"Fetch yourself," he replied, softly.
"But, boy, how could I fetch you anything without fetching myself?"
"Sure, that's right. Then fetch me some jam and a book--to-morrow. Will you?"
"I surely will."
"That's a promise. I know your promises of old."
"Then good-by till to-morrow. I must go. I hope you'll be better."
"I'll stay sick in bed till you stop coming."
Columbine left rather precipitously, and when she got outdoors it seemed that the hills had never been so softly, dreamily gray, nor their loneliness so sweet, nor the sky so richly and deeply blue. As she untied Pronto the hunter came out with Kane at his heels.
"Miss Collie, if you'll go easy I'll ketch my horse an' ride down with you," he said.
She mounted, and walked Pronto out to the trail, and slowly faced the gradual descent. It was really higher up there than she had surmised. And the view was beautiful. The gray, rolling foothills, so exquisitely colored at that hour, and the black-fringed ranges, one above the other, and the distant peaks, sunset-flushed across the purple, all rose open and clear to her sight, so wildly and splendidly expressive of the Colorado she loved.