The young man looked at Willock somewhat dubiously. "He's very much
altered, then, since I met him last. I'm afraid he has a gun hidden
up there among the rocks."

"Oh, nux, nux," retorted Willock. "He's a-speaking fair. Come
along!"

As they ascended the winding road, Wilfred vividly recalled the day
when, from the same elevation, he had watched Lahoma buried in her
day-dreams. A sudden turn brought the cove into view. Lahoma was
not to be seen, but there was the cabin, the dugout and the three
cedar trees in whose shade he had made the discovery that he could
not regard Lahoma as a little girl. It seemed that the cabin door
trembled--was Lahoma's hand upon the latch? And when she opened the
door, what expression would flash upon that face he remembered so
well? Would she be as glad as Willock and Bill Atkins, when she
recognized him? Even one half as glad?

He sighed deeply--it was not to be expected. She had known him only
an hour; since then, many settlers had invaded the country about the
Granite Mountains, a city had sprung up, not far away--other towns
were peeping through the sand, and blooming from canvas to wood and
brick. The air tingled with the electric currents of new life and
intense competition.

"Did Lahoma marry?" he asked abruptly as all three descended to the
lower level of the cove.

"She never did, yet," replied Bill dryly. "Young man, I'm powerful