"Tex Ewalt. I go now. It may be difficult. Men do not come here like before—"
"Before I showed 'em th' way. You 'll get Peters, if you try right."
"And you? Is it to Big Moose you ride?"
"No, I got to go to Wayback. Will I throw th' leather onto Swaller?"
"No, Swallow come when I call."
"All right. Then I'll hit th' trail. What, you won't? Wait till you wake up." He went off laughing and in a minute more swung past the house with a rattle of harness and shout of farewell. Rose stood in the doorway, motionless, looking after him.
"If I try right. You beast!" The words came through her lips laden with unutterable loathing. She put her hands before her eyes to shut out the sight of him and turned back into the room, throwing out her arms in despair. "What can I do?" she asked passionately; and again: "What can I do?"
* * * * *
To Tex, grimly watchful in the bar-room of the Why-Not, her coming brought a shock. He remembered her as she appeared when publicly denouncing him for a crime he had not committed, a memory that ill prepared him for the all-pervading charm of her beauty. Approaching rapidly, a glorious figure, sitting the powerful black with unaffected grace, her grave loveliness smote him with a sort of wonder. Plunging through the ford in a series of magnificent leaps, the rifted spray flashed about her in the sunlight like bursting clouds of jewels. The solid ground once more under his feet, the black settled into his stride and they were away, the blue sky above the distant hills set wide for them, a gateway of the gods. "When she had passed it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music," murmured Tex.
Dutch Fred laughed genially at his companion's interest. They two were alone in the room. "Der French Rose, a fine voman, yes," he remarked, with open and honest admiration. "You like her?"