"Yes," she replied carelessly, "I believe you told me so once before." For an instant he did not speak. "It was here at the camp, another evening like this, wasn't it?" she continued, in quite a matter-of-fact tone. "I will not believe that you have forgotten it," he exclaimed softly. "It may have sounded foolish to you to hear the words, but I could not help saying them!" He stood so close to her that he could feel her warm breath. "It may be wrong to stand here with you now, alone. How quiet it is! You and I together in a little world of our own! How I love you, my girl, _love you_! I may not have the right to this much happiness, but there is no moral law that man or God has made to prevent a man from saying to the woman he loves, 'I love you!' Are you--do you care that I have said it?" "You must not--tell me again," she said, in a voice so forced that it seemed to belong to some other person. Then she turned abruptly and led her horse past him, up the bank of the creek, to Louisa waiting before the tent. CHAPTER XXII In the cool of evening, between dark and moonrise, the time when night is blackest, and shadows hang like a pall over mountain top and crag, a small group of men might have been seen lounging before old Mother White Blanket's tepee, absorbing the genial warmth that came from her camp-fire, over which the old squaw hovered close. In the background, away from the group, yet still with the light of the fire shining full upon him, stood the soft-voiced twin. Suddenly the hawk-like eyes of his grandmother swept the darkness and fastened themselves upon his inquisitive face. For an instant they pierced him through, then the shrill voice rang out: "So! It's only the sneak-dog that dare not come near! You get out and hunt your bed!" "I ain't doin' nothin'!" exclaimed the boy. "No! An' you'll live doin' nothin', an' die doin' nothin', with a rope about your neck, _so_!" She made a quick motion across her throat, and gurgled heinously, letting her blanket fall low upon her skinny, calico covered shoulders, revealing a long, gaunt throat and stiff wisps of black, unkempt hair. "You don't need to think you can scare _me_," said the boy, moving boldly forward, impelled by fear. "I ain't sneakin' 'round here, neither! You'd better be a little politer er I'll tell the old man on you when he gets sober again!" "Hear him!" roared Shorty Smith. "Politer! I reckon the school-ma'am's instillin' some mighty high-flutin' notions into your head, ain't she? Politer! Just listen to that onct, will yous! Say, don't no one dare breathe loud when _Mister_ Daniel Harris, _esquire_, comes round!" "You let your betters alone," rebuked the old woman, shaking a stick at Shorty, preliminary to throwing it upon the fire. "My grandson's got more in his head than all of you!" Then nodding at the boy who, emboldened, had come up to the fire: "Say what's on your tongue an' git off to bed with you!"