With that he walked unconcernedly past Steele and out of the store.
CHAPTER XI
A BREATHING SPACE
Robin walked to where his horse stood, mounted and rode to camp. In half an hour he was jogging out the south trail behind his thirteen loose horses. Dark overtook him twenty miles from town. He penned his string in the corral of an abandoned horse ranch, spread his bed in an old cabin and slept, supperless. At dawn he tightened his belt a hole and rode again. At ten-thirty his horses ran nickering down the bank into the Mayne yard. A ranch hand working on a woodpile sauntered over to the corral. Robin saw Ivy come to the kitchen door and draw back.
“The old man around?” he inquired as the ranch hand helped him strip the gear off the pack horse.
“Uh-uh. Makin’ a ride somewheres,” the man said.
Robin shook off his spurs and chaps and went to the house. Ivy sat by the kitchen table, nursing her face in her hands. She looked up as Robin entered, in a way that gave him a pang. She seemed sad, even a little afraid of him, and although Robin had seen her in a temper, had seen her sulky, he had never known her to grieve, to look subdued and unhappy.
He went up and put his arms about her.
“Hello, hon,” he greeted. “How are you? What for you look like the blue devils had got you? Aren’t you glad to see me back?”
For answer Ivy put her dark head against him and wept. She tried to speak and the words seemed to choke her.
“I was scared,” she got out at last. “It’s all my fault. I was a darned fool, Robin. I’ve made all the trouble. My heart’s been in my mouth all day. I felt bad enough before—since that dance. But to-day.”