ejaculated as he tossed the match away, laughing softly. He had quite forgotten to light his cigar.

“Why, what did you see, Roderick, you silly fellow, that is so wonderful?”

“I saw,” said Roderick, “the dearest little woman in the wide, wide world—my mountain song girl—who is going to be kissed with all the pent-up passion of a ‘grizzly’ in just one-half second.”