But--but, Bern, this is what
troubles me," she said. "Will--will you come back?"
"Give me four days. If I'm not back in four days you'll know I'm
dead. For that only shall keep me."
"Oh!"
"Bess, I'll come back. There's danger--I wouldn't lie to you--but
I can take care of myself."
"Bern, I'm sure--oh, I'm sure of it! All my life I've watched
hunted men. I can tell what's in them. And I believe you can ride
and shoot and see with any rider of the sage. It's not--not that
I--fear."
"Well, what is it, then?"
"Why--why--why should you come back at all?"
"I couldn't leave you here alone."
"You might change your mind when you get to the village--among
old friends--"
"I won't change my mind. As for old friends--" He uttered a
short, expressive laugh.
"Then--there--there must be a--a woman!" Dark red mantled the
clear tan of temple and cheek and neck. Her eyes were eyes of
shame, upheld a long moment by intense, straining search for the
verification of her fear. Suddenly they drooped, her head fell to
her knees, her hands flew to her hot cheeks.
"Bess--look here," said Venters, with a sharpness due to the
violence with which he checked his quick, surging emotion.
As if compelled against her will--answering to an irresistible
voice-- Bess raised her head, looked at him with sad, dark eyes,
and tried to whisper with tremulous lips.
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