One look down that yellow valley, endless between its dark iron ramparts, had given her understanding of her uncle.

She must be like him in spirit, as it was claimed she resembled him otherwise.
At length Bo grew tired of watching scenery that contained no life, and, with her bright head on the faded cloak, she went to sleep.

But Helen kept steady, farseeing gaze out upon that land of rock and plain; and during the long hours, as she watched through clouds of dust and veils of heat, some strong and doubtful and restless sentiment seemed to change and then to fix.

It was her physical acceptance--her eyes and her senses taking the West as she had already taken it in spirit.
A woman should love her home wherever fate placed her, Helen believed, and not so much from duty as from delight and romance and living.

How could life ever be tedious or monotonous out here in this tremendous vastness of bare earth and open sky, where the need to achieve made thinking and pondering superficial?
It was with regret that she saw the last of the valley of the Rio Grande, and then of its paralleled mountain ranges.