"My dear boy, I'm glad to see you!" called Sydney.

"Larry O'Hara chopping wood! Impossible!" declared Hope, as Carter rode on past her. "It's an illusion—a vanishing vision. Our eyes deceive us!"

"But it is a young man there," said Louisa. "A big one like Mr. Livingston, not so slim like Sydney—your cousin."

"True enough," laughed Hope. "But it is the occupation—the ax, Louisa, dear. I never knew Larry to do a stroke of work!"

"Ach, but he is handsome!" whispered Louisa.

"Don't let him know you think so," returned Hope. "He's spoiled badly enough now." She turned to the man who rode on her opposite side. "He's from the ranch—one of the guests from New York. He's the dearest character!" After which exclamation she rode ahead and greeted the newcomer.

"It never rains but it pours," said O'Hara, as he entered the tent with Hope and Louisa, while Sydney and Livingston remained to take care of the horses. "I thought awhile ago that I was stranded in a wilderness, and here I am surrounded by beautiful ladies and foine gentlemen!"

"Right in your natural element," commented Hope. "That's why I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you out there alone with the ax—Larry O'Hara chopping fire-wood!"

"Now, what's there funny about that?" asked Larry.

"I can't explain just now," laughed the girl. "But tell me, did you have any trouble getting over here? Jim started for the ranch this afternoon. Didn't you meet him on the road?"

"Not one living soul," replied Larry. "For I took a road nobody ever traveled before."

"And got lost," said Hope.

"Yes, about four hundred toimes!"

"And yet you live to tell the tale! I'm awfully glad to see you, Larry! Let's have a light in here, William, it's getting dark," she said.

The cook hustled about, and soon two lanterns, suspended from each end of the ridge pole, flooded the tent with light.

"Now I can see you," exclaimed O'Hara to Hope, who had taken a seat upon a box beside Louisa. "You're looking foine! The mountains must agree with you—and your friend also," he added.

"Louisa is always fine! Are you not?" asked Hope.

Louisa laughed in her quiet little way. "The young man is very polite!"

Sydney opened the flap of the tent and looked in, then turned back again for an instant.

"That'll be all right there, Livingston. There won't a thing touch it up that tree! Come along in and get some chuck!"

"All right!" came the reply from the edge of the brush. Then Carter came inside and drew up a seat beside the two girls.

"What's that you said, Miss Louisa?" he asked. "I didn't quite catch it. You surely weren't accusing Larry of politeness!"

The girl bit her little white teeth into the red of her lower lip. Her cheeks flushed and the dimples came and went in the delicate coloring.

"Was it wrong to say?" she asked hesitatingly.

"Not if it was true," he replied. "It's never wrong to tell the truth, even in Montana."

"Oh, Syd, don't plague her! Larry included her in a little flattery—a compliment; and she merely remarked upon his extreme politeness."

"And I am completely squelched," said O'Hara despairingly.

"Then you shouldn't try to flatter two people at once," declared Hope.

"American girls aren't so honest," said Carter, looking soberly into Louisa's blue eyes.

She regained her composure with a little toss of her head.

"An American girl is my best friend—you shall say nodings about dem! Ah, here comes Mr. Livingston mit de beautiful horns which he gif to me!" she cried, clapping her hands.

"They're beauties, aren't they?" said Livingston, holding up the antlers to view. "I'll get some of the Indians around here to fix them up for you." He took them outside again, then came in and joined the others around the camp table.

"Mr. Livingston was the lucky one to-day," said Hope to O'Hara; "but we had a great hunt."

"I am not at all sure that I got him," said Livingston, seating himself beside her. "I am positive another shot was fired at the same time, but I looked around and saw no one. You came up a few moments afterward, Miss Hathaway, and I have had a sort of rankling suspicion ever since that there was some mystery about it."

"Then clear your mind of it at once," replied the girl. "I'll admit that I fired a shot at the same instant you did, but I was on the opposite side of the brush from where you were, and didn't see the antelope at all. What I aimed at was a large black speck in the sky above me, and this is my trophy." She drew from her belt a glossy, dark eagle's feather, and handed it to him.

"May I have this?" he asked, taking it from her.

"Why, certainly," she answered carelessly.

O'Hara had been looking at Livingston closely, as though extremely perplexed by his appearance. Suddenly he gave a deep laugh, jumped up from his seat and began shaking him warmly by the hand.

