Buck raised a stiff arm and gently drew her toward him with a wonderfully protecting movement. The girl yielded herself to him, and he kissed her sweet upturned lips.
"No, little Joan, gal. Don't you think of it. We got other things to think of--a whole heap."
"Yes, yes," cried the girl eagerly. "We've got life--together."
Buck nodded with a grave smile.
"An' we must sure keep it."
He released her and struggled to his feet, where he stood supporting himself by clinging to a projection of rock.
"What do you mean, Buck? What are you going to do?" Joan demanded anxiously, springing to her feet and shaking out her drenched skirt.
"Do? Why, look yonder. Ther' across the water. Ther' wher' them burnt-up woods break. See that patch o' grass on the sky-line? Look close, an' you'll see two--somethings standin' right ther'. Wal, we got to git near enough that way so Cæsar can hear my whistle."
"Cæsar? Is--is that Cæsar? Why--how----?"
Buck nodded his head.
"Maybe I'm guessin'. I ain't sayin'. But--wal, you can't be sure this ways off. Y' see, Cæsar has a heap o' sense, an' his saddle-bags are loaded down with a heap o' good food. An' you're needin' that--same as me."