McGuire, blushing, removed his bearskin overcoat that he had put on up in the hills that afternoon. “I presume papa has thanked you for rescuing me so heroically,” she said, looking at him. “He has, but it was not necessary.” “But it is right, and I must thank you also.” “Then, if you thank me, I am glad, for you did not seem to appreciate my efforts at the moment.” “Who could? I was scared out of my wits; I took you for a horrid bear, and that was the first time I ever fainted in all my life; and that’s more than some of your Western girls can say, who are so sensible, self-possessed, and brave.” “I thought,” said McGuire, smiling back at the young lady, “it might be because we had not been properly introduced. You have doubtless heard of the Boston girl who was drowning, but refused to be rescued upon that ground?” “I have not heard it, and I should not believe it if I had. Boston girls are as sensible as Denver girls or San Francisco girls. I don’t know that we have been introduced yet,” she added, with a little toss of her head, and her words went straight to the heart of McGuire. He felt that he ought to go, and yet he knew that her father had left her in his care, and that he would be expected to remain in the drawing-room until the merchant had finished his cigar. To add to his confusion she let her window shade fly up, and, apparently ignoring his presence, was looking out upon the cold, shrouded world, that seemed so wild and wide. “Ah!” said the old gentleman, entering the room, “I feel better now; first good smoke I’ve had since dinner.” When McGuire arose and took up his greatcoat, Miss Landon stood up and returned his good night. “Good night,” said the merchant, and immediately, as if they had been waiting for time; the mirth-makers upon the platform sang: “Good night, ladies, good night, ladies, Sweet dreams, ladies--we’re going to leave you now.” CHAPTER XVIII BREAKING THE TRAIL AT midnight orders came. The road was open, the wires up, and the delayed train, in three sections, pulled out for the hills. The big pilot plough that had “bucked” the beautiful Miss Landon out of the right-of-way and into the arms of McGuire ran ahead, followed by the Rockaway with two cars, while a couple of heavy mountain-climbers brought up the coaches and sleepers. McGuire watched, like a faithful slave, at the door of the merchant’s stateroom, for he was hard hit by the hand and eyes of the merchant’s daughter. The heavy car rocked gently on the curves as the big engines, with much slipping and sanding, toiled to the summit of Cerro Hill. In a little while they were rolling along the banks of the Gunnison, and the silent river was slipping past them under the snow. At sunrise, having toiled up another long, hard hill, the train stood at the crest of the continent, ten thousand feet above the sea.