a camp-fire; but it wouldn't do, and before you
get cold we must start back.

"See," he pointed, far down on the left. "Can you make out that speck
of light? It is the headlight of a freight train crawling up the range
from Sleepy Cat. When the weather is right you can see the white head
of Sleepy Cat Mountain from this spot. That train will wind around in
sight of this knob for an hour, climbing to the mining camps."

Doctor Lanning called to Marie. Gertrude stood with Glover.

"Is that the desert of the Spanish Sinks?" she asked, looking into the
stream of the moon.

"Yes."

"Is that where you were lost two days?"

"My horse got away. Have you hurt your hand?"

She was holding her right hand in her left. "I tore my glove on a
thorn, coming up. It is not much."

"Is it bleeding?"

"I don't know; can you see?"

She drew down the glove gauntlet and held her hand up. If his breath
caught he did not betray it, but while he touched her she could very
plainly feel his hand tremble; yet for that matter his hand, she knew,
trembled frequently. He struck a match. It was no part of her
audacity to betray herself, and she stepped directly between the others
and the little blaze and looked into his face while he Inspected her
wrist. "Can you see?"

"It is scratched badly, but not bleeding," he answered.

"It hurts."

"Very likely; the wounds that hurt most don't always bleed," he said,
evenly. "Let us go."

"Oh, no," she said; "not quite yet. This is unutterable. I love this."

"Your aunt, I fear, is not interested. She is complaining of the cold.
I can't light a fire; the mountain is all timber below----"

"Aunt Jane would complain in heaven, but that wouldn't signify she
didn't appreciate it. Why are you so quickly put out? It isn't like
you to be out of humor." She drew on her glove slowly. "I wish you
had this wrist----"

"I wish to God I had." The sudden words frightened her. She showed
her displeasure in half turning away, then she resolutely faced him.
"I am not going to quarrel with you even if you make fun of me----"

"Fun of you?"

"Even if you put an unfair sense on what I say."

"I meant what I said in every sense, either to take the pain or--the
other. I couldn't make fun of you. Do you never make fun of me, Miss
Brock?"

"No, Mr. Glover, I do not. If you would be sensible we should do very
well. You have been so kind, and we are to leave the mountains so
soon, w