hard night to send a signal," he said, "but they're almost
sure to ride this way."

She wondered why he did not offer to walk to the camp for help; it
could not be more than four or five miles. Suddenly she thought she
understood.

"I am not afraid to stay here alone," she said, with a little laugh.
It was the first time Grant had heard her laugh, and he thought it very
musical indeed. "I've slept out many a night, and you would be back
within a couple of hours."

"I'm quite sure you're not afraid," he agreed, "but, you see, I am. You
got quite a tap on the head, and for some time before you came to you
were talking--rather foolishly. Now if I should leave you it is not
only possible, but quite probable, that you would lapse again into
unconsciousness.... I really think you'll have to put up with me here."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of that!... Did I--did I talk--foolishly?"

"Rather. Seemed to think you were swimming--or fighting--I couldn't be
sure which. Sometimes you seemed to be doing both."

"Oh!" With a cold chill the events of the day came back upon her. That
struggle in the water; it came to her now like a bad dream out of the
long, long past. How much had she said? How much would she have given to
know what she said? She felt herself recounting events....

Presently she pulled herself up with a start. She must not let him think
her moody.

"Well, if we MUST enjoy each other's company, we may as well do so
companionably," she said, with an effort at gaiety. "Let us talk. Tell
me about yourself."

"First things first," he parried.

"Oh, I've nothing to tell. My life has been very unromantic. A few years
at school, and the rest of it on the range. A very every-day kind of
existence."

"I think it's the 'every-day kind of existence' that IS romantic," he
returned. "It is a great mistake to think of romance as belonging to
other times and other places. Even the most commonplace person has
experienced romance enough for a dozen books. Quite possibly he has not
recognized the romance, but it was there. The trouble is that with our
limited sense of humor, what we think of as romance in other people's
lives becomes tragedy in our own."

How much DID he know?... "Yes," she said, "I suppose that is so."

"I know it is so," he went on. "If we could read the thoughts--know the
experiences--of those nearest to us, we would never need to look out of
our own circles for either romance or tragedy. But it is as wel