"She may think there's a dead line between us," he told himself; "but before we leave the Yosemite Valley together I'm going to do my best to cross that line, if I get shot for my cheek. It's better to dare the dash and die, than not to dare, and lose her." Never, perhaps, was so desperate a resolve cemented while fastening a woman's blouse; but there was a hint of triumph in Nick's voice as he announced, "I've done it!" His signal success in two operations of extreme difficulty seemed to him like two separate good omens. Angela lightly thanked her knight for his services and bade him wait on the veranda while she put on her jacket and hat. A minute later she came out again, ready for breakfast; and now, having a mind released from buttons, she saw that Nick was good to look upon in his khaki riding-clothes. "Am I all right?" she inquired modestly. "Better than all right," he allowed himself to answer. "I do think this hat of Hawaiian straw is a success. And you--well, I'm rather proud of my trail guide. Used you to dress like that in your cowboy days?" Nick laughed. "Great Scot, no! I'd have been in rags in no time. Didn't you ever see a cowpuncher's 'shaps'?" "No; I don't even know what they are. Have you kept your cowboy things?" "Oh, yes. They're knocking around somewhere. I have to put them on once in a while." "If I accept your invitation to come and see your place, will you 'dress up' in them?" "Of course, if it'd please you. But I'd feel a fool rigging myself out just to show off, like an actor." "Yet, that's the bribe you'll have to offer if you want me to pay you a visit." "It's settled then. I hope the moths haven't got my 'shaps' since I had 'em on last." They both laughed and went to breakfast. What a good world it was! Angela told Nick the tale of the mysterious apparition of a beauteous "nighty," and wondered how she could ever have felt unhappy, or depressingly grown up.