Neale paused, as much from the squeeze Allie suddenly gave him as for an instant’s rest to catch his breath.

“I mean I had the nerve to tackle cliffs and dangerous slopes,” he went on.  Then he told how Larry Red King had saved his life, and that recollection brought back his service to the cowboy; then naturally followed the two dominating incidents of the summer.

Allie lifted a blanched face and darkening eyes.  “Neale!  You were in danger.”

“Oh, not much, I guess.  But Red thought so.”

“He saved you again! ...  I—­I’ll never forget that.”

“Anyway, we’re square, for he’d have got shot sure the day the Indian sneaked up on him.”  Allie shuddered and shrank back to Neale, while he hastily resumed his story.  “We’re great pards now, Red and I. He doesn’t say much, but his acts tell.  He will not let me alone.  He follows me everywhere.  It’s a joke among the men....  Well Allie, it seems unbelievable that we have crossed the mountains and the desert—­grade ninety feet to the mile!  The railroad can and will be built.  I wish I could tell you how tremendously all this has worked upon me—­upon all the engineers.  But somehow I can’t.  It chokes me.  The idea is big.  But the work—­what shall I call that? ...  Allie, if you can, imagine some spirit seizing hold of you and making you see difficulties as joys—­impossible tasks as only things to strike fire from genius, perils of death as merely incidents of daring adventure to treasure in memory—­well that’s something like it.  The idea of the U. P. has got me.  I believe in it.  I shall see it accomplished....  I’ll live it all.”

Allie moved her head on his shoulder, and, looking up at him with eyes that made him ashamed of his egotism, she said, “Then, when it’s done you’ll be chief of engineers or superintendent of maintenance of way?”

She had remembered his very words.

“Allie, I hope so,” he replied, thrilling at her faith.  “I’ll work—­ I’ll get some big position.”

Next day ushered in for Neale a well-earned rest, and he proceeded to enjoy it to the full.

The fall had always been Neale’s favorite season.  Here, as elsewhere, the aspect of it was flaming and golden, but different from what he had known hitherto.  Dreaming silence of autumn held the wildness and loneliness of the Wyoming hills.  The sage shone gray and purple, the ridges yellow and gold; the valleys were green and amber and red.  No dust, no heat, no wind—­a clear, blue, cloudless sky, sweet odors in the still air—­it was a beautiful time.

Days passed and nights passed, as if on wings.  Every waking hour drew him closer to this incomparable girl who had arisen upon his horizon like a star.  He knew the hour was imminent when he must read his heart.  He fought it off; he played with his bliss.  Allie was now his shadow instead of the faithful Larry, although the cowboy was often with them, adapting himself to the changed conditions, too big and splendid to be envious or jealous.  They fished down the brook, and always at the never-to-be-forgotten ford he would cross first and turn to see her follow.  She could never understand why Neale would delight in carrying her across at other points, yet made her ford this one by herself.