Jim Cleve cheered up. Perhaps it was her brightening to which he responded. They began to talk and speech liberated feeling. Miles of that back-trail they rode side by side, holding hands, driving the pack-horse ahead, and beginning to talk of old associations. Again it was sunset when they rode down the hill toward the little village of Hoadley. Joan's heart was full, but Jim was gay.
“Won't I have it on your old fellows!” he teased. But he was grim, too.
“Jim! You—won't tell—just yet!” she faltered.
“I'll introduce you as my wife! They'll all think we eloped.”
“No. They'll say I ran after you!... Please, Jim! Keep it secret a little. It'll be hard for me. Aunt Jane will never understand.”
“Well, I'll keep it secret till you want to tell—for two things,” he said.
“What?”
“Meet me to—night, under the spruces where we had that quarrel. Meet just like we did then, but differently. Will you?”
“I'll be—so glad.”
“And put on your mask now!... You know, Joan, sooner or later your story will be on everybody's tongue. You'll be Dandy Dale as long as you live near this border. Wear the mask, just for fun. Imagine your Aunt Jane—and everybody!”