He had not told her that the night he had been at the house for supper, but she remembered that he had told her other things—things to which she had listened with long lashes hiding her eyes. No, he had not said outright that he loved her more than anything else on earth; but the tenderness in his tones and the way he had looked at her told her everything that she wished to know.
And now she realized that she loved him. Until this cloud had settled over him she had not been quite sure of the truth. Oh, why had she cultivated his acquaintance so deliberately—to lead him along half flirtatiously as she had done at first? Not for long, though, she comforted herself. Quite soon she had learned to like this quiet, unassuming young man; and the more she had seen of him the better she had liked him, until—this!
Would he ever come back? How much depended on that! Everything she told herself. If he did not return with Halfaman they were guilty. Fifty pounds of gold was worth approximately fourteen thousand dollars. With this amount to divide between them, why should they come back? Unless it would be a crafty move to divert suspicion. One moment Manzanita raged at Mr. Daisy for being so stupid as to leave his pink tie in the water; the next she was resolutely telling herself that a man with eyes and voice and manners like The Falcon’s could never commit a crime.
One thing certain, though: if they returned she would at once speak to The Falcon on the subject and demand the truth. If they did not return—she could think no further. She did not wish to think further along the line of this possibility.
She went about the ranch in sober mood all that afternoon, attending to the wants of the stricken stage driver and helping Mrs. Ehrhart. She was dull, listless, and her head ached continuously—something to which she was unaccustomed. Early evening brought no less an important individual to the ranch than Martin Canby, racing in from the mountains on his snap-nosed bay, rapidly chewing squawtooth for his kidneys and bursting with enthusiasm over the man hunt.
“Hello, Pod!” Manzanita listlessly greeted him as he watered his horse at the trough.
“Where’s th’ sheriff, Nita?”
“Over at the camps, I think. Wipe the squawtooth juice from your mouth and kiss me.”
“Ain’t got time, Nita,” he replied in a businesslike tone. “We found the cover off a bunch o’ cigarette papers after the sheriff left. I got it. There’s writin’ on it.”
“Let me see it.”