was held mute. 

 "Stranger, look down," said the girl. 

 Jean's sight was educated to judge heights and depths and distances. This wall upon which he stood sheered precipitously down, so far that it made him dizzy to look, and then the craggy broken cliffs merged into red-slided, cedar-greened slopes running down and down into gorges choked with forests, and from which soared up a roar of rushing waters. Slope after slope, ridge beyond ridge, canyon merging into canyon—so the tremendous bowl sunk away to its black, deceiving depths, a wilderness across which travel seemed impossible. 

 "Wonderful!" exclaimed Jean. 

 "Indeed it is!" murmured the girl.  "Shore that is Arizona. I reckon I love THIS. The heights an' depths—the awfulness of its wilderness!" 

 "An' you want to leave it?" 

 "Yes an' no. I don't deny the peace that comes to me heah. But not often do I see the Basin, an' for that matter, one doesn't live on grand scenery." 

 "Child, even once in a while—this sight would cure any misery, if you only see. I'm glad I came. I'm glad you showed it to me first." 

 She too seemed under the spell of a vastness and loneliness and beauty and grandeur that could not but strike the heart. 

 Jean took her hand again.  "Girl, say you will meet me here," he said, his voice ringing deep in his ears. 

 "Shore I will," she replied, softly, and turned to him. It seemed then that Jean saw her face for the first time. She was beautiful as he had never known beauty. Limned against that scene, she gave it life—wild, sweet, young life—the poignant meaning of which haunted yet eluded him. But she belonged there. Her eyes were again searching his, as if for some lost part of herself, unrealized, never known before. Wondering, wistful, hopeful, glad—they were eyes that seemed surprised, to reveal part of her soul. 

 Then her red lips parted. Their tremulous movement was a magnet to Jean. An invisible and mighty force pulled him down to kiss them. Whatever the spell had been, that rude, unconscious action broke it. 

 He jerked away, as if he expected to be struck. "Girl—I—I"—he gasped in amaze and sudden-dawning contrition—"I kissed you—but I swear it wasn't intentional—I never thought...." 

 The anger that Jean 

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