The cowboy who was accompanying Bess led the horses off the ferry and down the rocky beach for water.
“Bess—dear—it seems ages since I have seen you. Why have I not had a line from you? Can’t you know that I am eating my heart out because of your coldness!”
“Really, Mr. Davis—I have not been very well—and could not gather enough energy to write. Wait until I return from my camping trip and I’ll write and tell you all about it,” answered Bess as she turned to leave, seeing that the horses had drank their fill and were waiting for her.
“Stay a moment! Where are you going? May I go with you?”
“Ah, you were not invited,” she answered, laughingly. “Why, you see I am to be in camp ten days with some friends from Kalispell who are coming down for the fall birds.”
“Oh, yes—I sent a permit to Mr. George and party to hunt on the reserve, and I also received an invitation to visit camp. Now that you are to be there too, may I not hope for a second invitation from you, dear?”
His voice took that fascinating tone which always sent an undefinable thrill through her, and his eyes held her own in a long, steady look.
“We—camp on the Big Arm—perhaps—you can find it,” came from her lips with an effort.
Davis felt hurt that his request was not answered more heartily, but he concealed his chagrin with a smile of assurance that he would come.