"And you shan't do any more of it!"

He felt his heart breaking with the love he felt for her.

"Kiss me--Honey!" he said softly.

She winced at the old sweet term of endearment, then with a sharp intake of breath she raised her lips to his. He was sure that no other woman's kiss could so draw the soul out of him. Beth seemed only a shadow--like someone long dead whose personality is recalled with an effort.

This was love--this was the sort of feeling the Creator intended men and women to have for each other--mysterious, inexplicable, yet real as Nature. It was as it should be. These thoughts pa.s.sed through Disston's mind swiftly. Up there on top of the world, in the moonlight, any consideration which interfered seemed trifling and indefensible.

"You do love me?" He held her off a little and looked at her. He did not doubt it--he merely wanted to hear her say it.

She replied simply:

"Yes, Hughie. I have always."

"You're so unexpectedly sweet!" he cried, as he again drew her close to him. "I've never forgotten that about you." He laughed softly as he added, "I can't understand why everyone that knows you isn't in love with you."

"There's no one else who has ever seen this side of me. I am not even likable to most people."

"It isn't so! But if it were, it doesn't make any difference, for you're going to marry me--you're going home with me and live a woman's life--the kind for which you were intended."

The radiance that illuminated her face transformed and glorified it.

She was woman--all woman, at heart--he had not been mistaken, he thought rapturously as he looked at her.

She stared at him wide-eyed, dazzled by the picture as she breathed rather than whispered:

"To be with you always--never to be lonely again--to have some one that cared really when I was sick or tired or heavy-hearted--never to be savage and bitter and vindictive, but to be glad every morning just to be living, and to know that each day would be a little nicer than the last one! It would be that way, wouldn't it, Hughie?"

"How could it be otherwise when just being together is happiness?" he answered.

"It's like peeking into Paradise," she said, wistfully.

"But you will--you'll promise me? You'll give up this?" There was a faint note of anxiety in his earnestness as he laid a hand upon her shoulder and looked at her steadily.

In the long s.p.a.ce of time that she took to answer, the radiance died out of her face like a light that is extinguished slowly:

"I'll tell you in the morning, Hughie. I must think. I make mistakes when I do what my heart impels me to. My impulses have been wrong always. I rely upon my head nowadays. I am weak to-night, and I've just judgment enough left to know it."

"But, Kate!" he expostulated in a kind of terror. "There isn't anything to argue about--to consider. This isn't business."

She shook her head.

"I must think, Hughie. I'll tell you in the morning. You'd better go down to camp now," she urged gently. "There isn't anything to be done up here, for every sheep will die that got enough poison."

"I can't bear to think of leaving you alone up here," he protested vehemently. "Why not let me stay and you go down to the wagons?"

She shook her head.

"There's not the slightest danger. He's done his work for the present, and it may be a long time before I'm again molested."

"Whom do you mean?" he asked quickly.

"A 'breed' named Mullendore that hates me."

"Do you mean to say," incredulously, "that since you know who did it, he'll ever have another opportunity?"

"I can't prove it; and, besides," bitterly, "you don't know Prouty."

With a swift transition of mood she crept into his arms voluntarily, crying chokingly:

"Hold me close, Hughie! I feel so safe with your arms about me, as though nothing or n.o.body could hurt me ever!"

In the morning Kate drove down to the camp at daylight the few sheep that had not eaten enough of the saltpeter to kill them, or had missed it altogether--only a small percentage of the valuable herd that had started up the mountain.

Brusque, businesslike, she was as different from the girl who had clung to Hugh for love and sympathy as could well be imagined.

They had breakfast together in the cook tent, which in the summer camp was used as a dining tent also. It was while she was standing by the stove that she turned suddenly and said impulsively:

"Do you know, Hughie, I love to cook, this morning, and ordinarily I hate it! It's because it's for you--isn't it curious?" Her eyes were shining with a look of love that was warm and generous; then the tears filled them and she turned her back quickly.

"If I hadn't the same feeling about you, I might think so," he responded. "I'm simply aching to do something for you--to help you in some way--that's what I came for."

"Did you--really?" She looked at him gratefully.

"That--and because I couldn't stay away any longer. All the way up the trail I had a feeling that you had hold of my heartstrings pulling me to you, and as if they would break if I didn't get to you faster. I can't describe it exactly, but it was as real as an actual physical sensation."

She looked her understanding, though she made no response.

When breakfast was over and they had washed the dishes together in a silence which each felt momentous, Kate said finally:

"You'd better tack a shoe on your horse before you go. If you don't know how, I'll show you." He took her hand and looked at her searchingly:

"Is that my answer?"

As she stood with her back against the table she gripped the edge of it tightly.

"I guess it is, Hughie. I've thought it all out and it seems best."

"I can't--I won't believe you mean that!" he exclaimed, pa.s.sionately.

"But I do. There are many reasons why I can't leave here and do as you ask."

"And," incredulously, "the fact that we love each other doesn't count?"

He shook his head. "I must say I don't understand. I didn't know that you were so happy here--"

"Happy!" The color flooded her face as she cried fiercely, "Mostly it's--h.e.l.l!"

"I don't comprehend at all."