“What are you coming in here for?” she demanded.
“I want to talk to you for a little while,” Weir replied, seating himself. “You will please listen. I’ve overheard enough of your talk to catch its drift; you came here to be married, but now this man wants to induce you to go to Los Angeles first.”
“That isn’t any of your business,” the girl flashed back, going white and red by turns.
“I’m making it mine, however. You live up on Terry Creek, by what I heard; that’s not far from my camp. I’m manager at the dam and my name’s Weir.”
At this statement the girl shrank back, beginning to bite the hem of her handkerchief nervously and gazing at him with terrified eyes.
“I’m here to help you, not harm you. You’ve run away from home to-day to marry this fellow. Did he promise to marry you if you came to Bowenville?”
“Yes.”
“And now he wants you to go with him to Los Angeles first, promising to marry you there?”
The girl hesitated, with a wavering look.
“Yes.”