Three minutes later another, a louder and more imperative coo-ee, made them start, and they saw the figure of Scottie running down the slope, his arm and hat waving a signal to go.
She thrust him from her.
“Go, Stevie, go,” she panted. “Go quickly, or they may take you under my eyes—I should go mad now if....”
“Never fear, girl,” he cried exultingly. “They’ll never take me now—never alive. And I’ll come back for you, or send for you.”
“Yes,” she said hurriedly. “But go now, if you love me, Steve.”
He kissed her again and turned and ran to his horse. He plucked the revolver from the strap under which it was thrust and slid it into his pocket, and swung himself to the saddle.
Ess saw the action. “You won’t use it if you can help, Steve?” she cried. “You’ll not—but, yes, you must.” She stamped her foot fiercely. “Shoot them, kill them, do anything. What should I care if only you win free? Now ride, and remember you take the heart of me with you.”
He stooped to her as she stood beside the horse and slid his hands under her arms, and lifted her till her face was level with his, and kissed her full on the lips.
Then he let her slip down, and speaking no word, struck spurs to his horse, and was gone in a whirl of dust and scattering gravel.