An hour later Moran stopped at the cabin. He washed the tiny red berries in the icy spring and placed them in a tin dish. A can of condensed cream, the one chief treasure of his cache, he slipped into his pocket as he started for the rims. Half way up Flash joined him, a small striped animal dangling limply from his jaws. He carried it to the point of rocks and deposited it gravely beside the girl.
“Flash, you old sweetheart,” she laughed. “How like a man you are! You woo me with delicacies from the hills as a man would with chocolates, dinners and wine. It’s the male instinct to feed the she he loves.” She glanced up and saw Moran. He too had brought her food and for one brief instant she could not meet his eyes but locked off across the hills, wondering if he had heard. Then she turned and stretched forth her hand.
“Oh! Give them to me!” she said. “I’m starved for something fresh.” She ate them slowly, lingeringly, and thanked him with each bite. Moran had heard! That note which Flash had so long since detected in his voice was no longer an undertone but was now so apparent in each word he spoke that the girl could read it and know what it held out to her. She thrilled to
