The sun had climbed high and was peering down the walls of the gulch when
she awoke. She did not at once realize where she was, but came presently
to a blinking consciousness of her surroundings. The rock wall on one side
was still shadowed, while the painted side of the other was warm with the
light which poured upon it. The Gothic spires, the Moorish domes, the
weird and mysterious caves, which last night had given more than a touch
of awe to her majestic bedchamber, now looked a good deal less like the
ruins of mediæval castles and the homes of elfin sprites and gnomes.
"Buenos dios, muchacha," a voice called cheerfully to her.
She did not need to turn to know to whom it belonged. Among a thousand she
would have recognized its tone of vibrant warmth.
"Buenos," she answered, and, rising hurriedly, she fled to rearrange her
hair and dress.
It was nearly a quarter of an hour later that she reappeared, her thick
coils of ebon-hued tresses shining in the sun, her skirt smoothed to her
satisfaction, and the effects of feminine touches otherwise visible upon
her fresh, cool person.
"Breakfast is served," Norris sang out.
"Dinner would be nearer it," she laughed. "Why in the world didn't you
boys waken me? What time is it, anyhow?"
"It's not very late--a little past noon maybe. You were all tired out with
your tramp yesterday. I didn't see why you shouldn't have your sleep
out."
He was pouring a cup of black coffee for her from the smoky pot, and she
looked around expectantly for the others. Simultaneously she remembered
that she had not heard the bleating of the sheep.
"Where are the others--Mr. Farnum and Sam? And have you the sheep all
gagged?" she laughed.
He gave her that odd look of smoldering eyes behind half-shut lids.
"The boys have gone on to finish the drive for you. They started before
sun-up this morning. I'm elected to see you back home safely."
"But----"
Her protest died unspoken. She could not very well frame it in words, and
before his bold, possessive eyes the girl's long, dark lashes wavered to
the cheeks into which the hot blood was beating. Nevertheless, the feeling
existed that she wished one of the others had stayed instead of him. It
was born, no doubt, partly of the wave of shyness running through her,
but partly too of instinctive maidenly resistance to something in his
look, in the assurance of his manner, that seemed to claim too much. Last
night he had taken her by storm and at advantage. Something of shame
stirred in her that he had found her so easy a conquest, something too of
a new vague fear of herself. She resented the fact that he could so move
her, even though she still felt the charm of his personal presence. She
meant to hold herself in abeyance, to make sure of herself and of him
before she went further.