“They get me,” she answered. “I never knew I was so fond of mountains.”
“It’s the mystery of them. You have the feeling that things are going on in and about them that you don’t know—that nobody’ll ever know. I remember the first time I climbed a big mountain—up in Colorado. When I was about three-quarters of the way up I looked down on one of those little mountain lakes—just as blue as that ring of yours—set in the brown of the mountain. It made me feel as if I’d struck gold. I couldn’t believe that anybody but the Indians and I had ever seen that lake.”
Scott was leaning against the post of the veranda, still looking at the mountains. Suddenly he turned.
“Little girl, I think you’d better be going in and getting a few hours of sleep,” he said. “Four o’clock comes along awfully early in the morning.”
Polly said nothing. She picked up the serape again and turned to go. Then she came back again, holding out her hand.
“Mr. Scott, I haven’t said a word to show that I’m grateful for what you did to-night. You saved my life, didn’t you?”
Scott took the hand and smiled down into the serious eyes.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “Those fellows who horned into our fight did that, I reckon. I sure tried to, though, if you’d like to shake hands on that.”
“You risked your own life, anyhow, so please don’t spoil my story.”
“Well, put it that I’ll be delighted to save your life any time you say, even if I get my hide full of holes for doing it. How’s that?”