Then, again, he drew up close beside her.
"I was going to tell you about this gold," he said.

"It isn't the gold we're going after." He leaned over until his hand rested on her saddle-bow.
"Look ahead," he went on, a curious softness in his voice.

"Look at MacDonald!" The first shattered rays of the sun were breaking over the mountains and reflecting their glow in the valley.

Donald MacDonald had lifted his face to the sunrise; out from under his battered hat the morning breeze sweeping through the valley of the Frazer tossed his shaggy hair; his great owl-gray beard swept his breast; his broad, gaunt shoulders were hunched a little forward as he looked into the east.

Again Aldous looked into Joanne's eyes.
"It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me north, Ladygray.