She laid her own pistol without a word in de Spain’s hand. He felt it, opened, closed, and gave it back. “That’s a good defender––when it’s in reach. When it’s at home it’s a poor one.”
“It will never be at home again except when I am.”
“Shall I tell you a secret?”
“What is it?” asked Nan unsuspectingly.
“We are engaged to be married.” She sprang from him like a deer. “It’s a dead secret,” he said gravely; “nobody knows it yet––not even you.”
“You need never talk again like that if you want to be friends with me,” she said indignantly. “I hate it.”
“Hate it if you will; it’s so. And it began when you handed me that little bit of lead and brass on the mountain to-night, to defend your life and mine.”
“I’ll hate you if you persecute me the way 215 Gale does. The moon is almost up. You must go.”
“What have you on your feet, Nan?”
“Moccasins.” He stooped down and felt one with his hand. She drew her foot hastily away. “What a girl to manage!” he exclaimed.