"You'll hav' ter pick yer way mighty careful 'long thar," he said slowly. "'Tain't jist safe fer a hoss, nohow, but I reckon he'll pick his own way all right. Thar's a cabin 'round behind that bend whar we mout git a bite ter eat."
"Who lives there?"
"A fellar named Larrabee; but I reckon thar won't be noboddy ter hom' but the ol' woman—Bill's conscripted."
"Go on down," I said after a moment, "and we'll follow slowly. How far away is Covington?"
"'Bout twenty mile—in the next valley beyond them hills."
He disappeared around a sharp ledge, and Noreen and I were alone—alone, it seemed to me, in all the world. I dare not even look at her, as I helped her out of the saddle. Tired from the long hours of riding along the rough trail, she staggered slightly on her feet, and her hands clasped my arm. Our eyes met, and in the depths of hers was the mist of tears.
"Tom," she said earnestly, her voice faltering. "I cannot stand this any longer. I—I must know—what—what I am to you?"
"To me!" I echoed, the blood leaping in my veins. "Do you not know? Can you feel the slightest doubt?"
