Seeing that either from indifference or caution he had not accepted her meaning, she looked at him fixedly, and said,—
“What is your little game?”
“Eh?”
“What are you hiding for—here, in this tree?”
“But I'm not hiding.”
“Then why didn't you come out when they hailed you last night?”
“Because I didn't care to.”
Teresa whistled incredulously. “All right—then if you're not hiding, I'm going to.” As he did not reply, she went on: “If I can keep out of sight for a couple of weeks, this thing will blow over here, and I can get across into Yolo. I could get a fair show there, where the boys know me. Just now the trails are all watched, but no one would think of lookin' here.”
“Then how did you come to think of it?” he asked carelessly.
“Because I knew that bear hadn't gone far for that sugar; because I know he hadn't stole it from a cache—it was too fresh, and we'd have seen the torn-up earth; because we had passed no camp; and because I knew there was no shanty here. And, besides,” she added in a low voice, “maybe I was huntin' a hole myself to die in—and spotted it by instinct.”