He would have to keep her somehow.
"She may think there's a dead line between us," he told himself; "but
before we leave the Yosemite Valley together I'm going to do my best to
cross that line, if I get shot for my cheek. It's better to dare the dash
and die, than not to dare, and lose her."
Never, perhaps, was so desperate a resolve cemented while fastening a
woman's blouse; but there was a hint of triumph in Nick's voice as he
announced, "I've done it!" His signal success in two operations of extreme
difficulty seemed to him like two separate good omens.
Angela lightly thanked her knight for his services and bade him wait on
the veranda while she put on her jacket and hat. A minute later she came
out again, ready for breakfast; and now, having a mind released from
buttons, she saw that Nick was good to look upon in his khaki
riding-clothes.
"Am I all right?" she inquired modestly.
"Better than all right," he allowed himself to answer.
"I do think this hat of Hawaiian straw is a success. And you--well, I'm
rather proud of my trail guide. Used you to dress like that in your cowboy
days?"
Nick laughed. "Great Scot, no! I'd have been in rags in no time. Didn't
you ever see a cowpuncher's 'shaps'?"
"No; I don't even know what they are.
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