Surely, she would wait when he told her that.

But how should he begin?
Looking up again, his eye caught a slow, shifting patch of white on the bench above Lost Creek, where the little stream begins its underground course.

The faint bark of a dog came to him through the thin still air, and the patch of white turned off into the trail that leads to the ranch.

"Dad!" exclaimed the young man in triumph.

Dad should tell him how.