Her hand travelled lightly as blown snow across his forehead.  He caught it and pressed the coolness against his cheek.

“I feel as if I’d sort of been through a fire.  I seem to be still seein’ red.”

“Dan, it makes me feel as if I never knew you!  Now you must forget all that has happened.  Promise me you will!”

He was silent for a moment and then he sighed again.

“Maybe I can, Kate.  Which I feel, though, as if there was somethin’ inside me writ—­writ in red letters—­I got to try to read the writin’ before I can talk much.”

She barely heard him.  Her hand was still against his face.  A deep awe and content was creeping through her, so that she began to smile and was glad that the dark covered her face.  She felt abashed before him for the first time in her life, and there was a singular sense of shame.  It was as if some door in her inner heart had opened so that Dan was at liberty to look down into her soul.  There was terror in this feeling, but there was also gladness.

“Kate.”

“Yes—­honey!”

“What were you hummin’?”

She started.

“I didn’t know I was humming, Dan.”

“You were, all right.  It sounded sort of familiar, but I couldn’t figger out where I heard it.”

“I know now.  It’s one of your own tunes.”

Now she felt a tremor so strong that she feared he would notice it.

“I must go back to the house, Dan.  Maybe Dad has returned.  If he has, perhaps he can arrange to have you carried back tonight.”

“I don’t want to think of movin’, Kate.  I feel mighty comfortable.  I’m forgettin’ all about that ache in my head.  Ain’t that queer?  Why, Kate, what in the world are you laughin’ about?”

“I don’t know, Dan.  I’m just happy!”

“Kate.”

“Yes?”

“I like you pretty much.”

“I’m so glad!”

“You an’ Black Bart, an’ Satan—­”

“Oh!” Her tone changed.

“Why are you tryin’ to take your hand away, Kate?”

“Don’t you care for me any more than for your horse—­and your dog?”

He drew a long breath, puzzled.

“It’s some different, I figger.”

“Tell me!”

“If Black Bart died—­”

The wolf-dog whined, hearing his name.

“Good ol’ Bart!  Well, if Black Bart died maybe I’d some day have another dog I’d like almost as much.”

“Yes.”

“An’ if Satan died—­even Satan!—­maybe I could sometime like another hoss pretty well—­if he was a pile like Satan!  But if you was to die—­it’d be different, a considerable pile different.”

“Why?”

His pauses to consider these questions were maddening.

“I don’t know,” he muttered at last.

Once more she was thankful for the dark to hide her smile.

“Maybe you know the reason, Kate?”

Her laughter was rich music.  His hold on her hand relaxed.  He was thinking of a new theme.  When he laughed in turn it startled her.  She had never heard that laugh before.