a path ran straight away as far as we could see, seeming to pierce the western wall of the hills. The little brook followed at.

As Lois knelt to drink, the Sagamore whispered to me:

“This is the pass to the Vale Yndaia! You shall not tell her yet — not till we have dealt with Amochol.”

“Not till we have dealt with Amochol,” I repeated, staring at the narrow opening which crossed this black and desolate region like a streak of sunshine across burnt land.

Tahoontowhee examined the trail; nothing had passed since the last rain, save deer and fox.

So I went over to where Lois was bathing her flushed face in the tiny stream, and lay down to drink beside her.