“Well, now,” said Boy, after Paisley had concluded, “we ought to catch the turkey-thief that way all right, Bill.”
“It just popped into my mind after I left Peeler and Declute at the Forks,” explained Bill. “I know some fellers who tried it in the Michigan woods, and it worked fine. And, Boy,” he added, “if the thief is who we expect it is, won’t we give him a scare? Now then, remember, to-morrow night we’ll try it. You drop in on me early.”
He pushed Boy into the house and softly closed the door. Boy removed his moccasins and as he placed them before the fireplace he turned quickly. The swish of a dress had caught his ears. Before him stood Gloss, her long hair down about her waist, her cheeks wet and burning. As he gazed upon her wonderingly, her lips trembled.
“I heard you all talkin’,” she confessed. “I didn’t mean to listen, but Bill speaks so loud I couldn’t help hearin’. You were shot at, and, oh, Boy, you didn’t tell me!”
Boy’s pulses were throbbing.
“Why, Gloss,” he stammered, “it wasn’t really anythin’.”
She raised her head and looked at him then.
“Yes, it was,” she said earnestly: “it was everythin’. Promise me you’ll be careful, Boy.”
He took a step toward her, drawn by the tempestuous soul of her. But she stepped back, her lips parted, her great eyes humid and compelling, her hand raised warningly.
“We ain’t boy and girl any more,” she said softly.