A Daughter of the Dons | Page 8

William MacLeod Raine
his knees
at once to do it for her.
"That will do very nicely," she presently said, the color billowing her
cheeks.
He gathered wood and lit a fire, being fortunate enough to find his
match-case had been waterproof. He piled on dry branches till the fire
roared and licked out for the moisture in their clothes.
"I've been wondering how you happened to see me in the water," he
said. "You were riding past, I expect?"
"No, I was sketching. I saw you when you came up to eat your lunch,
and I watched you go back to the river."
"Do you live near here, then?" he asked.
"About three miles away."
"And you were watching me all the time?" He put his statement as a
question.
"No, I wasn't," the young woman answered indignantly. "You
happened to be in the landscape."
"A blot in it," he suggested. "A hop-toad splashing in the puddle."
The every-ready dimples flashed out at this. "You did make quite a
splash when you went in. The fish must have thought it was a whale."
"And when I told you the water was fine, and you came in, too, they
probably took you for a naiad."
She thanked him with an informal little nod.

"I thought you Anglo-Saxons did not give compliments."
"I don't," he immediately answered.
"Oh! If that isn't another one, I'm mistaken, sir." She turned
indifferently away, apparently of the opinion that she had been quite
friendly enough to this self-possessed young stranger.
Rewinding the lariat, she fastened it to the saddle, then swung to the
seat before he could step forward to aid her.
"I hope you will suffer no bad effects from your bath," he said.
"I shall not; but I'm afraid you will. You were in long enough to get
thoroughly chilled. Adios, señor."
He called to her before the pony had taken a dozen steps:
"Your handkerchief, señorita!"
She turned in the saddle and waited for him to bring it. He did so, and
she noticed that he limped badly.
"You have hurt yourself," she said quickly.
"I must have jammed my knee against a rock," he explained. "Nothing
serious."
"But it pains?"
"Just enough to let me know it's there."
Frowning, she watched him.
"Is it a bruise or a sprain?"
"A wrench, I think. It will be all right if I favor it"
"Favor it? Except the ranch, there is no place nearer than seven miles.

You are staying at Corbett's, I presume?"
"Yes."
"You can't walk back there to-night. That is certain." She slipped from
the saddle. "You'll have to go back to the ranch with me, sir. I can walk
very well."
He felt a wave of color sweep his face.
"I couldn't take the horse and let you walk."
"That is nonsense, sir. You can, and you shall."
"If I am to take your horse I need not saddle myself upon your
hospitality. I can ride back to Corbett's, and send the horse home
to-morrow."
"It is seven miles to Miguel's, and Corbett's is three beyond that. No
doctor would advise that long ride before your knee receives attention,
I think, sir, you will have to put up with the ranch till to-morrow."
"You ain't taking my intention right. All I meant was that I didn't like to
unload myself on your folks; but if you say I'm to do it I'll be very
happy to be your guest." He said it with a touch of boyish
embarrassment she found becoming.
"We'll stop at the top of the hill and take on my drawing things," she
told him.
He need have had no fears for her as a walker, for she was of the elect
few born to grace of motion. Slight she was, yet strong; the delicacy
that breathed from her was of the spirit, and consisted with perfect
health. No Grecian nymph could have trod with lighter or surer step nor
have unconsciously offered to the eye more supple and beautiful lines
of limb and body.
Never had the young man seen before anybody whose charm went so
poignantly to the root of his emotions. Every turn of the head, the set of

the chin, the droop of the long, thick lashes on the soft cheek, the fling
of a gesture, the cadence of her voice; they all delighted and fascinated
him. She was a living embodiment of joy-in-life, of love personified.
She packed her sketches and her paraphernalia with businesslike
directness, careless of whether he did or did not see her water-colors. A
movement of his hand stayed her as she took from, the easel the one
upon which she had been engaged.
It represented the sun-drenched slope below them, with the little gulch
dressed riotously in its gala best of yellows.
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