They touched the ground
at the same moment.
He looked at her with undisguised admiration.
"You're a wonderful rider," he said.
"A soldier's daughter must be--it's part of her life."
He tied their horses to the low hanging limbs of a cluster of scrub
trees, and found a seat on the bowlders which the Indians had set for a
landmark on the lonely hilltop.
Westward the plains stretched, a silent ocean of green, luscious grass.
"What's that dark spot in the valley?" the girl eagerly asked.
"Watch it a moment--"
They sat in silence for five minutes.
"Why, it's moving!" she cried.
"Yes."
"How curious--"
"An illusion?" he suggested.
"Nonsense, I'm not dreaming."
"I've been dreaming a lot lately--"
A smile played about the corners of her fine mouth. But she ignored the
hint.
"Tell me," she cried; "you studied the sciences at West Point, what does
it mean?"
"Look closely. Any fifteen-year-old boy of the plains could explain it."
"Am I so ignorant?" she laughed.
"No," he answered soberly, "our eyes just refuse to see things at which
we are looking until the voice within reveals. The eyes of a hunter
could make no mistake about such a spot--particularly if it moved."
"It might be a passing cloud--"
"There's none in the sky.
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