“I shall keep hold of you,” he explained; “you need not fear that. Stop! I'll make it safer.” He untied the large bandanna silk handkerchief which he wore around his shoulders, knotted one end of it firmly to his belt, and handed her the other. “Do you think you can hold on to that?” “I--don't know,”--she hesitated. “If I should fall?” “Stay a moment! Is your belt strong?” He pointed to a girdle of yellow leather which caught her tunic around her small waist. “Yes,” she said eagerly, “it's real leather.” He gently slipped the edge of the handkerchief under it and knotted it. They were thus linked together by a foot of handkerchief. “I feel much safer,” she said, with a faint smile. “But if I should fall,” he remarked, looking into her eyes, “you would go too! Have you thought of that?” “Yes.” Her previous charming smile returned. “It would be really Jack and Jill this time.” They passed out on the trail. “Now I must take YOUR arm,” he said laughingly; “not you MINE.” He passed his arm under hers, holding it firmly. It was the one he had touched. For the first few steps her uncertain feet took no hold of the sloping mountain side, which seemed to slip sideways beneath her. He was literally carrying her on his shoulder. But in a few moments she saw how cleverly he balanced himself, always leaning toward the hillside, and presently she was able to help him by a few steps. She expressed her surprise at his skill. “It's nothing; I carry a pail of water up here without spilling a drop.” She stiffened slightly under this remark, and indeed so far overdid her attempt to walk without his aid, that her foot slipped on a stone, and she fell outward toward the abyss. But in an instant his arm was transferred from her elbow to her waist, and in the momentum of his quick recovery they both landed panting against the mountain side. “I'm afraid you'd have spilt the pail that time,” she said, with a slightly heightened color, as she disengaged herself gently from his arm. “No,” he answered boldly, “for the pail never would have stiffened itself in a tiff, and tried to go alone.” “Of course not, if it were only a pail,” she responded. They moved on again in silence. The trail was growing a little steeper toward the upper end and the road bank. Bray was often himself obliged to seek the friendly aid of a manzanita or thornbush to support them. Suddenly she stopped and caught his arm. “There!” she said. “Listen! They're coming!” Bray listened; he could hear at intervals a far-off shout; then a nearer one--a name--“Eugenia.” So that was HERS! “Shall I shout back?” he asked. “Not yet!” she answered. “Are we near the top?” A sudden glow of pleasure came over him--he knew not why, except that she did not look delighted, excited, or even relieved. “Only a few yards more,” he said, with an unaffected half sigh. “Then I'd better untie this,” she suggested, beginning to fumble at the knot of the handkerchief which linked them.