Let’s watch and find out. There he goes, across the parlor, through the front door, across the redwood porch, and down the creaking steps. He strides purposefully across the dusty headquarters yard, down the dirt lane, and across the Too Late Creek bridge—to the foreman’s residence. What for? Most likely, to conduct some ranch-related business with his second-in-command. It might be interesting to listen in, but eavesdropping will have to wait. Sarah Frank is also about to take an after-sundown stroll and the young lady’s urgent business trumps Mr. Moon’s. THERE IS A TIME FOR LEAVING Resembling a numb sleepwalker—or an insubstantial, imagined phantasm in someone’s dream—Sarah Frank seemed to almost float out of the Columbine headquarters. Only barely conscious of her surroundings, the terribly unhappy young woman was moved by some deep, instinctive impulse toward the river—where perhaps peace was to be found in its cold, rolling waters. For how many faltering heartbeats did she stand alone on the pebbled bank, staring unseeingly at midnight-black waves and snowy froth where the stream broke over mossy boulders and heaps of smooth rocks?
