“What are you writing?” she asked as he glanced at her inquiringly. “Is it a letter to that squaw?”
A sudden twitch of passion passed over his face at this reference to a dark page in their past and he drew the written sheet away.
“No,” he said, “I happened to remember a white girl─”
“What?” burst out Virginia before she could check herself and he curled his lip up scornfully.
“Yes,” he nodded, “and she seems to think I’m all right.”
“Oh,” she said and turned away her head with a painful twisted smile. Somehow she had always thought–and yet he must have met other girls–he was meeting them all the time! She tried to summon her anger, to carry her past this fresh stab, but the tears rose to her eyes instead.
“I–we’ll be going away soon,” she went on hurriedly. “That is, if he gives us back our stock. Do you think he’ll do it, Wiley? You know–the plan you spoke of. We’re going to sell this stock to a broker and then pay Mr. Blount back.”
“I don’t know,” mumbled Wiley, and humped up over his letter, but it did not produce the effect he had hoped for.
“Well–I’m sorry I hurt you,” she broke out impulsively, rebuked by the long gash in his hair, “but you shouldn’t have tried to stop me! I 225wasn’t doing you any harm–I just came up there that night to see what was going on. And I did see Stiff Neck George, you can smile all you want to, and he had something heavy in his hand.”
She ran on with her explanation, only to trail off inconclusively as she saw his face growing grim. He did not believe her, he did not even listen; he just sat there patiently and waited.