moments. He moved onward, silently exuding admiration.
"Only," added Flip, with a sudden caution, "you'd better agree with
me."
The trail here turned again abruptly and reentered the canon. Lance
looked up, and noticed they were almost directly beneath the bay
thicket and the plateau that towered far above them. The trail here
showed signs of clearing, and the way was marked by felled trees and
stumps of pines.
"What does your father do here?" he finally asked. Flip remained
silent, swinging the revolver. Lance repeated his question.
"Burns charcoal and makes diamonds," said Flip, looking at him from the
corners of her eyes.
"Makes diamonds?" echoed Lance.
Flip nodded her head.
"Many of 'em?" he continued carelessly.
"Lots. But they're not big," she returned, with a sidelong glance.
"Oh, they're not big?" said Lance gravely.
They had by this time reached a small staked inclosure, whence the
sudden fluttering and cackle of poultry welcomed the return of the
evident mistress of this sylvan retreat. It was scarcely imposing.
Further on, a cooking stove under a tree, a saddle and bridle, a few
household implements scattered about, indicated the "ranch." Like most
pioneer clearings, it was simply a disorganized raid upon nature that
had left behind a desolate battlefield strewn with waste and decay. The
fallen trees, the crushed thicket, the splintered limbs, the rudely
torn-up soil, were made hideous by their grotesque juxtaposition with
the wrecked fragments of civilization, in empty cans, broken bottles,
battered hats, soleless boots, frayed stockings, cast-off rags, and the
crowning absurdity of the twisted-wire skeleton of a hooped skirt
hanging from a branch. The wildest defile, the densest thicket, the
most virgin solitude, was less dreary and forlorn than this first
footprint of man. The only redeeming feature of this prolonged bivouac
was the cabin itself. Built of the half-cylindrical strips of pine
bark, and thatched with the same material, it had a certain picturesque
rusticity. But this was an accident of economy rather than taste, for
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