"I can wait," he answered, dramatically. "But it seems as if I had never eaten."

"Well, then, we'll save the grouse till to-morrow; but I'll make some coffee. You bring some water while I start a fire."

And so, while the tired horses cropped the russet gra.s.s, she boiled some coffee and laid out some bread and meat, while he sat by watching her and absorbing the beauty of the scene, the charm of the hour. "It is exactly like a warm afternoon in April," he said, "and here are some of the spring flowers."

"There now, sit by and eat," she said, with humor; and in perfectly restored tranquillity they ate and drank, with no thought of critics or of rivals. They were alone, and content to be so.

It was deliciously sweet and restful there in that sunny hollow on the breast of the mountain. The wind swept through the worn branches of the dwarfed spruce with immemorial wistfulness; but these young souls heard it only as a far-off song. Side by side on the soft Alpine clover they rested and talked, looking away at the shining peaks, and down over the dark-green billows of fir beneath them. Half the forest was under their eyes at the moment, and the man said: "Is it not magnificent! It makes me proud of my country. Just think, all this glorious spread of hill and valley is under your father's direction. I may say under _your_ direction, for I notice he does just about what you tell him to do."

"You've noticed that?" she laughed. "If I were a man I'd rather be Supervisor of this forest than Congressman."

"So would I," he agreed. "Nash says you _are_ the Supervisor. I wonder if your father realizes how efficient you are? Does he ever sorrow over your not being a boy?"

Her eyes shone with mirth. "Not that I can notice. He 'pears contented."

"You're a good deal like a son to him, I imagine. You can do about all that a boy can do, anyhow--more than I could ever do. Does he realize how much you have to do with the management of his forest? I've never seen your like. I really believe you _could_ carry on the work as well as he."

She flushed with pleasure. "You seem to think I'm a district forester in disguise."

"I have eyes, Miss Supervisor, and also ears--which leads me to ask: Why don't you clean out that saloon gang? Landon is sure there's crooked work going on at that mill--certainly that open bar is a disgraceful and corrupting thing."

Her face clouded. "We've tried to cut out that saloon, but it can't be done. You see, it's on a patented claim--the claim was bogus, of course, and we've made complaint, but the matter is hung up, and that gives 'em a chance to go on."

"Well, let's not talk of that. It's too delicious an hour for any question of business. It is a moment for poetry. I wish I could write what I feel this moment. Why don't we camp here and watch the sun go down and the moon rise? From our lofty vantage-ground the coming of dawn would be an epic."

"We mustn't think of that," she protested. "We must be going."

"Not yet. The hour is too perfect. It may never come again. The wind in the pines, the sunshine, the conies crying from their rocks, the b.u.t.terflies on the clover--my heart aches with the beauty of it. It's been a wonderful trip. Even that staggering walk in the rain had its splendid quality. I couldn't see the poetry in it then; but I do now.

These few days have made us comrades, haven't they--comrades of the trail? You have been very considerate of me." He took her hand. "I've never seen such hands. They are like steel, and yet they are feminine."

She drew her hands away. "I'm ashamed of my hands--they are so big and rough and dingy."

"They're brown, of course, and calloused--a little--but they are not big, and they are beautifully modeled." He looked at her speculatively. "I am wondering how you would look in conventional dress."

"Do you mean--" She hesitated. "I'd look like a gawk in one of those low-necked outfits. I'd never dare--and those tight skirts would sure cripple me."

"Oh no, they wouldn't. You'd have to modify your stride a little; but you'd negotiate it. You're equal to anything."

"You're making fun of me!"

"No, I'm not. I'm in earnest. You're the kind of American girl that can go anywhere and do anything. My sisters would mortgage their share of the golden streets for your abounding health--and so would I."

"You are all right now," she smiled. "You don't look or talk as you did."

"It's this sunlight." He lifted a spread hand as if to clutch and hold something. "I feel it soaking into me like some magical oil. No more moping and whining for me. I've proved that hardship is good for me."

"Don't crow till you're out of the woods. It's a long ride down the hill, and going down is harder on the tenderfoot than going up."

