occasional whimsical soliloquy, she seldom spoke without a definite purpose nowadays. To Disston, who remembered her faculty for finding something interesting or amusing in everything about which to chatter, the difference was noticeable.
It saddened him, the change in her, yet he was conscious that she still retained her strong attraction for him.
With nerves relaxed, content, he had an absurd notion that he could sit beside her on that rock indefinitely, without speaking, and be happy.
Kate did not ask him the purpose of his visit, for her etiquette was the etiquette of the ranges, which does not countenance questions, and Disston, absorbed in the beauty of the sunset and his own thoughts, was in no mood to introduce the unpleasant subject of the dynamiting of the sheep wagon.
The pink deepened on gypsum cliffs and sandstone buttes of the distant Bad Lands, while purple shadows crept over the green foothills and blackened the canyons.
"Isn't it wonderful?" he said, finally, in a half whisper.
"Yes," she replied, huskily, wondering if Heaven itself had anything like this to offer.
It seemed as though without his volition his hand sought hers and covered it.
She left it so for a moment, then took hers away and got up abruptly.
They are working up to the bed-ground and will lie down pretty soon. When they're settled, I'll go to camp and get you something to eat." Her tone was matter-of-fact, casual. She stooped, and, picking up a pebble, tossed it at two bucks that were butting each other violently:
"Here—you! Stop it! You give me a headache to look at you."
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