“There is the dearest spot up along the Lake shore,” she told Mrs. West one afternoon as she and Mauchacho came up to the porch, returning from one of their pleasant rides. “It is up on a little knoll, with beautiful pine trees that looked as if they had been freshly scrubbed this very day; and such very comfortable rocks and logs lying about. I am going to take my crayons and sketch there some day. Such a magnificent view of the vast blue lake, the mountains all around and Wild Horse Island in the distance.” Then, as if she felt half guilty for leaving, she inquired how Mr. Davis seemed. “Really, I should not have left you to take care of him so long alone. I’ll be in the house in a moment, little Mother, and relieve you.” As none of the men were about Bess unsaddled her horse and turned him loose to bury his nose in the soft, green grass of the pasture. She stood a moment watching Mauchacho as he sniffed to find a good place to roll. “Over Mauchacho, over again, two hundred! three hundred dollars; good, but we won’t sell you for a thousand, will we, you beauty?” And with her hat and gloves she ran into the house and hurriedly dressed to take charge of the sick man. Davis had proved a quiet patient during his confinement and was now sitting up most of the day and soon would be able to be removed to his quarters at the agency. In his secret heart he knew that he was in no hurry to go; perhaps, had he made an effort, he could have gone some days ago. But he could not tear himself away from the girl who had helped to alleviate his suffering, and whose sweet voice had charmed him when she read during the long, tedious hours, and thrilled him while she sang, he lying quietly and watching her face, songs that were simple and sweet and full of deepest melody. But she always appeared abstracted; her brown eyes did not see the things about her, but gazed upon unknown visions which only her heart saw. Sometimes the brightest smiles played upon her lips and lighted up her face with joy; again, tear-drops hung on her long lashes, and fell unheeded upon her hands. If he could only divine the thoughts which caused her emotion! He could not, but was entranced and deeply moved. Was he growing to love this girl, he asked himself a dozen times a day. No, surely he was not. But, even if he were, did he dare? Could he, Dave Davis, make this beautiful, unsuspecting and pure child love him? Always, he would banish the thought, for he still possessed a conscience, and could not think of her in this relation without a twinge. Today as she came into the sick-room, all rosy and fresh after her ride, he looked at her with admiration. She had never looked half so charming to him before; the simple white dress made her girlish, and the bunch of yellow blossoms thrust into the loose knot of brown hair, just behind her ear, gave her a saucy air. She was brushing the hair from her brow as she approached the chair in which he was sitting.