Her face went red, but she shook her head.
“I believe you,” he said. “But Andy would be too excited to think of asking you to marry him, perhaps. He—both of you—would take marriage for granted. So I must ask another question: Didn’t he tell you that he loves you, and didn’t you surrender yourself to him?”
Her long lashes covered her dark eyes, and for a space she declined to answer. Then she lifted her head and looked him straight in the face.
“I suppose,” she said slowly, “that, according to the standardized procedure, I ought to say, ‘What right have you to ask me that?’ But you have the right—I suppose. Anyway, I consider it a fair question, and I’ll answer it as fairly. He did, and I did. But—but how did you know, Doctor?”
The doctor’s laugh was brief and bitter. “When you two returned to camp,” he informed her, “the announcement couldn’t have been plainer if you had pinned placards on your breasts. I knew what had happened. So did Mary Temple.”
“Well?”—almost defiantly.
“Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be said. Theoretically I should back gracefully away, murmuring my congratulations. But I’ll not do that. I don’t give up so easily, Charmian. I am convinced that you and I are mated, and that you and Andy are not. I think that it would be a great misfortune for both of us if we don’t become man and wife. But I’ll play the game fair and square—with both you and Andy. And this desire to play square is what has kept my mouth closed on so many occasions. I won’t tell you why I think it unwise for you to marry Andy Jerome. On the contrary, I’ll go out and leave you two here together and make every effort to get back with more medicine before you can learn for yourself that I am the man you should have for a husband instead of him. It’s hard, Charmian—hard to play square, when I hold my rival’s future in the hollow of my hand. But the ethics of my profession demand that I do all in my power to save him, and my conscience demands the same.
“So to-morrow I must leave you, hoping that I can get back in time. There is no other way. I’ll make it back to Mary and Andy, and send Andy on here. With the aid of a compass and the directions that I can give him he will never miss the pass into the valley. You must hoist a garment or a blanket on a pole, which he will be able to see from the top of the wall and all the way down. Or a smudge of damp leaves will send up a stream of smoke to direct him to you.
“Andy is a master mountaineer and woodsman. It is born in him; he inherited it from his Alps-climbing ancestors. He will be able to supply you with food while you are waiting for me to return. But listen carefully: As soon as he comes, have him show you how to make rabbit snares and pitfalls and deadfalls, so that you will be able to get game if he becomes unable to do it for you. You two get to work at once gathering all the nuts and acorns you can—and you’d better be working at it before he comes. Stow them away. Have Andy show you how to pulverize the acorns and make Indian bread of the flour. Gather huckleberries—all you can—I saw a patch of them up the river from where we crossed to-day. The berries will be ripe now. Then you’ll find nuts in the cones of the piñon pines. Andy has a little fishing tackle. There should be mountain trout in the river. If Indians could subsist in this valley without drawing upon civilization for supplies, trust Andy to do it. But the important point is that you must make him teach you all that he knows about foraging in the wilderness before he—before he becomes unable to help you. For that may happen.”
“You are not making yourself clear, Doctor,” Charmian told him. “Why is all this necessary? Why can’t we all go out together? In other words, if Andy can get here to me why can’t he make it out to Shirttail Henry’s or Mosquito? And why can’t Mary Temple come here with Andy, if she is able to go with you over the mountains?”