“So you let the men ride on to Paradise,” he went on with relentless mockery, “and you let Huntington plunge into that business when you knew, from me, exactly what it meant. And you rode over here to-day––I wonder, now, if your foot’s really hurt, or if that also is some trick!”
It was the merest chance shot. He had no suspicion that she had been shamming, for he had been too much annoyed by the whole incident to be critical of her demeanor. But the shot went home. The girl, without a word or cry, suddenly sank down on the box, with her face buried in her hands.
There ensued a moment of tense silence. For all the bitterness that surged under his railing speech, Haig 85 was not untouched by the sight of the girl, bent and cowering before him. But at the same time he was exasperated anew by the scene that was being enacted under the eyes of his two men.
“Come!” he said presently, not without reluctant gentleness. “It’s growing late. We must start at once.”
The words increased her terror. Through the hands that covered her eyes she could see Haig and Huntington––with revolvers drawn; and Claire’s white face––She rose impulsively, dropping her hands from her hot and tear-stained cheeks. She would confess all to him, though it should betray the inmost secret of her heart; and would beseech him not to go––
“Don’t say it––here!” he commanded sharply, lowering his voice as he bent toward her. “They think there’s something queer about all this. Come!”
She obeyed him silently, her resolution vanishing before his authority. Besides, there was yet time, somewhere on the road.