For once Mart rebelled. “I wisht you’d stayed up there in the mountains, Nita!” he complained. “Then I could talk like I wanta. But if ye hurry up and get married maybe I’ll get some peace, anyway.”
Manzanita’s face turned scarlet, and to hide her confusion she accused:
“You pulled leather to-day!”
“I didn’t no such thing! Did I, Mr. Demarest? Didn’t I stick till the gray ditched me? I never pulled, Nita. Honest. Ast anybody!”
It was not yet dark when Tom Demarest and his bride-to-be walked over the desert toward the old camp of Jeddo the Crow with Hunter Mangan, returning to his camp.
As they came to the parting of the ways Mangan, who had been noticeably silent, halted and extended both hands to the happy couple.
“Congratulations,” he said. “I wish you both all success and happiness.”
He dropped their hands and turned away into the desert, and the black, cold night soon had swallowed his solitary figure.
“Hard hit,” Tom Demarest muttered to himself.
As the two walked on and neared the stable tent of the Jeddo camp unnoticed, they heard a familiar voice within singing softly, and stopped to listen.