“I—I was just looking away yonder,” he said, smiling. She thrilled at the clear, wonderful light of his eyes.
“So was I—a moment ago,” she replied, wistfully. “Do you miss the forest—very much?”
“Nell, I miss nothing. But I'd like to ride with you under the pines once more.”
“We'll go,” she cried.
“When?” he asked, eagerly.
“Oh—soon!” And then with flushed face and downcast eyes she passed on. For long Helen had cherished a fond hope that she might be married in Paradise Park, where she had fallen in love with Dale and had realized herself. But she had kept that hope secret. Dale's eager tone, his flashing eyes, had made her feel that her secret was there in her telltale face.
As she entered the lane leading to the house she encountered one of the new stable-boys driving a pack-mule.
“Jim, whose pack is that?” she asked.
“Ma'am, I dunno, but I heard him tell Roy he reckoned his name was mud,” replied the boy, smiling.
Helen's heart gave a quick throb. That sounded like Las Vegas. She hurried on, and upon entering the courtyard she espied Roy Beeman holding the halter of a beautiful, wild-looking mustang. There was another horse with another man, who was in the act of dismounting on the far side. When he stepped into better view Helen recognized Las Vegas. And he saw her at the same instant.