But she was not thinking of me. Her eyes gazed far away. Her arm was hollowed and her head bowed, as though a little one pressed against her. With her right hand she fumbled at her breast, loosening her bodice. Her body swayed slowly to and fro in a soothing, rocking motion. I had seen her like this before when she thought no one was looking.
Leaning forward I plucked a twig from the fire to light my pipe. She threw herself back from me startled and sprang to her feet. “Don’t touch me.” Her voice was hoarse and choking.
Looking up from where I sat, I saw that her bosom panted and that her nostrils were quivering with animal fright. But it was her eyes that told me; they were wide and fixed like those of one who has been roused from sleep, and is not yet fully awake.
“I wasn’t trying to touch you, Lil. I’m your pal, girl, Dante Cardover.”
When I spoke she came to herself and recognized me. Her fear vanished and her arms fell limp to her side. “I’m goin’.”
“But what’s the trouble? I thought we were to camp here to-night.”
“Dun know.” She swept back the hair from her forehead and drew her shawl tighter. “I dun this before, just the two of us—and it didn’t end happy.”
“But not with me.”
“Afore ever I knew you, silly. When I was little more’n a child—long time ago.”
We stamped out the fire before we left, and stole silently across the moonlit meadows. She walked ahead at first in defiance; presently, ashamed of the distrust she had shown, she fell back and we traveled side by side.