"I'm no longer a tenderfoot. All I need is another trip like this with you and I shall be a master trailer."

All this was very sweet to her, and though she knew they should be going, she lingered. Childishly reckless of the sinking sun, she played with the wild flowers at her side and listened to his voice in complete content.

He was right. The hour was too beautiful to be shortened, although she saw no reason why others equally delightful might not come to them both.

He was more of the lover than he had ever been before, that she knew, and in the light of his eyes all that was not girlish and charming melted away. She forgot her heavy shoes, her rough hands and sun-tanned face, and listened with wondering joy and pride to his words, which were of a fineness such as she had never heard spoken--only books contained such unusual and exquisite phrases.

A cloud pa.s.sing across the sun flung down a shadow of portentous chill and darkness. She started to her feet with startled recollection of the place and the hour.

"We _must_ be going--at once!" she commanded.

"Not yet," he pleaded. "It's only a cloud. The sun is coming out again. I have perfect confidence in your woodcraft. Why not spend another night on the trail? It may be our last trip together."

He tempted her strongly, so frank and boyish and lovable were his glances and his words. But she was vaguely afraid of herself, and though the long ride at the moment seemed hard and dull, the thought of her mother waiting decided her action.

"No, no!" she responded, firmly. "We've wasted too much time already. We must ride."

He looked up at her with challenging glance. "Suppose I refuse--suppose I decide to stay here?"

Upon her, as he talked, a sweet hesitation fell, a dream which held more of happiness than she had ever known. "It is a long, hard ride," she thought, "and another night on the trail will not matter." And so the moments pa.s.sed on velvet feet, and still she lingered, reluctant to break the spell.

Suddenly, into their idyllic drowse of content, so sweet, so youthful, and so pure of heart, broke the sound of a horse's hurrying, clashing, steel-shod feet, and looking up Berrie saw a mounted man coming down the mountainside with furious, reckless haste.

"It is Cliff!" she cried out. "He's on our trail!" And into her face came a look of alarm. Her lips paled, her eyes widened. "He's mad--he's dangerous! Leave him to me," she added, in a low, tense voice.

XI

THE DEATH-GRAPPLE

There was something so sinister in the rider's disregard of stone and tree and pace, something so menacing in the forward thrust of his body, that Berrie was able to divine his wrath, and was smitten into irresolution--all her hardy, boyish self-reliance swallowed up in the weakness of the woman. She forgot the pistol at her belt, and awaited the a.s.sault with rigid pose.

As Belden neared them Norcross also perceived that the rider's face was distorted with pa.s.sion, and that his glance was not directed upon Berrie, but upon himself, and he braced himself for the attack.

Leaving his saddle with one flying leap, which the cowboy practises at play, Belden hurled himself upon his rival with the fury of a panther.

The slender youth went down before the big rancher as though struck by a catapult; and the force of his fall against the stony earth stunned him so that he lay beneath his enemy as helpless as a child.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SLENDER YOUTH WENT DOWN BEFORE THE BIG RANCHER AS THOUGH STRUCK BY A CATAPULT]

Belden snarled between his teeth: "I told you I'd kill you, and I will."

But this was not to be. Berea suddenly recovered her native force. With a cry of pain, of anger, she flung herself on the maddened man's back. Her hands encircled his neck like a collar of bronze. Hardened by incessant use of the cinch and the rope, her fingers sank into the sinews of his great throat, shutting off both blood and breath.

"Let go!" she commanded, with deadly intensity. "Let go, or I'll choke the life out of you! Let go, I say!"

He raised a hand to beat her off, but she was too strong, too desperate to be driven away. She was as blind to pain as a mother eagle, and bent above him so closely that he could not bring the full weight of his fist to bear. With one determined hand still clutching his throat, she ran the fingers of her other hand into his hair and twisted his head upward with a power which he could not resist. And so, looking into his upturned, ferocious eyes, she repeated with remorseless fury: "_Let go_, I say!"

His swollen face grew rigid, his mouth gaped, his tongue protruded, and at last, releasing his hold on his victim, he rose, flinging Berrie off with a final desperate effort. "I'll kill you, too!" he gasped.