She turned to him again, and this time her gaze went
over him slowly, curiously, but without speaking she
looked back to the fire, as though explanation of
what “hoss-lifting” meant were something
far beyond the grasp of his mentality. His anger
rose again, childishly, sullenly, and he had to arm
himself with indifference.
“Who’d you drop, Bard?”
“The one they call Calamity Ben.”
“Is he done for?”
“Yes.”
The turmoil of the scene of his escape came back to
him so vividly that he wondered why it had ever been
blurred to obscurity.
She said: “In a couple of hours we’d
better ride on.”
ABANDON
That was all; no comment, no exclamation—she
continued to gaze with that faint, retrospective smile
toward the fire. He knew now why she angered
him; it was because she had held the upper hand from
the minute that ride over the short pass began—he
had never once been able to assert himself impressively.
He decided to try now.
“I don’t intend to ride on.”
“Too tired?”
He felt the clash of her will on his, even like flint
against steel, whenever they spoke, and he began to
wonder what spark would start a fire. It made
him think of a game of poker, in a way, for he never
knew what the next instant would place in his hands
while the cards of chance were shuffled and dealt.
Tired? There was a subtle, scoffing challenge
hidden somewhere in that word.
“No, but I don’t intend to go any farther
from Drew.”
Her smile grew more pronounced; she even looked to
him with a frank amusement, for apparently she would
not take him seriously.
“If I were you, he’d be the last man I’d
want to be near.”
“I suppose you would.”
As if she picked up the gauntlet, she turned squarely
on the bunk and faced him.
“You’re going to hit the trail in an hour,
understand?”
It delighted him—set him thrilling with
excitement to feel her open anger and the grip of
her will against his; he had to force a frown in order
to conceal a smile.
“If I do, it will be to ride back toward Drew.”
Her lips parted to make an angry retort, and then
he watched her steel herself with patience, like a
mother teaching an old lesson to a child.
“D’you know what you’d be like,
wanderin’ around these mountains without a guide?”
“Well?”
“Like a kid in a dark, lonesome room. You’d
travel in a circle and fall into their hands in a
day.”
“Possibly.”
She was still patient.
“Follow me close, Bard. I mean that if
you don’t do what I say I’ll cut loose
and leave you alone here.”
He was silent, enjoying her sternness, glad to have
roused her, no matter what the consequences; knowing
that each second heightened the climax.
