The girl bowed her head in her hands. The young Texan wanted to take her in his arms. For first time it came to him, fully and undeniably, that he was in love with this slim, dark-haired young woman whom chance had thrown across his trail. Only the Texan did not call it chance. He wanted to tell the girl that it was Fate that had caused their trails to cross and recross. They had seated themselves on the tiny porch that shaded the front doorway to the cabin. Giant pine trees crowded in friendly fashion about the few acres which the naturalist had cleared. Over the tips of the biggest pines could be seen the white hoods of the mountains. Across the circle of blue sky, that compassed the clearing, drifted masses of white clouds. From the forest came the indistinguishable murmur, that went on always, mingled with the sound of the trout stream, which had first lured Indians and then white men along its course. “I’ll be going away from these parts in a few days, Miss Caldwell--Alma,” said the Texan. “I reckon I might complicate matters if I stayed here, particularly as I don’t want to bring any trouble on you or your folks, because I was one of Swingley’s crowd. But I don’t want to have you forget me. In fact I just don’t intend to let that happen, because it would be a calamity, as far as I’m concerned. I might as well tell you that I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, and I fell deeper in love in Denver, and, since I’ve been seeing you up here, it’s just been a case of being lost hopelessly.” The Texan put his hand over the slender fingers that covered the girl’s face. The girl did not draw her hands away, and he drew them down slowly. Her eyes, still wet with tears, were wide and startled. The Texan felt her slender frame tremble. Then her expression changed, and she pushed his hand away, laughing her musical, rippling laughter. “What suddenness!” she exclaimed. “And yet we Northerners have always felt that you Southerners are rather deliberate in all things.” The Texan smiled as he rose. Something in that first glance, which she had given him, told him that his cause was not lost. “Not in love or in war,” he said. “Nobody ever accused us of being deliberate in those things.” “Well, apparently there’s too much war in the atmosphere around here, just now, for any other sentiment to flourish,” retorted the girl. “Nothing can supplant real love,” said the Texan. “It’s thrived during centuries of wars. I’ve said my say, and, before I leave this part of the country, I’m coming for my answer.” “Well, I answer all civil questions and some impertinent ones,” replied Alma. “Maybe I’ll answer yours in the latter category. But, anyway, it’s lucky you’ve put off getting your answer, for here comes Uncle Billy.”