“Flower, yes, the flower of the life of the West—that’s what I mean,” he said. “You are like an army marching. When I look at you, my blood runs faster. I want to march too. When I hold your hand I feel that life’s worth living—I want to do things.”
She drew her hand away rather awkwardly. She had not now that command of herself which had ever been easy with the men of the West, except, perhaps, with Abe Hawley when—
But with an attempt, only half-meant, to turn the topic, she said: “You must be starting if you want to get through to-night. If the redcoats catch you this side of Barfleur Coulee, or in the Coulee itself, you’ll stand no chance. I heard they was only thirty miles north this afternoon. Maybe they’ll come straight on here to-night, instead of camping. If they have news of your coming, they might. You can’t tell.”
“You’re right.” He caught her hand again. “I’ve got to be going now. But Nance—Nance—Nancy, I want to stay here, here with you; or to take you with me.”
She drew back. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Take me with you—me—where?”
“East—away down East.”
Her brain throbbed, her pulses beat so hard. She scarcely knew what to say, did not know what she said. “Why do you do this kind of thing? Why do you smuggle?” she asked. “You wasn’t brought up to this.”
“To get this load of stuff through is life and death to me,” he answered. “I’ve made six thousand dollars out here. That’s enough to start me again in the East, where I lost everything. But I’ve got to have six hundred dollars clear for the travel—railways and things; and I’m having this last run to get it. Then I’ve finished with the West, I guess. My health’s better; the lung is closed up, I’ve only got a little cough now and again; and I’m off East. I don’t want to go alone.” He suddenly caught her in his arms. “I want you—you, to go with me, Nancy—Nance!”
Her brain swam. To leave the West behind, to go East to a new life full of pleasant things, as this man’s wife! Her great heart rose, and suddenly the mother in her as well as the woman in her was captured by his wooing. She had never known what it was to be wooed like this.
She was about to answer, when there came a sharp knock at the door leading from the backyard, and Lambton’s Indian lad entered. “The soldier—he come—many. I go over the ridge; I see. They come quick here,” he said.