Helen was the last to mount, but Roy was the last to leave the hunter.

Pedro came reluctantly.
It was a merry, singing train which climbed that brown odorous trail, under the dark spruces.

Helen assuredly was happy, yet a pang abided in her breast.
She remembered that half-way up the slope there was a turn in the trail where it came out upon an open bluff.

The time seemed long, but at last she got there.

And she checked Ranger so as to have a moment's gaze down into the park.
It yawned there, a dark-green and bright-gold gulf, asleep under a westering sun, exquisite, wild, lonesome.