me coffee, she set it to boil.

"He's so thoughtful, and self-reliant, and--and competent," she
murmured. "And he's brave, and--and picturesque. Winthrop is brave,
too--just as brave as he is, but--he isn't a bit picturesque." She
relapsed into silence as she rummaged in the bag for a cup, and the
sugar, and a can of milk. The moon sank behind the ridge and the girl
replenished her fire from the pile of wood the Texan had left within
reach of her hand. She drank her coffee and her eyes sought to
penetrate the blackness beyond the firelight. Somewhere out there in
the dark--she shuddered as she attempted to visualize _what_ was
somewhere out there in the dark. And then a flash of memory brought
with it a ray of hope that cheered her immeasurably. "Why, he was a
champion swimmer in college," she said aloud. "He was always winning
cups and things. And he's strong, and brave--and yet----" Vividly to
her mind came the picture of the wildly rushing flood with its burden
of tossing trees, and the man being swept straight into the gurge of
it. "I'll tell him he's brave--and he'll spoil it all by saying that
it was the only _practical_ thing to do." "Oh," she cried aloud, "I
could love him if it were not for his deadly practicability--even if I
should have to live in Cincinnati." And straightway fell to comparing
the two men. "Tex is absurdly unconventional in speech and actions,
and he has an adorable disregard for laws and things. He's just a big,
irresponsible boy--and yet, he makes you feel as if he always knew
exactly what to do and how to do it. And he is brave, too, with a
reckless, devil-may-care sort of bravery that takes no thought of cost
or consequences. He knew, when he let go his bridle reins, that he
couldn't swim a stroke--and he smiled and didn't care. And he's gentle
and considerate, too." She remembered the look in his eyes when he
said: "You are cold," and blushed furiously.

It seemed hours she sat there staring into the little fire and
listening for sounds from the dark. But the only sounds that came to
her were the sounds of the feeding horses, and in utter weariness she
lay back with her head upon a folded blanket, and slept.

When the Texan swung onto his horse after having made the girl
comfortable for her long vigil, a scant half-hour of moonlight was left
to him. He gave the horse his head and the animal picked his way among
the loose rocks and scrub timber that capped the ridg