"I—I reckon I was wrong," he said, "for I was tryin' not to kiss you. If you say the word, I'll ride back with you and tell your father. I ain't ashamed of it—only if you say it was wrong."
Dorothy had recovered herself. A twinkle of fun danced in her eyes. "I can't scold you now. You're going away. But when you get back—" And she shook her finger at him and tried to look very grave, which made him smile.
"Then I'll keep right on ridin' south," he said.
"But you'd get lonesome and come back to your hills. I know! And it's awfully hot in the desert."
"Would you be wantin' me to come back?"
"Of course. Father would miss you."
[Illustration: They made coffee and ate the sandwiches she had prepared] "And that would make you unhappy—him bein' lonesome, so I reckon I'll come back."
"I shall be very busy entertaining my guests," she told him with a charming tilt of her chin. And she straightway swung to the saddle.
Lorry started the pack-horses up the hill and mounted Gray Leg. She sat watching him as he rode sideways gazing back at her.
As he turned to follow the pack-horses up the next ascent she called to him:—