In an hour they reached the valley,
and for a few moments they sat down to rest, while Tara foraged among
the rocks for marmots. It was a wonderful valley into which they had
come. From where they sat, it was like an immense park. Green slopes
reached almost to the summits of the mountains, and to a point half way
up these slopes--the last timber line--clumps of spruce and balsam trees
were scattered over the green as if set there by hands of men. Some of
these timber patches were no larger than the decorative clumps in a city
park, and others covered acres and tens of acres; and at the foot of the
slopes on either side, like decorative fringes, were thin and unbroken
lines of forest. Between these two lines of forest lay the open valley
of soft and undulating meadow, dotted with its purplish bosks of
buffalo-, willow-, and mountain-sage, its green coppices of wild rose
and thorn, and its clumps of trees. In the hollow of the valley ran a
stream.
And this was her home! She was telling him about it as they sat there,
and he listened to her, and watched her bird-like movements, without
breaking in to ask questions which the night had shaped in his mind. She
pointed out gray summits on which she had stood.
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