He was now riding beside her, looking straight ahead, his face expressionless. Had he betrayed the slightest sign of triumph she would have changed her mind about going back to the ranchhouse with him.
As it was, she felt a pulse of rage over her readiness in yielding to his orders. Yet the rage was softened by a lurking, stealthy joy she got out of his masterfulness.
“I presume I may ride in another direction—east, for instance—or north, or south?”
He apparently took no notice of the mockery in her voice.
“You’ll not be ridin’ alone, anywhere,” he declared.
“Oh!” she returned, raising her chin and looking at him with a cold scorn that, she thought, would embarrass him; “I am to have a guardian.”
He looked straight back to her, steadily, seemingly unaffected by the hostility of her gaze.
“It amounts to that. But mebbe I wouldn’t put it just that way. Somebody’s got to look out for you—to see that you don’t go to rushin’ into trouble. There was trouble over in Lamo—if you’ll remember.”
And now he smiled gravely at her, and her face reddened over the memory of the incident. She had been eager enough, then, to seek his protection; she had trusted him.
“That wasn’t your fault,” he went on gently. “You didn’t know then, mebbe, just what kind of a guy Deveny is. But you know now, an’ it would be your fault if you run into him again.”