"To protect myself, perhaps, from one who is inclined to be over-bold," she replied, with a little nervous laugh as she settled herself comfortably on the throne-like rock. "Hope!" he reproved. A red flush dyed the girl's face. "And are you not the man?" she inquired. "Tell me then," he said quietly, "who has a better right!" She drew back into the very recess of the throne, away from his eyes, so convincingly near to hers. "It's a long climb up this steep mountain," she remarked weariedly. "And you are tired! I can see it now. But it was good of you to come to meet me here like this, Hope--_sweetheart_!" "No, no! you must not talk like that!" cried the girl. "You know I cannot help it when I am with you. I must tell you over and over that I love you--_love you_, Hope! Why not, when my heart sings it all the time? And have you not given me the _right_, dear?" "Wait! Not now," she said more softly. "Talk about something else--_anything_," she gasped. "And must I humor you, my queen," he said. "Look down and let me read in your eyes what I want to find there--then I will talk about anything, everything, until you want to hear what is in my heart!" "Only daylight can reveal what is in my eyes," she replied. "The light of the moon is unreal, deceiving. Tell me how long you have been here, and where did you leave your horse?" "You are evading me for some reason. If I did not believe it to be impossible, I should say that I am nervous--and that you are nervous. Can you not be yourself to me now--at this time? Why did you want me to meet you here?" "You say you love me. Then aren't you content to just sit here in silence beside me?" "Pardon me, dear, but my love is almost too great for silence. You will admit that." Then with a touch of amusement in his voice: "Tell me, are you angry with me that I should speak so plainly to you?" "No, no! Of course not--only talk about something else just now. How long have you been here?" "An eternity," he replied. "Or perhaps longer. I'm not sure. When I left you there at the camp I went directly back to the ranch. The men were all in bed. I went in and got my rifle and started over here. You see we are both armed!" he laughed, taking a Winchester from behind the throne of rocks. She took it from him and examined it minutely. "A good gun," she remarked, handing it back. "Then I started over here," he continued, "but had a brief interruption on the road in the shape of the old squaw that lives down in your community--old Mother White Blanket. She held me up in the road--positively held my horse so that I couldn't move while she told a story that would have brought tears to my eyes if I could have understood a word she said, and if my mind hadn't been so full of the most gloriously beautiful girl in the world.