“You were fond of her, weren’t you, Robin?” she muttered.
“That was before I knew you,” Robin answered slowly. “And I guess it wouldn’t have amounted to anything anyway. Mark was always in her mind more or less. I did like her, though. You’ve liked other men before you ever saw me, I guess, hon?”
“Not much. Well, yes, I once liked a boy who broke horses for us long before I knew you, Robin,” she said honestly. “He was a rider like you. A horse fell with him and killed him. I thought a lot of him. But somehow not the way I think and feel about you, dear.”
Robin kissed her.
“I guess maybe it was the same with both of us,” he said. “We were both lookin’ for somebody we wanted. I had the feelin’ that I’d found something real the first time I met you—the night we rode up the hill above Little Birch and talked while the sun went down. Remember?”
“Yes,” she smiled. “I had the same feeling about you—and it grows stronger. I’ll be glad when that murdering thief is dead or in jail. I’m afraid for you Robin. You’ve taken so many chances. You may not always be lucky. What would I do if anything happened to you, Robin?”
“I’ve got to take chances,” Robin declared. “A man has to. Mark is about at the end of his rope now. He’s overplayed his hand.”
May shuddered a little.
“Yes,” she sighed, “but he’s still in the game.”
“I wonder if he is in town,” Robin’s eyes hardened.