After McArthur had gone to his pneumatic mattress in the patent tent pitched near the bunk-house, Ralston said to Susie:
“You and the bug-hunter are great friends, aren’t you?”
“You bet! We’re pardners. Anybody that gets funny with him has got me to fight.”
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Ralston laughed.
“We’ve got secrets—the bug-hunter and me.”
“You’re rather young for secrets, Susie.”
“Nobody’s too young for secrets,” she declared. “Haven’t you any?”
“Sure,” Ralston nodded.
“I like you,” Susie whispered impulsively. “Let’s swap secrets.”
He looked at her and wished he dared. He would have liked to tell her of his mission, to ask her help; for he realized that, if she chose, no one could help him more. Like Smith, he recognized that quality in her they each called “gameness,” and even more than Smith he appreciated the commingling of Scotch shrewdness and Indian craft. He believed Susie to be honest; but he had believed many things in the past which time had not demonstrated to be facts. No, the chance was too great to take; for should she prove untrustworthy or indiscreet, his mission would be a failure. So he answered jestingly: