Desperately casting her eyes around the horizon to discover some way
out of her dilemma, Colina perceived a thin spiral of smoke rising
above the edge of the river bank about a quarter of a mile away.

She had no idea who could be camping on the river at this place, but
she instantly set off with her own confident assurance of finding aid.
Ginger displayed no inclination to leave the particular patch of
prairie grass he had chosen for his luncheon.

As Colina approached the edge of the bank she heard a voice. She
herself made no sound in the grass.

Looking over the edge she saw a man and a dog on the stony beach below,
both with their backs to her and oblivious of her approach. Of the
man, she had a glimpse only of a broad blue flannel back and a mop of
black hair.

She heard him say to the dog: "Our last meal alone, old fel'!
To-night, if we're lucky, we'll dine with her!"

This conveyed nothing to Colina--she was to remember it later.

In speaking he turned his profile, and she received an agreeable shock;
he was young; he was not common; he had a fair, pink skin that
contrasted oddly with his swarthy locks; his bold profile accorded with
her fancy.

What caught her off her guard was his affectionate, quizzical glance at
the dog.