"Bess!...You can't dare me! Wait till I come back with supplies--
then roll the stone."
"I--was--in--fun." Her voice now throbbed low. "Always you must
be free to go when you will. Go now...this place presses on
me--stifles me."
"I'm going--but you had something to tell me?"
"Yes....Will you--come back?"
"I'll come if I live."
"But--but you mightn't come?"
"That's possible, of course. It'll take a good deal to kill me. A
man couldn't have a faster horse or keener dog. And, Bess, I've
guns, and I'll use them if I'm pushed. But don't worry."
"I've faith in you. I'll not worry until after four days. Only--
because you mightn't come--I must tell you--"
She lost her voice. Her pale face, her great, glowing, earnest
eyes, seemed to stand alone out of the gloom of the gorge. The
dog whined, breaking the silence.
"I must tell you--because you mightn't come back," she whispered.
"You must know what--what I think of your goodness--of you.
Always I've been tongue-tied. I seemed not to be grateful. It was
deep in my heart. Even now--if I were other than I am--I couldn't
tell you. But I'm nothing--only a rustler's
girl--nameless--infamous. You've saved me-- and I'm--I'm yours to
do with as you like....With all my heart and soul--I love you!"
CHAPTER XV. SHADOWS ON THE SAGE-SLOPE
In the cloudy, threatening, waning summer days shadows lengthened
down the sage-slope, and Jane Withersteen likened them to the
shadows gathering and closing in around her life.
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