By a strange magic, the coming of a girl had transformed the world. He
had seen the strategic value of these hills and valleys often before. He
had not dreamed of their beauty. The mists that hung over the ragged
lines of the western horizon were no longer fogs that might conceal an
army. They were the folds of a huge veil which Nature was softly drawing
over the face of a beautiful bride. Why had he not seen this before?

The awful silence of the plains from which he had fled to books had
suddenly become God's great whispering gallery. He listened with joyous
awe and reverence.

The stars had been his guides by night to find the trail. He had merely
lifted his eyes to make the reckoning. He had never seen before the
crystal flash from their jeweled depths.

He looked into the eyes of the graceful young rider by his side and
longed to tell her of this miracle wrought in his soul. But he
hesitated. She was too dignified and self-possessed. It would be silly
when put into words.

But the world to-day was too beautiful to hurry through it. He just
couldn't.

"Let's stop on this hill and watch the sunset, Miss Sarah?" he
suggested.

"I'd love to," was the simple answer.

With a light laugh, she sprang from the saddle. They touched the ground
at the same moment.

He looked at her with undisguised admiration.

"You're a wonderful rider," he said.

"A soldier's daughter must be--it's part of her life."

He tied their horses to the low hanging limbs of a cluster of scrub
trees, and found a seat on the bowlders which the Indians had set for a
landmark on the lonely hilltop.

Westward the plains stretched, a silent ocean of green, luscious grass.

"What's that dark spot in the valley?" the girl eagerly asked.

"Watch it a moment--"

They sat in silence for five minutes.

"Why, it's moving!" she cried.

"Yes."

"How curious--"

"An illusion?" he suggested.

"Nonsense, I'm not dreaming."

"I've been dreaming a lot lately--"

A smile played about the corners of her fine mouth. But she ignored the
hint.

"Tell me," she cried; "you studied the sciences at West Point, what does
it mean?"

"Look closely. Any fifteen-year-old boy of the plains could explain it."

"Am I so ignorant?" she laughed.

"No," he answered soberly, "our eyes just refuse to see things at which
we are looking until the voice within reveals. The eyes of a hunter
could make no mistake about such a spot--particularly if it moved."