“Wal, it’s beyond my calculatin’,” the trapper said, out by the spring, where Neale followed him.  “She jest changed thet’s all.  Not so much at first, though she sparked up after I give her your ring.  I reckon it come little by little.  An’ one day, why, the cabin was full of sunshine! ...  Since then I’ve seen how she’s growed an’ brightened.  Workin’, runnin’ after me—­an’ always watchin’ fer you.  Allie’s changed to what she is now.  Onct, fur back, I recollect she said she had you to live fer.  Mebbe thet’s the secret.  Anyhow, she loves you as I never seen any man loved....  An’, son, I reckon you oughter be somewhars near the kingdom of heaven!”

Neale stole oil by himself and walked in the twilight.  The air was warm and sultry, full of fragrance and the low chirp of crickets.  Within his breast was a full uneasy sensation of imminent catastrophe.  Something was rising in him—­great—­terrible—­precious.  It bewildered him to try to think of himself, of his strange emotions, when his mind seemed to hold only Allie.

What then had happened?  After a long absence up in the mountains he had returned to Slingerland’s valley home, and to the little girl he had rescued and left there.  He had left her frail, sick-minded, silent, somber, a pale victim to a horrible memory.  He had found her an amazing contrast to what she had been in the past.  She had grown strong, active, swift.  She was as lovely as a wild rose.  No dream of his idle fancy, but a fact!  Then last—­stirring him even as he tried to clarify and arrange this magic, this mystery—­had come the unbelievable, the momentous and dazzling assurance that she loved him.  It was so plain that it seemed unreal.  While near her he saw it, yet could not believe his eyes; he felt it, but doubted his sensibilities.  But now, away from the distraction of her presence and with Slingerland’s eloquent words ringing in his ears, he realized the truth.  Love of him had saved the girl’s mind and had made her beautiful and wonderful.  He had heard of the infinite transforming power of love; here in Allie Lee was its manifestation.  Whether or not he deserved such a blessing was not the question.  It was his, and he felt unutterably grateful and swore he would be worthy of this great gift.

Darkness had set in when Neale returned to the cabin, the interior of which was lighted by blazing sticks in a huge stone fireplace.

Slingerland was in the shadow, busy as usual, but laughing at some sally of Larry’s.  The cowboy and Allie, however, were in plain sight.  Neale needed only one look at Larry to divine what had come over that young man.  Allie appeared perplexed.

“He objects to my calling him Mr. King and even Larry,” she said.

Larry suddenly looked sheepish.

“Allie, this cowboy is a bad fellow with guns, ropes, horses—­and I suspect with girls,” replied Neale, severely.

“Neale, he doesn’t look bad,” she rejoined.  “You’re fooling me....  He wants me to call him Reddy.”