worth her weight in gold. You did me several thousand
dollars' worth of good that night. That's honest!"

She allowed her eyes to open, slowly, and looked at him with a misty
content. The mountains had already done him good. The sharp sun had
flushed him a little and tinted his cheeks and strong chin with tan. He
looked more manly, somehow, and stronger in himself. Of course he had
flattered her, but the feeling that she had actually helped him so much
by merely listening on that other night wakened in her a new
self-reverence. She was too prone to look on life as a career of manlike
endeavor; it was pleasant to know that a woman could accomplish
something even more important by simply sitting still and listening. He
was watching her gravely now, even though she permitted herself the
luxury of smiling at him.

All at once she cried softly: "Thank Heaven that you're not a fool, Ben
Connor!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't think I can tell you." She added hastily: "I'm not trying to be
mysterious."

He waved the need of an apology away.

"Tell you what. Never knew a girl yet that was worth her salt who could
be understood all the time, or who even understood herself."

She closed her eyes again to ponder this, lazily. She could not arrive
at a conclusion, but she did not care. Missing links in this
conversation were not vitally important.

"Take it easy, Ruth; we'll talk later on," he said after a time.

She did not look at him as she answered: "Tell me why?"

There was a sort of childlike confiding in all this that troubled Ben
Connor. He had seen her with a mind as direct and an enthusiasm as
strong as that of a man. This relaxing and softening alarmed him,
because it showed him another side of her, a new and vital side. She was
very lovely with the shadows of the sombrero brim cutting across the
softness of her lips and setting aglow the clear olive tan of her chin
and throat. Her hand lay palm upward beside her, very small, very
delicate in the making. But what a power was in that hand! He realized
with a thrill of not unmixed pleasure that if the girl set herself to
the task she could mold him like wax with the gestures of that hand. If
into the softness of her voice she allowed a single note of warmth to
creep, what would happen in Ben Connor? He felt within himself a chord
ready to vibrate in answer.

Now he caught himself leaning a little closer to study the purple stain
of weariness in her ey