“Oh, don’t! Don’t go! Come back in the house.”
A whirlwind of sobs shook the slim figure, and Pearse hastily, awkwardly, put his arm about her to steady her.
“Let’s tell Uncle Hank!” she gasped. “He’ll explain to the sheriff and those men. He can. You’d better stay here, Pearse.”
She looked up into his face in the dimness, and knew, before he spoke, that he was going to refuse.
“Hilda—I can’t. If I’d known he was manager here, I’d never have come in the first place. I told you that. If ever I see you again— Oh, say, Hilda! don’t cry so. I just can’t stand to see you feel so badly.”
She dried her eyes with piteous eagerness and strangled the sobs that still shook her.
“Goo-good-by, Pearse. Good-by—and good luck,” she achieved without a break. “You’ve got it all clear in your mind about the trail?”
“All clear. Good-by,” answered the boy hoarsely. And, not venturing another look at her, he rode away.
CHAPTER XV
NO QUESTIONS ASKED
Hilda stood there, chilled and shivering, and listened to the sound of his horse’s hoofs, cautious and slow at first, breaking into a canter further away and dying out in the night air. He was gone, leaving her utterly bereft. For, in the presence of the living Pearse himself The Boy-On-The-Train had at once shrunk and faded to a vain shadow—oh, no, she could never call that up again. She had lost them both.