delicious. And that's a spring, I suppose." Mercilessly she was stripping
her mind of her illusions, and was clothing it in the harsher weave of
reality. "All these hills are Manley's--our ranch." She took another sip
and set down the cup. "And so Cold Spring Ranch means--all this."

Down the coulee she heard Manley call. She stood still, pushing back a
fallen lock of fine, yellow hair. She turned toward the sound, and the sun
in her eyes turned them yellow as the hair above them. She was beautiful,
in an odd, white-and-gold way. If her eyes had been blue, or gray--or even
brown--she would have been merely pretty; but as they were, that amber tint
where one looked for something else struck one unexpectedly and made her
whole face unforgettably lovely. However, the color of her eyes and her
hair did not interest her then, or make life any easier. She was quite
ordinarily miserable and homesick, as she went reluctantly back along the
grassy trails The odor of fried bacon came up to her, and she hated bacon.
She hated everything.

"I've been to the spring," she called out, resolutely cheerful, as soon as
she came in sight of Manley, waiting in the kitchen door; she ran toward
him lightly. "However does the water keep so deliciously cool through this
hot weather? I don't wonder you call this Cold Spring Ranch."

Manley straightened proudly. "I'm glad you like it; I was afraid you might
not, just at first. But you're the right stuff--I might have known it. Not
every woman could come out here and appreciate this country right at the
start."

Val stopped at the steps, panting a little from her run, and smiled
unflinchingly up into his face.