"Well, if this isn't——"

"Edward Livingston," interrupted the other briefly.

"But who'd ever dream of seeing you here in this country!" continued O'Hara. "It was too dark to see you distinctly when you rode up, or I'd have known you at once. I'm glad to see you; indeed, I am, sir!"

"How romantic!" exclaimed Hope. "Where did you ever meet Larry, Mr. Livingston?"

"I had the privilege of meeting Mr. O'Hara at the home of an acquaintance near London two or three years ago. I am very glad to have the pleasure again." O'Hara was about to say something in reply to this, but thought better of it, and remained silent, while Livingston continued: "I never imagined that I should meet my Irish-American friend in this far country, though you Americans do have a way of appearing in the most unexpected places. This America is a great country. I like it—in fact, well enough that I have now become one of its citizens."

"But you have not left England for good!" exclaimed O'Hara.

"For good, and for all time," replied Livingston, the youthful expression of his face settling into maturer lines of sadness. "I have not one tie left. My friend, Carter here, will tell you that I have settled down in these mountains as a respectable sheep-man—respectable, if not dearly beloved. Miss Hathaway does not believe there can be anything respectable about the sheep business, but I have promised to convert her. Is that not so?" he asked, turning to her.

"He has promised to give me a pet lamb to take back to the ranch," she said, laughing. "I shall put a collar on its neck and lead it by a blue ribbon! At least it will be as good an ornament as Clarice Van Rensselaer's poodle. Horrible little thing!"

"Now just imagine the beautiful Mrs. Larry O'Hara trailing that kind of a baist about the streets of New York! I move that the animal be rejected with thanks!" exclaimed Larry. Livingston looked at him in quiet amazement, then at Hope and Sydney to see how they took his audacity.

"Don't worry, Larry, dear," replied Hope. "The pet lamb hasn't been accepted yet—or you, either! I shall probably choose the pet lamb, but rely on my good judgment, that's a nice boy, and don't let such a little matter bother you!"

Larry heaved an unnaturally deep sigh, at which little Louisa laughed, and Sydney patted him upon the shoulder, exclaiming:

"Cheer up! You have an even chance with the lamb. You don't need to be afraid of such a rival!"

"But she says herself that the animal's chances are the best," said Larry dismally. Then with a sudden inspiration: "How much'll you take for that baist? I'll buy him of you—Mr. Livingston!"

"Now's your chance to make some money!" cried Sydney.

Livingston quickly entered the mood of the moment.

"Miss Hathaway has an option on the lamb," he said, looking at her. "If she wants to throw it up I shall be glad to sell it to you."

"She wants her supper mostly now," said Hope. "Come on, let's eat, for we must get back. See all the fine things William has prepared for us!"

After the meal, when the girls rose to depart, Larry insisted upon accompanying them home.

"I am going along, too," laughed Sydney, "so I'll see that he gets back to camp all right! You might as well let him go, Hope."

"Well, if he is so foolish, after his hard day's ride," she said, with a shrug of the shoulders. "But get him a fresh horse, Sydney. At least we can spare the poor tired animal!"

Sydney and O'Hara both went a short distance away to get the saddle-horse which was feeding quietly on the hillside. Hope led her horse down to the water and while it was drinking Livingston came and stood beside her.

For a moment they remained there quiet, side by side, then the man spoke:

"It is of such as this that life's sweetest moments are made. It seems almost a sacrilege to break the spell, but I cannot always be silent. You know I love you, Hope!"

"Yes," she replied carelessly, "I believe you told me so once before." For an instant he did not speak. "It was here at the camp, another evening like this, wasn't it?" she continued, in quite a matter-of-fact tone.

"I will not believe that you have forgotten it," he exclaimed softly. "It may have sounded foolish to you to hear the words, but I could not help saying them!" He stood so close to her that he could feel her warm breath. "It may be wrong to stand here with you now, alone. How quiet it is! You and I together in a little world of our own! How I love you, my girl, love you! I may not have the right to this much happiness, but there is no moral law that man or God has made to prevent a man from saying to the woman he loves, 'I love you!' Are you—do you care that I have said it?"

"You must not—tell me again," she said, in a voice so forced that it seemed to belong to some other person. Then she turned abruptly and led her horse past him, up the bank of the creek, to Louisa waiting before the tent.