In every pool where Neale cast he caught or lost a trout.  He was enjoying himself tremendously and at the same time feeling a warmth in his heart that was not entirely due to the exhilaration of fishing.  Below the head of the valley, where the stream began and the cabin nestled, the ground was open, like a meadow, with grass and flowers growing to the edge of the water.  There were deep, swirling pools running under the banks, and in these Neale hooked fish he could not handle with his poor tackle, and they broke away.  But he did not care.  There was a brightness, a beauty, a fragrance along the stream that seemed to enhance the farther down he went.  Presently they came to a place where the water rushed over a rocky bed, and here Neale wanted to cross.  He started to wade, curious and eager to see what Allie would do.

“I can’t wade that,” she called.

Neale returned to her side.  “I’ll carry you,” he said.  “You hold the rod.  We’ll leave the fish here.”  Then he lifted her in his arms.  How light she was—­how much lighter than upon that first occasion of his carrying her.  He slipped in the middle of the brook and nearly fell with her.  Allie squealed.  The sound filled Neale with glee.  After all, and whatever she had gone through, she was feminine—­she was a girl—­she was squeamish.  Thereupon he slipped purposely and made a heroic effort to save himself.  She clasped his neck convulsively with her free arm, and as he recovered his balance her head bumped into his and her hair got into his eyes.  He laughed.  This was great fun.  But it could scarcely have been the exertion that made his heart beat out of time.  At last he gained the opposite bank.

“You nearly fell with me,” she said.

“Well, I’d have got wet, too,” he replied, wondering if it were possible to make her laugh or even smile.  If he could do that to-day, even in the smallest degree, he would be assured that happiness might come back to her.

Soon they met Larry, who came stooping along, burdened with a deer carcass on his shoulder.  Relieving himself, he hailed them.

“How air you-all?” he drawled, addressing himself mostly to Allie.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Allie, he’s my friend and partner,” replied Neale.  “Larry King.  But I call him Red—­for obvious reasons.”

“Wal, Miss Allie, I reckon no tall kick would be a-comin’ if you was to call me Red,” drawled Larry.  “Or better—­Reddy.  No other lady ever had thet honor.”

Allie looked at him steadily, as if this was the first time she had seen him, but she did not reply.  And Larry, easily disconcerted, gathered up his burden and turned toward camp.

“Wal, I’m shore wishin’ you-all good luck,” he called, significantly.

Neale shot a quick glance at Allie to see if the cowboy’s good-humored double meaning had occurred to her.  But apparently she had not heard.  She seemed to be tiring.  Her lips were parted and she panted.