Naturally, thought Angus, that would be French's advice. Perhaps he had had the handling of the property, and Braden had been acting for him when trying to sell to Chetwood. If that sale had gone through, half the property would have been sold for what had been paid for the whole, and the remainder, worthless or not, would have been velvet. But as it was French was in a tight box, and the only thing he could do was to advise the girl to let the place alone, and hope that nothing would occur to arouse her suspicions. Angus half wished for her sake that he had not blocked the sale to Chetwood.
"You see," she said, "I have to do something for a living. I haven't enough to keep me in idleness, and anyway I don't want to be idle. But I didn't mean to bother you with my worries. I don't know why it is, but I find myself talking to you just as frankly as when I was the little, lost girl and you were the big boy. Perhaps I am a little lost, still. You—you seem comforting, somehow." She considered for a moment. "Perhaps it's the bigness of you. But I don't talk to Gavin as I do to you, and I know him much better. Why is it?"
"I don't know, but I'm glad of it," Angus told her. "I want to help you if I can."
"Now, I believe that's why," she said. "You want to help folks who need it. That's the secret of it."
"Nothing of the sort," Angus told her. Suddenly he realized that the sun was low above the western ranges and that the early fall evening was coming. "We'll have to be moving if we're to get home by dark," he said. "To-morrow I'll skin out the bear."
"Oh—my pony!" she exclaimed. "I never thought of him."
"No use looking for him. Likely he headed for home. You'll ride my horse."
"And let you walk? Indeed, no!"
"Of course you will."
"But I won't. You're hurt—"