“You can’t go, Boy; that’s all there is to it. Somethin’ tells me that Hallibut won’t bring his men down in a rush. Seems it ain’t his way to do things like ordinary men do ’em. He’s most like to send word by one of his tools that he’s comin’, first. I wouldn’t be at all surprised but that he’d come first himself. He’s goin’ to blame us for burnin’ his schooner, I have no doubt. He’s goin’ t’ do that so’s to have an excuse t’ wipe us out. He’s deep as he is wily. However, be that as it may, you men along the line mus’n’t let your feelin’s get the best of you. If Hallibut sends a spy along, keep clear of him, and don’t cock a gun, remember.”
Gloss stood in the doorway between the two rooms listening to the conversation of the men. Beside her was Daft Davie, his hand in hers. The girl’s face was pale and she looked as though she had not been resting well. Her great eyes were fastened on Boy’s face, and once he glanced toward her, but looked quickly down again. She passed across the room now, and over to him. The men were laying their plans of picketing along the trail. Boy looked up and smiled. Davie squatted in his old attitude beside him.
“Boy,” said the girl softly, “won’t you promise me what I’ve asked—won’t you?” she pleaded, bending over him.
Her breath fanned his cheek and the red blood leaped in his veins. She brushed back his tangled curls with an old-time caress.
“It seems just as though we was little boy and girl again,” she whispered, “and you always promised me what I wanted then.”
“I can’t promise you——” he hesitated. “Glossie,” he said tenderly, “won’t you please not ask it? I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep, and you know what I intend to do.”
“And if you do it,” she gasped, “oh, Boy, if you do, I can’t—we can’t——”
She turned her head away and he saw a shudder run through her frame. He reached out and drew the girl close to him.
“You’ve got to finish,” he said. “What can’t we do, Gloss?”
“I don’t know,” she answered wearily.