She did not answer.  Her eyes were turned again to the desert, and a sudden weariness clouded her face.  In that moment she seemed older, and the strong light brought out two lines delicately traced at the corners of her beautiful mouth that had not been apparent before.

“But, say,” the young man went on eagerly, “let me tell you a little more about the Vale.  It’s sheltered in there.  The mountains wall it in, and you don’t get the fierce winds off the Columbia desert.  The snow never drifts; it lies flat as a carpet all winter.  And we don’t have late frosts; never have to stay up all night watching smudge pots to keep the trees warm.  And those steep slopes catch the early spring sun and cast it off like big reflectors; things start to grow before winter is gone.  And I don’t know what makes it so, but the soil on those low Wenatchee benches is a little different from any other.  It looks like the Almighty made his hot beds there, all smooth and level, and just forgot to turn the water on.  And take a project like the Peshastin, run by a strong company with plenty of capital; the man along the canal only has to pay his water rate, so much an irrigated acre; nothing towards the plant, nothing for flume construction and repairs.  And, say, I don’t want to bore you, I don’t want to influence you too far, but I hate to see a woman—­a lady—­throw her money away right in sight of a sure proposition; even if you can’t go into improved orchards, any Hesperides investment is safe.  It means at least double the price to you within two years.  I’ve bonded forty acres more of wild land joining my tract, and I shall plant thirty of it in the fall.  The last ten will be cleared and reserved for speculation.  The piece comes within a stone’s throw of the Great Northern’s tracks.  There’s a siding there now, and when the Vale comes into full bearing, they are bound to make it a shipping station.  Then I’m going to plat that strip into town lots and put it on the market.”  He paused while her glance, returning from the desert, met his in a veiled side-look, and the flush of the bellflower again tinged his cheek.  “I mean,” he added, “I’d be mighty glad to let you in.”

The blue sparkles played under her lashes.  “Thank you, it sounds like riches, but—­”

She stopped, leaving the excuse unsaid.  The station master had turned his face suddenly towards the Columbia; he was not listening to her.  Then, presently, the sound that had caught his alert ear reached her own faintly.  Somewhere out in the solitudes a train had whistled.  “The westbound freight!” she exclaimed softly.  “Isn’t it the westbound freight?”

He nodded.  “She’s signalling Beverley.  They’ll call me in a minute.”  And he started around to the office door.

She rose and followed to the corner to look for Tisdale.  Midway the road doubled a knoll and was lost, to reappear, a paler streak, on the gray slope where the ranch house stood; and it was there, at the turn, she first noticed a cloud of dust.  It advanced rapidly, but for a while she was not able to determine whether it enveloped a rider or a man on foot; she was certain there was no led horse.  Then a gust of wind parted the cloud an instant, and the sparkle suffused her whole face.  He was returning as she had hoped, afoot.