Some one--I suppose it was myself, late free--felt the damp
of an iron yoke upon his neck.
I saw her knees sink beneath her, but she shrank back when I would have
reached out an arm as of old.
"I hate that woman!" she blazed. "Suppose she does love you--do I not
love you more? Let her lose--some one must lose!" But at the next moment
her anger had changed to doubt, to horror. I saw her face change, saw
her hand drop to her side.
"It is not that you loved another girl," she whispered, "but that you
have deceived _me_--here, when I was in your power. Oh, it was not
right! How could you! Oh, how could you!"
Then once more she changed. The flame of her thoroughbred soul came back
to her. Her courage saved her from shame. Her face flushed, she stood
straight. "I hate _you!_" she cried to me. "Go! I will never see you any
more."
Still the bright sun shone on. A little bird trilled in the thicket
near.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE YOKE
When we started to the south on the following morning, I rode far at the
rear, under guard. I recall little of our journey toward Laramie, save
that after a day or two we swung out from the foothills into a short
grass country, and so finally struck the steady upward sweep of a valley
along which lay the great transcontinental trail.
Pages:
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311