“No. But I sent Mr. Smythe––he rode with me as far as Norton’s––I sent him back with a message that I was going to stop the night at Murray’s.”
“And the Murrays? What did you tell them?”
“That I’d be back before night. But why do you ask?”
“I’m thinking that Smythe is a fool, and Murray is a blockhead.”
“They did all they could to stop me,” she answered quietly.
She had begun to strip the bark and twigs from the green limbs; and he watched her crude efforts for a moment.
“I think I might manage that part of it,” he said at length. “You must build a fire.”
She started to obey him, but stopped short, and looked at him in sudden fear and suspicion.
“No, you can trust me with the knife,” he said. “I promise.”