e no longer felt any
consciousness of the surrounding desolation, or the nearness of savage
foes. Her heart beat fast and her cheeks flushed in memory of what had
so swiftly occurred between them. Without thought, or struggle, she
gave herself unreservedly to his guidance, serenely confident in his
power to succeed. He was a man so strong, so resourceful, so fitted to
the environment, that her trust in him was unquestioned. She needed to
ask nothing; was content to follow in silence. Even as she realized
the completeness of her surrender, the Sergeant, relaxing none of his
watchfulness, checked his pony so that they could ride onward side by
side.

"We will follow the trail back," he explained, glancing aside at her
face. "It is easier to follow than to strike out for ourselves across
the open."

"Where does it lead?"

"To an old cow-camp on the Cimarron. There is a trooper there waiting.
Shall I tell you the story?"

"I wish you would."

"And then I am to have yours in return--everything?"

"Yes," she said, and their eyes met. "There is nothing to
conceal--from you."

He told his tale simply, and in few words; how he had missed, and
sought after her in Dodge; how that searching had led directly to the
discovery of crime, and finally the revealment of Major McDonald's
body. He told of his efforts at organizing a party to follow the
fugitives, inspired by a belief that she was a prisoner, of the trip
through the blizzard, and of how he had succeeded in outstripping
Dupont in the race.

The girl listened silently, able from her own experience to fill in the
details of that relentless pursuit, which could not be halted either by
storm or bullets. The strength, the determination of the man, appealed
to her with new force, and tears welled into her eyes.

"Why, you are crying!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"That is nothing," her lips smiling, as she loosened one hand from the
blanket and reached across to clasp his. "You must know, dear, how
happy I am to have found you. No one else could have done this."

"Oh, yes, little girl," soberly. "Wasson would have gone on, if I had
been the one to go down. The hardest part of it all was waiting for
the storm to cease, not knowing where you were hidden--that nearly
drove me insane."

"I understand; uncertainty is harder to bear than anything else. Shall
I tell you now what happened to me?"

"Yes," tenderly, "as much, or as little as you please."

"Th