This “pocket,” as they are called, consisted of perhaps fifty acres, walled in on every side by rugged mountains as steep, and steeper, in some places, than a house-roof.  On the western side Brown’s creek had its source, and leaped merrily down from ledge to ledge into the valley, across which it flowed, sinking into the earth on the eastern side, only to bubble up again, in the canyon, with renewed strength.

The valley was one vast, indiscriminate bed of wild, fragrant flowers, whose volume of perfume was almost sickening when first greeting the nostrils.  Every color and variety imaginable was here, all in the most perfect bloom.  In the center of the valley stood a log-cabin, overgrown with clinging vines.  There was a light in the window, and Harris pointed toward it, as, with young Redburn, he emerged from the fissure.

“There’s my coop, pilgrim.  There you will be safe for a time, at least.”  He unsaddled the horse and set it free to graze.

Then they set off down across the slope, arriving at the cabin in due time.

The door was open; a young woman, sweet, yet sad-faced, was seated upon the steps, fast asleep.

Redburn gave an involuntary cry of incredulity and admiration as his eyes rested upon the picture—­upon the pure, sweet face, surrounded by a wealth of golden, glossy hair, and the sylph-like form, so perfect in every contour.  But a charge of silence from Harris, made him mute.

The young man knelt by the side of the sleeping girl and imprinted a kiss upon the fresh, unpolluted lips, which caused the sleeping beauty to smile in her dreams.

A moment later, however, she opened her eyes and sprung to her feet with a startled scream.

“Oh, Ned!” she gasped, trembling, as she saw him, “how you frightened me.  I had a dream—­oh, such a sweet dream! and I thought he came and kissed—­”

Suddenly did she stop as, for the first time, her penetrating blue eyes rested upon Harry Blackburn.

A moment she gazed at him as in a sort of fascination; then, with a low cry, began to retreat, growing deathly pale.  Ned Harris stepped quickly forward and supported her on his arm.

“Be calm, Anita,” he said, in a gentle, reassuring tone.  “This is a young gentleman whom I have brought here to our home for a few days until it will be safe for him to be seen in Deadwood.  Mr. Redburn, I make you acquainted with Anita.”

A courteous bow from Redburn, a slight inclination of Anita’s head, and the introduction was made.  A moment later the three entered the cabin, a model of neatness and primitive luxury.

“How is it that you are up so early, dear?” young Harris asked, as he unbuckled his belt and hung it upon a peg in the wall.  “You are rarely as spry, eh?”

“Indeed!  I have not been to bed at all,” replied the girl, a weary smile wreathing her lips.  “I was nervous, and feared something was going to happen, so I staid up.”