"I fastened our bundle on Tara's back and we lost it in the night coming
up over the mountain," she said. "It was so steep that in places I had
to catch hold of Tara and let him drag me up."
In another moment he was at his pack, opening it, and tossing things to
right and left on the white sand, and the girl watched him, her eyes
very bright with anticipation.
"Coffee, bacon, bannock, and potatoes," he said, making a quick
inventory of his small stock of provisions.
"Potatoes!" cried the girl.
"Yes--dehydrated. See? It looks like rice. One pound of this equals
fourteen pounds of potatoes. And you can't tell the difference when it's
cooked right. Now for a fire!"
She was darting this way and that, collecting small dry sticks in the
sand before he was on his feet. He could not resist standing for a
moment and watching her. Her movements, even in her quick and eager
quest of fuel, were the most graceful he had ever seen in a human being.
And yet she was tired! She was hungry! And he believed that her feet,
concealed in those rock-torn moccasins, were bruised and sore. He went
down to the stream for water, and in the few moments that he was gone
his mind worked swiftly. He believed that he understood, perhaps even
more than the girl herself.
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