It was plain that he was holding something back. She turned and laid her fingers on his arm. “Tell me how you did it,” she pressed.
The darkness hid his modest confusion. “It was really nothing,” he stammered. “You see, I had a leather coat, and I just threw it over your head—and mine—and dragged you out.”
She was silent for a moment while the meaning of his words came home to her. Then she placed her hand frankly in his.
“Thank you,” she said, and even in the darkness she knew that their eyes had met.
“You are very resourceful,” she continued presently. “Must we sit here all night?”
“I can think of no alternative,” he confessed. “If we had fire-arms we could shoot a signal, or if there were grass about we could start a fire, although it probably would not be noticed with so many glows on the horizon to-night.” He stopped to look about. Dull splashes of red in the sky pointed out remnants of the day’s conflagration still eating their way through the foothills. The air was full of the pungent but not unpleasant smell of burnt grass.
“A pretty hard night to send a signal,” he said, “but they’re almost sure to ride this way.”
She wondered why he did not offer to walk to the camp for help; it could not be more than four or five miles. Suddenly she thought she understood.
“I am not afraid to stay here alone,” she said, with a little laugh. It was the first time Grant had heard her laugh, and he thought it very musical indeed. “I’ve slept out many a night, and you would be back within a couple of hours.”
“I’m quite sure you’re not afraid,” he agreed, “but, you see, I am. You got quite a tap on the head, and for some time before you came to you were talking—rather foolishly. Now if I should leave you it is not only possible, but quite probable, that you would lapse again into unconsciousness.... I really think you’ll have to put up with me here.”