"Do you really think there is danger?"
"Not if you walk slowly and follow me; I'll draw their poison. After they bite me they'll have no virus left for you."
She began to smile roguishly. "You are tired—you want an excuse to rest."
"If I thought you meant that, I'd run up to the summit and back again to show you that I'm younger than my years."
She clapped her hands. "Do it! It will be like the knight in the story—the glove-and-lion story."
"No. On reflection, I will not run; it would compromise my dignity. We will climb soberly, side by side, like Darby and Joan on the hill of life."
With a demure countenance she took his hand, and they scrambled briskly up the slope. When they reached the brow of the hill she was fairly done up, while he, breathing easily, showed little fatigue, although she had felt his powerful arm sustaining her many times on the steeper slopes. She could not speak, and he smilingly said, "I hope I haven't hurried you?"
"You—are—strong," she admitted, brokenly. "I'm not tired, but I can't get breath."
At length they reached the summit and looked about. "What is the meaning of those little towers of stone?" she asked, after a moment's rest.
"Oh, they have different meanings. Sometimes they locate the springs of water, sometimes they indicate the course of a trail. This one was put here by a young fellow to mark the spot from whence he saw a famous herd of buffalo—what time he made a wonderful killing."