In an instant Philip was at her side.  In his rough, storm-beaten hand he caught the white fingers that trembled at her breast.  And there was something about him now that made her completely unafraid.

“Why?” he asked.  “Listen, and I will tell you.  Four years ago I came up into this country from down there—­the world they call Civilization.  I came up with every ideal and every dream I ever had broken and crushed.  And up here I found God’s Country.  I found new ideals and new dreams.  I am going back with them.  But they can never be broken as the others were—­because—­now—­I have found something that will make them live.  And that something is you!  Don’t let my words startle you.  I mean them to be as pure as the sun that shines over our heads.  If I leave you now—­if I never see you again—­you will have filled this wonderful world for me.  And if I could do something to prove this—­to make you happier—­why, I’d thank God for having sent me ashore to cook a mess of prunes.”

He released her hand, and stepped back from her.

“That is why you should tell me,” he finished.

A swift change had come into her eyes and face.  She was breathing quickly.  He saw the sudden throbbing of her throat.  A flush of colour had mounted into her cheeks.  Her lips were parted, her eyes shone like stars.

“You would do a great deal for me?” she questioned breathlessly.  “A great deal—­and like—­A man?”

“Yes.”

“A man—­one of God’s men?” she repeated.

He bowed his head.

Slowly, so slowly that she scarcely seemed to move, she drew nearer to him.

“And when you had done this you would be willing to go away, to promise never to see me again, to ask no reward?  You would swear that?”

Her hand touched his arm.  Her breath came tense and fast as she waited for him to answer.  “If you wished it, yes,” he said.

“I almost believe,” he heard, as if she were speaking the words to herself.  She turned to him again, and something of faith, of hope transfigured her face.

“Return to your fire and your prunes,” she said quickly, and the sunlight of a smile passed over her lips.  “Then, half an hour from now, come up the coulee to the turn in the rocks.  You will find me there.”

She bent quickly and picked up the little bag and the brush from the sand.  Without looking at him again she sped swiftly beyond the big rock, and Philip’s last vision of her was the radiant glory of her hair as it rippled cloudlike behind her in the sunlight.

CHAPTER THREE

That he had actually passed through the experience of the last few minutes, that it was a reality and not some beautiful phantasm of the red and gold world which again lay quiet and lifeless about him, Philip could scarcely convince himself as he made his way back to the canoe and the fire.  The discovery of this girl, buried six hundred miles in a wilderness that was almost a terra incognita to the white man, was sufficient to bewilder him.  And only now, as he kicked the burning embers from under the pails, and looked at his watch to time himself, did he begin to realize that he had not sensed a hundredth part of the miracle of it.