, and I nursed
him; he seemed very grateful, and we've been very good friends since."

"I'm glad of that," he replied, and bent closely to his driving.

"You drive well, Captain."

"An Indian agent needs to be able to do anything."

"May I drive?"

"You will spoil your gloves."

"Please! I'll take them off. I'm a famous whip." She smiled at him with
such understanding as they had never before reached, as she stripped her
gloves from her hands and dropped them at her feet. "Now let me take the
reins," she said. He surrendered them to her unhesitatingly.

"I believe you can drive," he said, exultantly.

Her hands were as beautiful as her face, strong and white, and
exquisitely modelled; but he, looking upon them with keen admiration,
caught the gleam of a diamond on the engagement finger. This should not
have chilled him, but it did. Then he thought:

"It is an engagement ring. She is now fairly bound to Lawson," and a
light that was within him went out. It was only a tiny, wavering flame
of hope, but it had been burning in opposition to his will all the year.

As she drove, they talked about the grasses and flowers, the mountain
range far beyond, the camping trip, and a dozen other impersonal topics
which did not satisfy Curtis, though he had no claim to more intimate
phrase. She, on her part, was perfectly happy, and retained her hold of
the reins and the whip in spite of his protest.

"You must not spoil your beautiful hands," he protested; "they are for
higher things. Please return the lines to me."

"Oh no! Please! Just another half-hour--till we reach that butte. I'm
stronger than you think. I am accustomed to the whip."

She had her way in this, and drove nearly the entire afternoon. When he
took the reins at last, her fingers were cramped and swollen, but her
face was deeply flushed with pleasure.

"I've had a delicious drive," she gratefully remarked.

At the foot of a tall butte Curtis turned his team and struck into a
road leading to the left. This road at once descended upon a
crescent-shaped, natural meadow enclosed by a small stream, like a babe
in a sheltering arm. All about were signs of its use as a
camping-ground. Sweat lodges, broken tepee-poles, piles of blackened
stones, and rings of bowlders told of the many fires that had been
built. Willows fringed the creek, while to the south and west rose a
tall, bare hill, on which a stone tower stood like a sentinel warrior.

Elsie cried out