But there, in that room in his home, he had stood face to face
with a black, revolting sin. There had been nothing left to shield,
nothing to protect. Here it was different. A soul had given itself into
his protection, a soul as pure as the stars shining over the mountain
tops, and its little keeper lay there under his eyes sleeping in the
sweet faith that it was safe with him. A little later his fingers
tingled with an odd thrill as he took his automatic out of his pack,
loaded it carefully, and placed it in his pocket where it could be
easily reached. The act was a declaration of something ultimately
definite. He stretched himself out near the fire and went to sleep with
the force of this declaration brewing strangely within him.
He was awake with the summer dawn and the sun was beginning to tint up
the big red mountain when they began the descent into the valley. Before
they started he loaned the girl his comb and single military brush, and
for fifteen minutes sat watching her while she brushed the tangles out
of her hair until it fell about her in a thick, waving splendour. At the
nape of her neck she tied it with a bit of string which he found for
her, and after that, as they travelled downward, he observed how the
rebellious tresses, shimmering and dancing about her, persisted in
forming themselves into curls again.
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