"He never even said good-bye,"
faltered the girl, and in her voice was a note of real hurt.
"No," answered Endicott, softly, "he should have said good-bye."
Alice rose and put on her hat: "Come on, let's get out of this hateful
stuffy little room. Let's walk and enjoy this wonderful air while we
can. And besides, we must find some flowers--wild flowers they must be
for our wedding, mustn't they, dear? Wild flowers, right from God's
own gardens--wild, and free, and uncultivated--untouched by human
hands. I saw some lovely ones, blue and white, and some wild-cherry
blossoms, too, down beside that little creek that crosses the trail
almost at the edge of the town." Together they walked to the creek
that burbled over its rocky bed in the shadow of the bull-pine forest
from which Timber City derived its name. Deeper and deeper into the
pines they went, stopping here and there to gather the tiny white and
blue blossoms, or to break the bloom-laden twigs from the low cherry
bushes. As they rounded a huge upstanding rock, both paused and
involuntarily drew back. There, in the centre of a tiny glade that
gave a wide view of the vast sweep of the plains, with their background
of distant mountains, stood the Texan, one arm thrown across the neck
of his horse, and his cheek resting close against the animal's glossy
neck.
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