s at her favorite seat, with the white dog beside her; and she
watched the desert where the last glow of sunset gilded the mesas. How
cold and calm was her face! How strange to him in this new character!

"Mescal, I didn't know I loved you--then--but I know it now."

Her face dropped quickly from its level poise, hiding the brooding eyes;
her hand trembled on Wolf's head.

"You spoke the truth. I'll get well. I'd rather have had it from your
lips than from any in the world. I mean to live my life here where these
wonderful things have come to me. The friendship of the good man who
saved me, this wild, free desert, the glory of new hope, strength,
life--and love."

He took her hand in his and whispered, "For I love you. Do you care for
me? Mescal! It must be complete. Do you care--a little?"

The wind blew her dusky hair; he could not see her face; he tried gently
to turn her to him. The hand he had taken lay warm and trembling in
his, but it was not withdrawn. As he waited, in fear, in hope, it became
still. Her slender form, rigid within his arm, gradually relaxed, and
yielded to him; her face sank on his breast, and her dark hair loosened
from its band, covered her, and blew across his lips. That was his
answer.

The wind sang in the cedars. No longer a sigh, sad as thoughts of a past
forever flown, but a song of what had come to him, of hope, of life, of
Mescal's love, of the things to be!

VII. SILVERMANE

LITTLE dew fell on the night of July first; the dawn brightened without
mists; a hot sun rose; the short summer of the plateau had begun.

As Hare rose, refreshed and happy from his breakfast, his whistle was
cut short by the Indian.

"Ugh!" exclaimed Piute, lifting a dark finger. Black Bolly had thrown
her nose-bag and slipped her halter, and she moved toward the opening in
the cedars, her head high, her black ears straight up.

"Bolly!" called Mescal. The mare did not stop.

"What the deuce?" Hare ran forward to catch her.

"I never knew Bolly to act that way," said Mescal. "See--she didn't eat
half the oats. Well, Bolly--Jack! look at Wolf!"

The white dog had risen and stood warily shifting his nose. He sniffed
the wind, turned round and round, and slowly stiffened with his head
pointed toward the eastern rise of the plateau.

"Hold, Wolf, hold!" called Mescal, as the dog appeared to be about to
dash away.

"Ugh!" grunted Piute.

"Listen, Jack; did you hear?" whispered the girl.