It came to me in a flash, as I saw him riding farther and farther away,
that the reason my heart was not broken was because I did not intend to go
home. Dick had taken it for granted that I would board the next train for
the East. But I was not going to do anything of the sort. To my amaze I
found my mind made up on that score. I had no definite plan, but I was
determined to endure almost anything rather than give up my mustang and
outfit.
"It's shift for myself now," I thought, soberly. "I guess I can make good.
. . . I'm going back to Penetier."
Even in the moment of impulse I knew how foolish this would be. But I could
not help it. That forest had bewitched me. I meant to go back to it.
"I'll stay away from the sawmill," I meditated, growing lighter of heart
every minute. "I'll keep out of sight of the lumbermen. I'll go higher up
on the mountain, and hunt, and study the trees. . . . I'll do it."
Whereupon I marched off at once to a store and bought the supply of
provisions that Buell had decided against when he helped me with my outfit.
This addition made packing the pony more of a problem than ever, but I
contrived to get it all on to my satisfaction. It was nearing sunset when I
rode out of Holston this second time. The sage flat was bare and gray. Dick
had long since reached the pines, and would probably make camp at the spring
where we had stopped for lunch.
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