made eager sycophantish noises and Lady Westholme embarked on a history of
various interesting and prominent Americans whom she had met recently. The weather being
so unusually hot for the time of year, an early start was arranged for the morrow.
The four assembled for breakfast at six o'clock. There were no signs of any of the Boynton
family. After Lady Westholme had commented unfavorably on the absence of fruit, they
consumed tea, tinned milk and fried eggs in a generous allowance of fat, flanked by
extremely salty bacon.
Then they started forth. Lady Westholme and Dr. Gerard discussing with animation on the
part of the former the exact value of vitamins in diet and the proper nutrition of the
working classes.
Then there was a sudden hail from the camp and they halted to allow another person to join
the party. It was Mr. Jefferson Cope who hurried after them, his pleasant face flushed
with the exertion of running.
“Why, if you don't mind, I'd like to join your party this morning. Good morning, Miss
King. Quite a surprise meeting you and Dr. Gerard here. What do you think of it?” He made
a gesture indicating the fantastic red rocks that stretched in every direction.
“I think it's rather wonderful and just a little horrible,” said Sarah. “I always thought
of it as romantic and dreamlike - the 'rose red city.' But it's much more real than that -
it's as real as - as raw beef.”
“And very much the color of it,” agreed Mr. Cope.
“But it's marvelous, too,” admitted Sarah.
The party began to climb. Two Bedouin guides accompanied them. Tall men, with an easy
carriage, they swung upward unconcernedly in their hobnailed boots, completely foot-sure
on the slippery slope. Difficulties soon began. Sarah had a good head for heights and so
had Dr. Gerard. But both Mr. Cope and Lady Westholme were far from happy, and the
unfortunate Miss Pierce had to be almost carried over the precipitous places, her eyes
shut, her face green, while her voice rose ceaselessly in a perpetual wail: “I never could
look down places. Never - from a child!”
Once she declared her intention of going back, but on turning to face the descent, her
skin assumed an even greener tinge, and she reluctantly decided that to go on was the only
thing to be done.
Dr. Gerard was kind and reassuring. He went up behind her, holding his stick between her
and the sheer drop like a balustrade, and she confessed that the illusion of a rail did
much to conquer the feeling of vertigo.
Sarah, panting a little, asked the dragoman, Mahmoud, who in spite of his ample
proportions showed no signs of distress: “Don't you ever have trouble getting people up
here? Elderly ones, I mean.”
“Always - always we have trouble,” agreed Mahmoud serenely.
“Do you always try and take them?”
Mahmoud shrugged his thick shoulders. “They like to come. They have paid money to see
these things. They wish to see them. The Bedouin guides are very clever - very surefooted
- always they manage.”
They arrived at last at the summit. Sarah drew a deep breath. All around and below
stretched the blood-red rocks - a strange and unbelievable country unparalleled anywhere.
Here in the exquisite pure morning air, they stood like gods, surveying a baser world - a
world of flaring violence.
Here was, as the guide told them, the “Place of Sacrifice” - the “High Place.”
He showed them the trough cut in the flat rock at their feet. Sarah strayed away from the
rest, from the glib phrases that flowed so readily from the dragoman's tongue. She sat on
a rock, pushed her hands through her thick black hair, and gazed down on the world at her
feet. Presently she was aware of someone standing by her side.
Dr. Gerard's voice said: “You appreciate the appositeness of the devil's temptation in the
New Testament. Satan took Our Lord up to the summit of a mountain and showed