She rested, with closed eyes, glad to be let alone. Presently she heard Slim’s voice, in guarded tones:
“Ye took notice what the little girl said. That’s Fayte, all right.”
There was silence for a few minutes, then Slim spoke again:
“Sort of sorry for the colonel.”
“Yeah,” assented Tarpy. “G’wan an’ round up them horses, Slim, and have ’em all saddled an’ ready time she’s had this coffee. She’s game; you’ll git over, mebbe, in time to git a look-in at the festivities—or the funeral—after all.”
Slim hesitated, looking doubtfully at Hilda. She sat up as Tarpy came toward her with a steaming tin cup, declared herself all right and, to prove it, drank the strong coffee. Tarpy stood looking, and then stated, respectfully:
“Slim’ll be ready, Miss, whenever you want to ride over. That sorrel of the colonel’s is as easy as a rocking chair.”
“Mebbe we hadn’t ought to hurry the young lady,” Slim put in, wistfully. “She’s had an awful trip, an’—”
“Oh, no, no!” cried Hilda, gathering up her hair, beginning to braid it with hands that shook. “I must go—I’ve got to!”
“Sure, I know how you feel, ma’am,” sympathized Tarpy. “Fetch up the sorrel, Slim.”