Cherry laid one hand on his arm and looked at him.
"He has gone to town with a lot of men to-night," she said. "They often ride in on Saturday night—that's why we have been able to ride and talk together. He will be there when you get to town—and all day to-morrow. And listen—I'm not afraid—not afraid for you, nor for me. But I don't want you to meet him yet."
King's reply came quietly and with great deliberation.
"I've been in that town since the first tent was pitched," he observed in a voice that was even and showed no excitement. "I've watched it grow up—and I've gone pretty much where I liked. I guess I'll go on in about the same way."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of that," Cherry replied. "I've told you I'm not afraid for you—and not for myself. But if the break should come—"
"I guess you don't need to worry about that," King remarked. "There won't be any break between me and McCartney—not till there's a reason for it."
Cherry went back again to the trail and taking the bridle-rein in her hand led the way down towards the river. King followed her until they came to the roughly-made bridge that spanned the little stream, a hurriedly constructed bridge of tamarac poles that had been thrown into place by the advance parties of railway workers.
"I have never gone farther than this," said Cherry, when they had come to the centre of the bridge. "I often ride out in the evenings and stand here for a while before going back. Some day I am going on to town, just to see what sort of place you have."
"This is the White Pine," said King. "I have crossed it often higher up. It gets very nasty after two or three days' rain."
Suddenly a flash of lightning reminded them that the storm was approaching. While they talked they had all but forgotten the black clouds rolling up from the east. Cherry got up at once upon the stout log that ran along the side of the bridge to keep the poles in place, and putting one foot into the stirrup drew herself up lightly into the saddle. When she was seated she turned and looked at King.