"Tell me that I may take care of her. I must—there is no other way," she insisted. "And it will give me the privilege of doing one little act of kindness. Say it will be all right!"
"If she cannot find comfort and strength in you, she cannot find it upon earth," he said softly. "I have no words with which to thank you!"
She took her hand from his arm with a little sigh of content, turned around and stood at her horse's head a moment, then mounted as lightly and quickly as a boy.
"Where's your horse?" she asked, whirling the animal about until it faced him. The wonderful light in her face had given place to a careless, light-hearted look.
"Up at the stable. Have you the time and patience to wait for me?" said Livingston.
"Plenty of patience, but no time," she replied. "I promised to meet one of the twins at six o'clock, so I've got to hurry up. I'll meet you over at Syd's camp in a little while."
Before he had time to either speak or bow she was gone. As she disappeared behind the ledge of rocks a clear boyish whistle of some popular air floated back to him.
Walking quickly through the pasture toward the ranch buildings Edward Livingston thought of many things—and wondered.