That is within our province. In the first place, they
made her hungry. That was the crisp, heady air. The
mountain road, to one who has never traveled it, is a thing
of delicious thrills and near-terror. A narrow, perilous
ribbon of road, cut in the side of the rock itself; a road
all horseshoe curves and hairpin twists. Fanny found
herself gasping. But that passed after a time. Big
Thompson canyon leaves no room for petty terror. And the
pongee person was so competent, so quietly sure, so
angularly graceful among his brakes and levers. Fanny stole
a side glance at him now and then. He looked straight
ahead. When you drive a mountain steamer you do look
straight ahead. A glance to the right or left is so likely
to mean death, or at best a sousing in the Thompson that
foams and rushes below.
Fanny ventured a question. "Do you know Mr. Heyl?"
"Heyl? Took him down day before yesterday."
"Down?"
"To the village. He's gone back east."
Fanny was not quite sure whether the pang she felt was
relief or consternation.
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