He spoke sharply. “You hurt yourself in the trough.”
“I sprained my ankle a little, but it doesn’t matter.”
He understood now why she had made so slow a descent and he suspected that the wrench was more than she admitted. The moon had come out from under a cloud and showed him a pale, tear-stained face, with a row of even, little teeth set firm against the lower lip. She was in pain and her pride was keeping it from him.
“Let me look at your ankle.”
“No.”
“I say yes. You’ve hurt it seriously.”
“That is my business, I think,” she told him with cold finality.
“I’m going to make it mine. Think I don’t know you, proud as Lucifer when you get set. You’ll lame yourself for life if you’re not careful.”
“I don’t care to discuss it.” 41
“Fiddlesticks! If you’ve got anything against me we’ll hear what it is afterward. Right now we’ll give first aid to the injured. Sit down here.”
She had not meant to give way, but she did. Perhaps it was because of the faintness that stole over her, or because the pain was sharper than she could well endure. She found herself seated on the rock shelf, letting him cut the lace out of her shoe and slip it off. Ever so gently he worked, but he could tell by the catches of her breath that it was not pleasant to endure. From his neck he untied the silk kerchief and wrapped it tightly around the ankle.
“That will have to do till I get you home.”
“I’ll not trouble you, sir. If you’ll stop and tell my father that is all I’ll ask.”
“Different here,” he retorted cheerfully. “Just so as to avoid any argument, I’ll announce right now that Jack Flatray is going to see you home. It’s his say-so.”
She rose. None knew better than she that he was a dominating man when he chose to be. She herself carried in her slim body a spirit capable of passion and of obstinacy, but to-night she had not the will to force the fighting.
Setting her teeth, she took a step or two forward, her hand against the rock wall to help bear the weight. With narrowed eyes, he watched her closely, noting the catches of pain that shot through 42 her breathing. Half way up the boulder bed he interposed brusquely.
“This is plumb foolishness, girl. You’ve got no business putting your weight on that foot, and you’re not going to do it.”
He slipped his arm around her waist in such a way as to support her all he could. With a quick turn of the body she tried to escape.
“No use. I’m going through with this, ’Lissie. Someone has been lying to you about me, and just now you hate the ground I walk on. Good enough. That’s got nothing to do with this. You’re a woman that needs help, and any old time J. F. meets up with such a one he’s on the job. You don’t owe me ’Thank you,’ but you’ve got to stand for me till you reach the house.”
“You’re taking advantage of me because I can’t help myself. Why don’t you go and bring father,” she flung out.
“I’m younger than your father and abler to help. That’s why?”
They reached the top of the bluff and he made her sit down to rest. A pale moon suffused the country, and in that stage set to lowered lights her pallor was accented. From the colorless face shadowy, troubled eyes spoke the misery through which she was passing. The man divined that her pain was more than physical, and the knowledge went to him poignantly by the heart route. 43
“What is it, ’Lissie? What have I done?” he asked gently.
“You know. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But I don’t know.”
“What’s the use of keeping it up? I caught you this afternoon.”
“Caught me doing what?”
“Caught you rustling, caught you branding a calf just after you had shot the cow.”
For an instant her charge struck him dumb. He stared at her as if he thought she had gone suddenly mad.
“What’s that? Say it again,” he got out at last.
“And the cow had the Bar Double G brand, belonged to my father, your best friend,” she added passionately.
He spoke very gently, but there was an edge to his voice that was new to her. “Suppose you tell me all about it.”
She threw out a hand in a gesture of despair. “What’s the use? Nothing could have made me believe it but my own eyes. You needn’t keep up a pretense. I saw you.”
“Yes, so you said before. Now begin at the start and tell your story.”
She had the odd feeling of being put on the defensive and it angered her. How dared he look at her with those cool, gray eyes that still appeared to bore a hole through treachery? Why did her heart 44 convict her of having deserted a friend, when she knew that the desertion was his?
“While I was gathering poppies I heard a shot. It was so close I walked to the edge of the draw and looked over. There I saw you.”
“What was I doing?”
“You were hogtying a calf.”
“And then?”
“I didn’t understand at first. I thought to slip down and surprise you for fun. But as I got lower I saw the dead cow. Just then you began to brand the calf and I cried out to you.”
“What did I do?”
“You know what you did,” she answered wearily. “You broke for the brush where your horse was and galloped away.”
“Got a right good look at me, did you?”
“Not at your face. But I knew. You were wearing this blue silk handkerchief.” Her finger indicated the one bound around her ankle.
“So on that evidence you decide I’m a rustler, and you’ve only known me thirteen years. You’re a good friend, ’Lissie.”
Her eyes blazed on him like live coals. “Have you forgotten the calf you left with your brand on it?”
She had startled him at last. “With my brand on it?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low and soft.
“You know as well as I do. You had got the F 45 just about finished when I called. You dropped the running iron and ran.”
“Dropped it and ran, did I? And what did you do?”
“I reheated the iron and blurred the brand so that nobody could tell what it had been.”
He laughed harshly without mirth. “I see. I’m a waddy and a thief, but you’re going to protect me for old times’ sake. That’s the play, is it? I ought to be much obliged to you and promise to reform, I reckon.”
His bitterness stung. She felt a tightening of the throat. “All I ask is that you go away and never come back to me,” she cried with a sob.
“Don’t worry about that. I ain’t likely to come back to a girl that thinks I’m the lowest thing that walks. You’re not through with me a bit more than I am with you,” he answered harshly.
Her little hand beat upon the rock in her distress. “I never would have believed it. Nobody could have made me believe it. I—I—why, I trusted you like my own father,” she lamented. “To think that you would take that way to stock your ranch—and with the cattle of my father, too.”
His face