“Once is enough,” answered the girl, laconically, as Lambton, set free, caught both her hands in his and whispered in her ear.
MacFee turned to the others. “You’d better drop this kind of thing,” he said. “I mean business.” They saw the troopers by the horses, and nodded.
“Well, we was about quit of it anyhow,” said Bantry. “We’ve had all we want out here.”
A loud laugh went up, and it was still ringing when there burst into the group, out of the trail, Abe Hawley, on foot.
He looked round the group savagely till his eyes rested on Nance and Lambton. “I’m last in,” he said, in a hoarse voice. “My horse broke its leg cutting across to get here before her—” He waved a hand toward Nance. “It’s best stickin’ to old trails, not tryin’ new ones.” His eyes were full of hate as he looked at Lambton. “I’m keeping to old trails. I’m for goin’ North, far up, where these two-dollar-a-day and hash-and-clothes people ain’t come yet.” He made a contemptuous gesture toward MacFee and his troopers. “I’m goin’ North—” He took a step forward and fixed his bloodshot eyes on Nance. “I say I’m goin’ North. You comin’ with me, Nance?” He took off his cap to her.
He was haggard, his buckskins were torn, his hair was dishevelled, and he limped a little; but he was a massive and striking figure, and MacFee watched him closely, for there was that in his eyes which meant trouble. “You said, ‘Come back in an hour,’ Nance, and I come back, as I said I would,” he went on. “You didn’t stand to your word. I’ve come to git it. I’m goin’ North, Nance, and I bin waitin’ for four years for you to go with me. Are you comin’?”
His voice was quiet, but it had a choking kind of sound, and it struck strangely in the ears of all. MacFee came nearer.
“Are you comin’ with me, Nance, dear?”
She reached a hand toward Lambton, and he took it, but she did not speak. Something in Abe’s eyes overwhelmed her—something she had never seen before, and it seemed to stifle speech in her. Lambton spoke instead.
“She’s going East with me,” he said. “That’s settled.”