Dropping his
work, he dashed back along the terrace. Upon breaking through a
clump of aspens he saw the dark form of a man in the camp. Cold,
then hot, Venters burst into frenzied speed to reach his guns. He
was cursing himself for a thoughtless fool when the man's tall
form became familiar and he recognized Lassiter. Then the
reversal of emotions changed his run to a walk; he tried to call
out, but his voice refused to carry; when he reached camp there
was Lassiter staring at the white-faced girl. By that time Ring
and Whitie had recognized him.
"Hello, Venters! I'm makin' you a visit," said Lassiter, slowly.
"An' I'm some surprised to see you've a--a young feller for
company."
One glance had sufficed for the keen rider to read Bess's real
sex, and for once his cool calm had deserted him. He stared till
the white of Bess's cheeks flared into crimson. That, if it were
needed, was the concluding evidence of her femininity, for it
went fittingly with her sun-tinted hair and darkened, dilated
eyes, the sweetness of her mouth, and the striking symmetry of
her slender shape.
"Heavens! Lassiter!" panted Venters, when he caught his breath.
"What relief--it's only you! How--in the name of all that's
wonderful--did you ever get here?"
"I trailed you. We--I wanted to know where you was, if you had a
safe place. So I trailed you."
"Trailed me," cried Venters, bluntly.
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