There was questioning and also a suggestion of condemnation in her voice. She was anxious and her tone and manner showed she thought it his fault.
He bent to loosen a girth.
"Are you afraid he's lost?" he said, his face against the horse.
"No. But if he was?"
"Well! And if he was?"
The girth was uncinched and he swept saddle and blanket to the ground.
"We'd have to go back for him, and you say we must lose no time."
He kicked the things aside and made no answer. Then as he groped for the picket pins he was conscious that she turned again with the nervous movement of worry and swept the plain.
"He was sick. We oughtn't to have gone on," she repeated, and the note of blame was stronger. "Oh, I wish he'd come!"
Their conversation had been carried on in a low key. Suddenly Courant, wheeling round on her, spoke in the raised tone of anger.