old him shyly.
"I'm betting it will," he said confidently. "And now, little girl, it's
time we started. You'll ride your Carnegie horse and I'll walk."
Her eyes dilated, for this brought to her mind something she had
forgotten. "My roan! What do you think has become of it?"
He shook his head, preferring not to guess aloud. As he helped her to
the saddle his eyes fell on a stain of red running from the wrist of her
gauntlet.
"You've hurt your hand," he cried.
"It must have been when I caught at the cactus."
Gently he slipped off the glove. Cruel thorns had torn the skin in a
dozen places. He drew the little spikes out one by one. Phyllis winced,
but did not cry out. After he had removed the last of them he tied her
handkerchief neatly round the wounds and drew on the gauntlet again. It
had been only a small service, nothing at all compared to the great one
he had just rendered, but somehow it had tightened his hold on her. She
wondered whether she would have to marry Buck Weaver no matter what she
really wanted to do.
With her left hand she guided Baldy, while Buck strode beside, never
wavering from the easy, powerful stride that was the expression of his
sinuous strength.
"Were you ever tired in your life?" she asked once, with a little sigh
of fatigue.
He stopped in his stride, full of self-reproach. "Now, ain't that like
me! Pluggin' ahead, and never thinking about how played out you are.
We'll rest here under these cottonwoods."
He lifted her down, for she was already very stiff and sore from her
adventure. An outdoor life had given her a supple strength and a wiry
endurance, of which her slender frame furnished no indication, but the
reaction from the strain was upon her. To Buck she looked pathetically
wan and exhausted. He put her down under a tree and arranged her saddle
for a pillow. Again the girl felt a net was being wound round her, that
she belonged to him and could not escape. Nor was she sure that she
wanted to get away from his possessive energy. In the pleasant sun glow
she fell asleep, without any intention of doing so. Two hours later she
opened her eyes.
Looking round, she saw Weaver lying flat on his back fifty yards away.
"I've been asleep," she called.
He leaped to his feet and walked across the sand to her.
"I suspected it," he said with a smile.
"I feel like a new woman now."
"Like one of them suffragettes?"
"That isn't quite what I meant," she smiled. "I'm
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