She got up, and whispered it in his ear. His jaw dropped, and he
stared at her in amazement.

CHAPTER XVI

THE WOLF BITES

Steve came drowsily to consciousness from confused dreams of a cattle
stampede and the click of rifles in the hands of enemies who had the
drop on him. The rare, untempered sunshine of the Rockies poured into
his window from a world outside, wonderful as the early morning of
creation. The hillside opposite was bathed miraculously in a flood of
light, in which grasshoppers fiddled triumphantly their joy in life.
The sources of his dreams discovered themselves in the bawl of thirsty
cattle and the regular clicking of a windmill.

A glance at his watch told him that it was six o'clock.

"Time to get up, Steve," he told himself, and forthwith did.

He chose a rough crash towel, slipped on a pair of Howard's moccasins,
and went down to the river through an ambient that had the sparkle and
exhilaration of champagne. The mountain air was still finely crisp
with the frost, in spite of the sun warmth that was beginning to
mellow it. Flinging aside the Indian blanket he had caught up before
leaving the cabin, he stood for an instant on the bank, a human being
with the physical poise, compactness, and lithe-muscled smoothness of
a tiger.

Even as he plunged a rifle cracked. While he dived through the air,