She was looking past him and the despair in her eyes cut his soul.
“Girl,” he whispered, “I’ll promise you not to kill Simpson; ’course I’ll promise you. I reckon I understand why you want my promise. I didn’t know before, I only suspicioned and dreaded. If he was a good man, now,” he smiled, “why, I’d be right down glad for your sake. But I won’t hurt him, Gloss, not even if he tries to shoot me.”
She stooped and looked into his face.
“Boy,” she said softly, “thanks for the promise; but it’s you I love—not him.”
Then she ran from the room.
Boy arose. In his heart a song was ringing that set the whole world—his world—agog with joy. Paisley came over and touched him on the shoulder.
“I’ve asked you somethin’ three times,” he said. “It’s comin’ mornin’, and the rain is done. The scouts are goin’ out along the trail. I want to know who is to stay here with you and Mac while the rest of us are totin’ up what we’ll maybe need for a seige.”
“I guess we don’t need anybody here,” said Boy.
He walked absently about the room and, coming back, put his hands on Paisley’s shoulders.
“Bill,” he pleaded, “I want t’ go with the scouts.”