As closely as she dared she crept, and once more made her bed upon the sand.  There, in a child-like sense of security, with her fearless protector near, she listened in a hazy way to the prowling beasts, now cruising away to the south, and so profoundly slept.

Van had heard her come.  Into his heart snuggled such a warmth and holy joy as few men are given to feel.  He, too, went to sleep, thinking of his nugget on her breast.

CHAPTER XXVII

TALL STORIES

Daylight had barely broadened into morning when Van was astir from his bed.  The air was chill and wonderfully clean.  Above the eastern run of hills the sun was ready to appear.

Beth still lay deep in slumber.  She had curled up like a child in her meager covering.  Van watched her from his distance.  A little shiver passed through her form, from time to time.  Her hat was still in place, but how girlish, how sweet, how helpless was her face—­the little he could see!  How he wished he might permit her to sleep it out as nature demanded.  For her own sake, not for his, he must hasten her onward to Goldite, by way of the “Laughing Water” claim.

He walked off eastward where a natural furrow made a deep depression in the valley.  His pony followed, the lasso dragging in the sand.  Once over at the furrow edge, the man took out his pistol and fired it off in the air.

Beth was duly aroused.  Van saw her leap to her feet, then he disappeared in the hollow, with his broncho at his heels.

The girl was, if possible, stiffer than before.  But she was much refreshed.  For a moment she feared Van was deserting, till she noted his saddle, near at hand.  Then he presently emerged upon the level of the plain and returned to the site of their camp.

“First call for breakfast in the dining-car,” he said.  “We can make it by half-past eight.”

“If only we could have a cup of good hot coffee first, before we start,” said Beth, and she smiled at the vainness of the thought.

“We won’t get good coffee at the claim,” Van assured her dryly.  “But near-coffee would lure me out of this.”

He was rapidly adjusting the blanket and saddle on his horse.

“You’ll have to ride or we can’t make speed,” he added.  “As a walker you’re sure the limited.”

She appreciated thoroughly the delicacy with which he meant to continue the fiction of her sex.  But he certainly was frank.

“Thank you,” she answered amusedly.  “I’d do better, perhaps, if I weren’t so over-burdened with flattery.”

“You’ll have to do better, anyhow,” he observed, concluding preparations with Suvy.  “There you are.  Get on.  Father Time with hobbles on could beat us getting a move.”

He started off, leaving her to mount by herself.  She managed the matter somewhat stiffly, suppressing a groan at the effort, and then for an hour she was gently pummeled into limberness as the pony followed Van.