She twisted the ring with the big red stone round
and round her finger, but she got no pleasure from the crimson glow of it. The
stone looked to her now like a great, frozen drop of blood. She wondered
grimly whose blood it was, and stared at it strangely before her eyes went
again worshipfully to the mountains which she loved and which she must leave
and perhaps never see again as they looked from there, and from the ranch.
She must ride and ride until she was around on the other side of that last one
that had the funny, pointed cone top like a big stone tepee. On the other side
was Ramon, and the priest, and the strange new life of which she was beginning
to feel afraid. There would be no more riding up to camera, laughing or
sighing or frowning as Wagalexa Conka commanded her to do. There would be no
more shy greetings of the slim young woman in riding skirt--the friendship
scenes and the black-browed anger, while Pete Lowry turned the camera and Luck
stood beside him telling her just what she must do, and smiling at her when
she did it well.
There would be Ramon, and the priest and the wide ring of shiny gold -what
more? The mountains, all pink and violet and smiling green and soft gray -the
mountains hid the new life from her.
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