She turned without making any answer.
“You can never be held to any word—if there is any word between you—to a man who is an outlaw, and running from the police,” he said hotly.
“That,” she said sharply, “is entirely my own affair. I have mentioned no names, and if you wish to keep any spark of friendship between us, you will let the matter drop now, once and for ever. I have said all that I mean to say.”
She walked back to the yard, Ned Gunliffe striding beside her with a sullen face, but saying nothing more.
She was upset and a good deal afraid that night when she told Scottie something of what had passed, and saw how it disturbed him.
“I wish Steve’s name could have been held out o’ ’t,” he said gruffly. “I dinna just trust that same Ned Gunliffe, and if he thocht it was Steve that was atween you an’ him, an’ he had a chance tae pit Steve oot o’ the road, I’m thinkin’ there wad be a word passed whar it wad dae the maist damage tae the lad.”
“But what could I have done—what can I do now?” she cried, in distress. “Oh, if any harm came to Steve through me it would kill me.”
“Hoot, toot, lassie,” said Scottie, soothingly. “Dinna pit yersel’ aboot. Like enough, Steve is far enough awa’ by this time. His horse has been gone this two days back.”
She worried more than ever about Steve that night, and a talk with Aleck Gault gave her no comfort.
“I can’t tell you anything about him,” said Aleck; “I haven’t seen him since the last time I told you. I can’t go to him, for I’m afraid of being watched there, and of him being found. But he’s all right, never fear. His horse was left where he knows to look for it, and likely enough he’s miles away by now. And you know the trackers are taken off the hills. There’s no fear but what Steve can outwit any white police trooper.”