She was tired and worn out, and
she could see that his broncho had traveled far.
Having reached the bank of the creek, he unsaddled, watered his
horse and picketed it, and started a fire. Uneasily she watched
him.
"I don't like to sleep out. Isn't there a ranchhouse near?"
"Y'u wouldn't call it near by the time we had reached it. What's
to hinder your sleeping here? Isn't this room airy enough? And
don't y'u like the system of lighting? 'Twas patented I forget
how many million years ago. Y'u ain't going to play parlor girl
now after getting the reputation y'u've got for gameness, are
y'u?"
But he knew well enough that it was no silly schoolgirl fear she
had, but some deep instinct in her that distrusted him and warned
her to beware. So, lightly he took up the burden of the talk
while he gathered cottonwood branches for the fire.
"Now if I'd only thought to bring a load of lumber and some
carpenters--and a chaperon," he chided himself in burlesque, his
bold eyes closely on the girl's face to gloat on the color that
flew to her cheeks at his suggestion.
She hastened to disclaim lightly the feeling he had unmasked in
her. "It is a pity, but it can't be helped now.
Pages:
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155