"I'll be damned!" she said, rather reverently.
Hilton did not ride far. His horse was reluctant to go at first and then stopped and stood with head in the air, nickering softly and would not go on when his rider spurred him. After a moment Hilton sat still and listened. He heard the steady plunk-plunk-plunk of a trotting horse and, soon, the swish of brush; then a call, rather low and cautious.
The canvas before the doorway was drawn back.
"You decided to stay?" Then, in surprise, "Who's there?"—sharply.
One word in answer and Hilton remembered it:
"Hepburn."
The rider dismounted and entered.
Dick rode on up the trail. When he reached Ute Crossing his clothing was dried by the early sun. He ate breakfast and crawled into his bed, angered one moment, puzzled the next and, finally, thrilled as he dropped asleep with a vision of firelight playing over a deliciously slender throat.