The horses started steadily up the road which wound around the hillside. West had not spoken since she joined him, but silently made notes of her graceful seat in the saddle; how she held the reins firmly, yet lightly, in her left hand; how her shoulders were flung back; how her nostrils were dilating and her chest was moving in rhythmic, full breathing. Once, as she breathed long and deep, she cried out, “Oh, it seems as if I never shall get all this delicious air I want! What a glorious morning! See, the sun is only just peeping over the hills! Oh, the lazy old fellow! What time is it, I wonder?” Henry West replied without first glancing at his watch, “It is about half after seven,” but to assure her he opened his watch and simply added, “Yes.” “You stood there last evening,” he said, pointing to the flat boulder upon which Bess had stood so tremblingly in the twilight. “I felt that it was you.” The horses were breathing hard when they reached the summit, and West drew rein that they might recover from the exertion. “Why don’t you wear spurs?” inquired Bess. “I supposed no cowboy’s costume was ever complete without them.” “I do wear them when I am riding a cayuse and after cattle or on the round-up,” he explained, “but Eagle nor Mauchacho nor my other thoroughbred doesn’t need them. Do you, old boy?” he interrogated, bending over and giving the beautiful horse a sound “love-pat” on the neck. Again Bess had become entranced at the wondrous scene which lay before her, even more glorious than the one of the night before. A song arose to her lips. As the first few notes unconsciously escaped her, and the rich, full melody floated out upon the morning air, she suddenly collected herself. “Oh, I could not help it,” she apologized. Henry West looked at her with pleading eyes as he begged her to go on. “Please don’t mind me. Sing out the joy in your heart,” he said, gently. As side by side the horses began the stony ascent of the opposite side of the hill, she sang, at first softly, then forgetting all else in the world except that she was young and happy and glad to be alive, the music became full, sweet and strong, and in her rich, sympathetic voice she poured forth her heart. “The sun is rising o’er the ocean, The smiling waters greet the day; The joyous winds to dancing motion Wake the billows and the spray. See where the clouds roll up the mountains! Night has her misty banner furled, And springing from a thousand fountains Light and joy o’erflow the world!”