"I've one suggestion to add," put in Bennington, "and that is, that we
go to-morrow."
She looked a trifle doubtful.
"I don't know. Aren't we seeing a good deal of each other?"
"Oh, if it is going to bore you, by all means put it off!" cried
Bennington in genuine alarm.
She laughed contentedly over his way of looking at it. "I'm not tired
then, so please you; and when I am, I'll let you know. To-morrow it
is."
"Shall I come after you? What time shall I start?"
"No, I'd rather meet you somewhere. Let's see. You watch for me, and
I'll ride by in the lower gulch about nine o'clock."
"Very well. By the way, the band's going to practise in town to-night.
Don't you want to go?"
"I'd like to, but I promised Jim I'd go with him."
"Jim?"
"Jim Fay."
Bennington felt this as a discordant note.
"Do you know him very well?" he asked jealously.
"He's my best friend. I like him very much. He is a fine fellow. You
must meet him."
"I've met him," said Bennington shortly.
"Now you must go," she commanded, after a pause. "I want to stay here
for a while." "No," as he opened his mouth to object. "I mean it!
Please be good!"
After he had gone she sat still until sundown. Once she shook her
shoulders impatiently. "It is silly!" she assured herself. As before,
the shadow of Harney crept out to the horizon's edge. There it
stopped. Twilight fell.
"No Spirit Mountain to-night," she murmured wistfully at last. "Almost
do I believe in the old legend."