She had heard his footsteps, however, pacing slowly up and down his room.
She was watching the last rays of the setting sun rimming with gold the ramparts of the mountain eastward, and burning a crown for Old White Slides peak.

A distant bawl and bellow of cattle had died away.

The branding was over for that fall.

How glad she felt! The wind, beginning to grow cold as the sun declined, cooled her hot face.

In the solitude of her room Columbine had cried enough that day to scald her cheeks.
Presently, down the lane between the pastures, she saw a cowboy ride into view.