Bess arose with the sun on the morning of the fifth, and was soon ready to start for camp, accompanied by one of the ranch-men whom Mrs. West had ordered to ride with the girl and pack her baggage.
“I wish you were going too, little Mother,” said Bess earnestly as she hurried about, finishing her preparations.
“It would be enjoyable I’m sure, but I cannot think of it this time, dear. Come home strong and safe, won’t you?”
What a magnificent morning! Just a hint of autumn in the bracing air, while a soft, hazy atmosphere veiled the mountains and nestled on the ripples of the lake. The sun had not yet mounted high enough to dry the dew which lay on the grass and dampened the trail. Fifteen miles toward the north-west was the place where camp was to be made, the man had told Bess in response to her question, how far would they ride?
As they crossed the ferry, all the events of the recent tragedy surged over her, and as her hand clasped the beaded belt it sought the place where the iron hold had broken the threads and loosened the beads. An unknown and foreign sensation seemed to sweep over her; a sharp pain, incomprehensible, clutched her heart as she again felt the embrace of her rescuer. He stood out clear, full and bold before her mind’s eye in a strange new light! The thought of another man forced itself into her mind, and she was startled from her musings as the ferry touched the shore by a well known voice.
“Good morning; this is a most unexpected pleasure! You seemed deeply absorbed as I watched you coming across. I hope you were thinking of me!”
“I was, Mr. Davis—just then,” answered Bess as she accepted the outstretched hand.
“I had intended to call at the HW Ranch this morning in the hope of seeing you, and here I find you evidently going on a visit.”