There was no more speech between them till they saw the timbered opening of Crazy Saunders’ Tunnel loom in sight. Beyond, the first cottages of the town edged the road.
At the tunnel’s mouth Jerry drew up. June put her foot forward for the step, and as she did so he leaned toward her and said:
“I’m coming to see you soon.”
She looked quickly at him, protest and alarm in her face.
“No, don’t do that,” she said almost sharply. “I don’t want you to. You mustn’t.”
“Why not?” he answered in a tone of cool defiance. “Why shouldn’t I? We’re old friends. I see no reason why I shouldn’t come up to see you now and then.”
The fretting horse, capering and prancing with impatience, cut off further conversation. June scrambled out, reiterating:
“No, don’t come. I don’t want you to.”
As the horse sprang forward Jerry called over his shoulder:
“Hasta mañana, Señorita. I’m not going to say good-by.”