Part 24 (1/2)

”Perhaps I _shall_ have to change the story a little,” she said.

He drew her head to his shoulder, one hand caressing her hair. ”If you do,” he said smiling, ”don't have the hero thinkin' that the girl is makin' a fool of him.” He drew her close. ”That cert'nly was a mighty bad minute you give me,” he added.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE DIM TRAIL.

A shadow fell upon the rock. Ferguson turned his head and looked toward the west, where the sun had already descended over the mountains.

”Why it's sundown!” he said, smiling into Miss Radford's eyes. ”I reckon the days must be gettin' shorter.”

”The happy days are always short,” she returned, blus.h.i.+ng. He kissed her for this. For a while they sat, watching together the vari-colors swimming in the sky. They sat close together, saying little, for mere words are sometimes inadequate. In a little time the colors faded, the mountain peaks began to throw sombre shades; twilight--gray and cold--settled suddenly into the flat. Then Miss Radford raised her head from Ferguson's shoulder and sighed.

”Time to go home,” she said.

”Yes, time,” he returned. ”I'm ridin' down that far with you.”

They rose and clambered down the hillside and he helped her into the saddle. Then he mounted Mustard and rode across the flat beside her.

Darkness had fallen when they rode through the clearing near the cabin and dismounted from their ponies at the door. The light from the kerosene lamp shone in a dim stream from the kitchen door and within they saw dishes on the table with cold food. Ferguson stood beside his pony while Miss Radford went in and explored the cabin. She came to the door presently, shading her eyes to look out into the darkness.

”Ben has been here and gone,” she said. ”He can't be very far away.

Won't you come in?”

He laughed. ”I don't think I'll come in,” he returned. ”This lover business is new to me, an' I wouldn't want Ben to come back an' ketch me blus.h.i.+n' an' takin' on.”

”But he has to know,” she insisted, laughing.

”Sure,” he said, secure in the darkness, ”but you tell him.”

”I won't!” she declared positively, stamping a foot.

”Then I reckon he won't get told,” he returned quietly.

”Well, then,” she said, laughing, ”I suppose that is settled.”

She came out to the edge of the porch, away from the door, where the stream of light from within could not search them out, and there they took leave of one another, she going back into the cabin and he mounting Mustard and riding away in the darkness.

He was in high spirits, for he had much to be thankful for. As he rode through the darkness, skirting the cottonwood in the flat, he allowed his thoughts to wander. His refusal to enter the cabin had not been a mere whim; he intended on the morrow to seek out Ben and tell him. He had not wanted to tell him with her looking on to make the situation embarra.s.sing for him.

When he thought of how she had fooled him by making it appear that she had led him on for the purpose of getting material for her love story, he was moved to silent mirth. ”But I cert'nly didn't see anything funny in it while she was puttin' it on,” he told himself, as he rode.

He had not ridden more than a quarter of a mile from the cabin, and was pa.s.sing a clump of heavy shrubbery, when a man rose suddenly out of the shadows beside the trail. Startled, Mustard reared, and then seeing that the apparition was merely a man, he came quietly down and halted, shaking his head sagely. Ferguson's right hand had dropped swiftly to his right holster, but was raised again instantly as the man's voice came cold and steady:

”Get your hands up--quick!”

Ferguson's hands were raised, but he gave no evidence of fear or excitement. Instead, he leaned forward, trying, in the dim light, to see the man's face. The latter still stood in the shadows. But now he advanced a little toward Ferguson, and the stray-man caught his breath sharply. But when he spoke his voice was steady.

”Why, it's Ben Radford,” he said.