And he was whispering again and again, as though he could find no other word,

“Mary—­Mary—­Mary—­”

Duggan drew away from the door.  The two had paid no attention to his voice, and the old river-man was one continuous chuckle as he unpacked Keith’s horse and attended to his own, hobbling them both and tying cow-bells to them.  It was half an hour before he ventured up out of the grove along the creek and approached the cabin again.  Even then he halted, fussing with a piece of harness, until he saw Mary Josephine in the door.  The sun was shining on her.  Her glorious hair was down, and behind her was Keith, so close that his shoulders were covered with it.  Like a bird Mary Josephine sped to Duggan.  Great red beard and all she hugged him, and on the flaming red of his bare cheek-bone she kissed him.

“Gosh,” said Duggan, at a loss for something better to say.  “Gosh—­”

Then Keith had him by the hand.  “Andy, you ripsnorting old liar, if you weren’t old enough to be my father, I’d whale the daylights out of you!” he cried joyously.  “I would, just because I love you so!  You’ve made this day the—­the—­the—­”

“—­The most memorable of my life,” helped Mary Josephine.  “Is that it—­John?”

Timidly, for the first time, her cheek against his shoulder, she spoke his name.  And before Duggan’s eyes Keith kissed her.

Hours later, in a world aglow with the light of stars and a radiant moon, Keith and Mary Josephine were alone out in the heart of their little valley.  To Keith it was last night returned, only more wonderful.  There was the same droning song in the still air, the low rippling of running water, the mysterious whisperings of the mountains.  All about them were the guardian peaks of the snow-capped ranges, and under their feet was the soft lush of grass and the sweet scent of flowers.  “Our valley of dreams,” Mary Josephine had named it, an infinite happiness trembling in her voice.  “Our beautiful valley of dreams—­come true!” “And you would have come with me—­that night?” asked Keith wonderingly.  “That night—­I ran away?”

“Yes.  I didn’t hear you go.  And at last I went to your door and listened, and then I knocked, and after that I called to you, and when you didn’t answer, I entered your room.”

“Dear heaven!” breathed Keith.  “After all that, you would have come away with me, covered with blood, a—­a murderer, they say—­a hunted man—­”

“John, dear.”  She took one of his hands in both her own and held it tight.  “John, dear, I’ve got something to tell you.”

He was silent.

“I made Duggan promise not to tell you I was here when he found you, and I made him promise something else—­to keep a secret I wanted to tell you myself.  It was wonderful of him.  I don’t see how he did it.”