Agnes stopped to give it a caressing pat as she went in. Sleep was the important thing now, for her plan called for endurance and toil. But there was one little thing to be done tonight for which the early light of morning, in which she must be stirring, might not suffice–just a little writing. It was quickly done, her suitcase held across her knees serving for a desk.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE STRANGE TENT
“Do nothing until I return,” ran her letter, which Dr. Slavens read by the last muddy light of day. “I will hold you to a strict account of your promise to me that you would not act in this matter without first returning here.”
There was no word of where she had gone, no time fixed for her to return. He had found the envelope pinned to the tent-cloth when he rode up, weary and grim, from his journey to Meander.
Inside the tent all was in order. There stood her boxes of canned goods and groceries against the wall. There was her cot, its blanket folded over the pillow and tucked in neatly to keep out the dust. She had not left hastily, it appeared, although the nervous brevity of her note seemed to indicate the contrary. She had contrived herself a broom of greasewood branches, with which she swept the space between stove and tent, keeping it clean down to hard earth. It stood there as she had left it, handle down, as carefully placed as if it were a most expensive and important utensil.
Slavens smiled as he lifted it. Even in the wilderness a true woman could not live without her broom, a greater civilizing influence, he thought, than the sword. 289
He did not go inside the tent, but stood holding up the flap, looking around the dim interior. Her lantern stood on a box, matches beside it, as if it had been left there ready to his hand in the expectation that he would come in and make himself at home.
It was not likely, he thought, that any of the neighbors could tell him where she had gone when she had not felt like giving him that much of her confidence. But he went down to Smith’s, making casual inquiry, saying nothing about the note which she had left, not taking that to be any of Smith’s concern.
As always, Smith had been astir at an early hour. He had seen her pass, going in the direction of Comanche. She was riding briskly, he said, as if she had only a short journey ahead of her, and was out of hail before he could push the pan of biscuits he was working over into the oven and open the door. It was Smith’s opinion, given with his usual volubility and without solicitation, that she had gone out on one of her excursions.