Anyway he went about his work blindly but vigorously, seeing nothing of the surrounding landscape or of the immediate ground into which he rammed his crow-bar, so constantly did the charming vision of her piquant features shut out all else.
And all the time he was worrying, too. He thought of snakes biting her distractingly pretty ankles; he thought of wood-ticks and of her snowy neck; of scorpions and of the delicate little hands.
How on earth was he ever going to endure the strain if already, in these few hours, his anxiety about her welfare was assuming such deep and portentous proportions! How was he going to stand the worry until she was safe in the snakeless, tickless North again!
She couldn't remain here! She must go North. His mind seemed already tottering under its new and constantly increasing load of responsibility; and he dug away fiercely with his bar, making twice as many holes as he had meant to.
For he had suddenly determined to be done with the job and get her into some safe place, and he[310] meant to set off a charge of dynamite that would do the business without fail.
Charging and tamping the holes, he used caution, even in spite of his increasing impatience to return and see how she was; arguing very justly with himself that if he blew himself up he couldn't very well learn how she was.
So he attached the wires very carefully, made his connections, picked up the big reel and the remainder of his tools, and walked toward the distant tents, unreeling his wire as he moved along.
She was making soup, but she heard the jangle of his equipment, sprang to her feet, and ran out to meet him.
He let fall everything and held out both hands. In them she laid her own.
"I'm so glad to see you!" he said warmly. "I'm so thankful that you're all right!"