“Her own brother, huh? That’s a odd number. Alla same I’ll bet she don’t miss him much.”
“Nor Nebraska, neither. He’ll never come back to bother her again, that’s a cinch. Who’s that ahead?”
“That” was Molly waiting for them at a turn in the trail. When they came up to her she nodded to both men, but her smile was all for Racey Dawson. He felt his pulse begin to beat a trifle faster. How handsome she was with her dark hair and blue eyes. And at the moment those blue eyes that were looking into his were deep enough to drown a man.
“Can I see you a minute, Racey?” said she.
Swing immediately turned his horse on a dime and loped along the back trail. Left alone with Racey she moved her horse closer to his. Their ankles touched. His hands were clasped on the saddle-horn. She laid her cool hand on top of them.
“Racey,” she said, her wonderful eyes holding him, “why are you going away?”
This was almost too much for Racey. He could hardly think straight. “I told you,” he said, hoarsely. “We’re goin’ to Arizona—minin’.”
She flung this statement aside with a jerk of her head. “You used to like me, Racey,” she told him.
He nodded miserably.
“Don’t you like me any more?” she persisted.
He did not nod. Nor did he speak. He stared down at the back of the hand lying on top of his.
“Look at me, boy,” she directed.
He looked. The fingers of the hand on top of his slid in between his fingers.
“Look me in the eye,” said she, “and tell me you don’t love me.”
“I cuc-can’t,” he muttered in a panic.
“Then why are you going away?” Her voice was gentle—gentle and wistful.
“Because yo’re rich now, that’s why,” he replied, thickly, the words wrung out in a rush. “You’ve lots o’ money, and I ain’t got a thing but my hoss and what I stand up in. How can I love you, Molly?”
“Lean over here, and I’ll show you how,” said Molly Dale.