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, blushing. 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.