“Damn you!” he shrieked. “This is what comes of your infernal meddling! What business had you to interfere? Why didn’t you let him die? I’ve a notion——”
His hands clenched and unclenched before her eyes, and she sat with blanched face, certain that he was about to attack her—perhaps kill her. She did not seem to care much, however, and looked up into his face steadily and defiantly.
After a moment, however, he regained control of himself, leaving her side and pacing rapidly back and forth in the office, cursing bitterly.
Curiously, Sheila was not surprised at this outburst; she had rather expected it since she had become aware of his real character. Nor was she surprised to discover that he had dropped pretense altogether—he was bound to do that sooner or later. Her only surprise was at her own feelings. She did not experience the slightest concern over him—it was as though she were talking to a stranger. She was interested to the point of taking a grim enjoyment out of his confusion, but beyond that she was not interested in anything.
It made little difference to her what became of Langford, Dakota, Duncan—any of them, except Doubler. She intended to return to the nester’s cabin, to help the doctor make him comfortable—for he had been the only person in the country who had shown her any kindness; he was the only one who had not wronged her, and she was grateful to him.
Langford was standing over her again, his breath coming short and fast.
“Where did you see Dakota?” he questioned hoarsely. “Answer!” he added, when she did not speak immediately.
“On the river trail.”
“Before you found Doubler?”
“Before, yes—and after. I met him twice.”