He was gone many hours and finally returned just before sundown. He said nothing but, instead, walked up to Hilola who stood by the fire finishing her meal of trout and tortillas. She would not look him in the eye until he dropped to one knee and grasped her gently by her right hand.
“I am a fool and an ass and a young arrogant boy, Hilola. I want to be a man, and I know I can be, with your love.” He stood up and led her along a path to an opening in the center of a little group of trees.
He’d picked flowers and had them ready for her. He had placed blankets near the fire to make a comfortable bed. A silk fire lantern made from one of Jimmie’s scarves was anchored by its string near the blankets, a small candle burning in the center heating the air, causing it to be airborne where it hovered as if by magic, just about waist high.
He pointed to a letter, tethered to the whole affair.
She was pleased. She’d already forgiven him. He had moped as if his guts had been kicked out and she knew that he was as sorry as he could be. But at the same time, she felt she needed to torture him just a bit longer; long enough to make him beg. This was the best begging she could hope for.
“The Chinese write love poems and send them, with these fire lanterns, into the sky. This is my love poem to you.” He held it for her to read.
Hilola blushed and looked at the paper blankly and Ramon understood. He’d not humiliate her.
“May I read it to you, Hilola? Please?” Allingham; Desperate Ride