“Oh!—I—you see, Berenice—it was because of this belt, he saved my life,” came in an evasive reply.
Bess felt a wave of color surge over her face, and the blood in her heart began to pound violently as she briefly related the story of her perilous adventure and rescue.
“James and Henry West will reach home some time tomorrow, Berenice. James has tried to appear unconcerned ever since he knew you were coming this fall,” she laughed, “and I am inclined to believe that perhaps Miss Berenice Morton will be just a little de-e-lighted, too, when the morrow comes.” Bess gave her friend an impulsive squeeze that made reply an impossibility.
“Well—I’ve heard of Henry West and also concerning James Fletcher; what, pray, is the third item of interest?” asked Miss Morton, when she had again resumed her comfortable position.
Bess arose, dropping her blanket near the seat, and walked deliberately outside the opening of her “den.” Lifting both her hands to brush her hair from her face, then letting them rest, with fingers intertwined about her head, she turned and looked in at the awaiting listener.
“On the fifteenth of October I am to be married to Mr. Dave Davis, the Indian agent of this reservation!”
Berenice opened her eyes and mouth in wide amazement. Lifting her glasses from her nose and poising them in her fingers, she gazed with astonishment at Bess Fletcher.
“Bess! And you never told me a single word of him before!”
Bess then told her in as few words as possible of her brief courtship and the reason for the hasty marriage; she also outlined her few plans for the wedding, requesting that Berenice write for her father’s consent to prolong her visit, that she might assist as bridesmaid. Soon busy tongues were planning details, and by the time the sun’s slanting rays lighted up the tiny cavern and warned its occupants of the closing day, every item, each particular, had been planned for the coming nuptials.