But if those lips had been for others--never for him! Jean reflected that not since childish games had he kissed a girl--until this brown-faced Ellen Jorth came his way.
He wondered at it.

Moreover, he wondered at the significance he placed upon it.

After all, was it not merely an accident?
Why should he remember?
Why should he ponder?
What was the faint, deep, growing thrill that accompanied some of his thoughts?
Riding along with busy mind, Jean almost crossed a well-beaten trail, leading through a pine thicket and down over the Rim.

Jean's pack mule led the way without being driven.

And when Jean reached the edge of the bluff one look down was enough to fetch him off his horse.