Belknap caught the slight restraint as the girl and I both raised our eyes.  “Oh, I say, why—­what in the world—­Mr. Cowles, didn’t you—­that is, haven’t you—­”

“No,” said I, “I haven’t and didn’t, I think.  But I think also—­”

The girl’s face was a trifle flushed, but her eyes were merry.  “Yes,” said she, “I think Mr. Cowles and I have met once before.”  She slightly emphasized the word “once,” as I noticed.

“But still I may remind you all, gentlemen,” said I, “that I have not yet heard this lady’s name, and am only guessing, of course, that it is Miss Meriwether, whom you are taking out to Laramie.”

“Why, of course,” said Belknap, and “of course,” echoed everybody else.  My fair vis-a-vis looked me now full in the face and smiled, so that a dimple in her right cheek was plainly visible.

“Yes,” said she, “I’m going on out to join my father on the front.  This is my second time across, though.  Is it your first, Mr. Cowles?”

“My first; and I am very lucky.  You know, I also am going out to meet your father, Miss Meriwether.”

“How singular!” She put down her tin cup of coffee on the blanket.

“My father was an associate of Colonel Meriwether in some business matters back in Virginia—­”

“Oh, I know—­it’s about the coal lands, that are going to make us all rich some day.  Yes, I know about that; though I think your father rarely came over into Albemarle.”

Under the circumstances I did not care to intrude my personal matters, so I did not mention the cause or explain the nature of my mission in the West.  “I suppose that you rarely came into our county either, but went down the Shenandoah when you journeyed to Washington?” I said simply, “I myself have never met Colonel Meriwether.”

All this sudden acquaintance and somewhat intimate relation between us two seemed to afford no real pleasure either to Belknap or Orme.  For my part, with no clear reason in the world, it seemed to me that both Belknap and Orme were very detestable persons.  Had the framing of this scene been left utterly to me, I should have had none present at the fireside save myself and Ellen Meriwether.  All these wide gray plains, faintly tinged in the hollows with green, and all this sweeping sky of blue, and all this sparkling river, should have been just for ourselves and no one else.

But my opportunity came in due course, after all.  As we rose from the ground at the conclusion of our meal, the girl dropped one of her gloves.  I hastened to pick it up, walking with her a few paces afterward.

“The next time we are shipwrecked together,” said I, “I shall leave you on the boat.  You do not know your friends!”

“Why do you say that?”

“And yet I knew you at once.  I saw the ring on your hand, and recognized it—­it is the same I saw in the firelight on the river bank, the night we left the Belle.”