“Just exactly what I say. I’m going to give her up and get the money.”
Kitty could not speak; and with a perplexity that was not at all comfortable to himself, the lad returned her astonished gaze.
“Then—you—are—just—as—mean—as—Mercy—Smith!”
“I am not mean at all! Don’t you say it. Don’t you understand? I do—or I thought I did. It’s this way. She can’t be given up but once, can she? Well, I’ll do it, instead of an enemy.”
“You—wicked—boy! I can’t believe it! I won’t! You shall not do it; never!”
“Oh, don’t be silly! Of course, I’ll not keep the money. I’ll give it right back to her. Then she can do what she likes with it—make a nice new wigwam near the Fort, and she can get lots of skins, or even canvas, there. Come, let’s ride on.”
But there was a silence between them for some time, and the scheme that had seemed so brilliant, when it had originated in Gaspar’s mind, began to lose something of its glitter under the clear questioning gaze of the Sun Maid.
It was fast falling twilight when they came to the sandhills; and though, by all reckoning, Wahneenah should have been long awaiting them there was no sign of the familiar Chestnut or its beloved rider.
“Gaspar, will Wahneenah understand it? Will she believe it is right for you to do what is wrong for another to do? Will the soldier men pay you—just a boy, so—the money, real money, for her, anyway?”
Gaspar lost his patience, with which he was not greatly blessed.