“Oh, no!” she interjected. “The Mexicans here wouldn’t attempt to murder you, however angry they might feel.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” he answered.
“But I am; I know them, I’ve lived among them!”
“Well, let that go. The man tried to kill me, at any rate. However, he was merely a tool, hired for the business by some one else. Ordinarily I don’t discuss my affairs with any one, but since you’ve raised the matter 66 I’ll just say that I’ve enemies in San Mateo who are anxious to dispose of me.”
“Such enemies here!”
“Yes. Who would be delighted to see me lie where that dead man lies and who are apparently determined to effect it.” He touched her sleeve warningly. “But you will speak of this to no one.”
“No, oh, no! Not a word!”
Steele gazed at her steadily. He already repented disclosing even so little of his private concerns, an impulse altogether at variance with his close-mouthed habit, but he had, for some vague reason, felt it necessary to explain his course, to justify himself to this clear-eyed, fine-spirited girl. He could not let her rest under a misapprehension that he was a brute who reveled in blood-spilling. And as he regarded her a conviction that she was absolutely to be trusted settled firmly into his mind.
She would be staunch; oxen and ropes could not drag information from her once she had determined not to speak. Yes, she would be loyal to her given word––and to her friends. Weir’s eyes glanced at the diamond on her finger. It would be a girl like her with whom he would have chosen to mate if fate had not directed his feet on a road which seemingly left him no choice but incessant and solitary struggle.
“I hate it all; I have nothing but crusts and nettles!” he exclaimed, with sudden fierce passion. And with a quick movement of his hand he beckoned her on.