With this vague fear in her heart, she went forth into the street to inquire. One of the first men she met was Sifton, who was sitting, as usual, outside the livery-barn door, smiling, inefficient, content. Of him she asked: “Have you seen Mr. Cavanagh?”
“Yes,” he answered, “I saw him yesterday, just after dinner, down at the post-office. He was writing a letter at the desk. Almost immediately afterward he mounted and rode away. He was much cut up over his chief’s dismissal.”
“Why has he not written to me,” she asked herself, “and why should he have gone away without a word of greeting, explanation, or good-bye? It would have taken but a moment’s time to call at the door.”
The more she dwelt upon this neglect the more significant it became. After the tender look in his eyes, after the ardent clasp of his hand, the thought that he could be so indifferent was at once a source of pain and self-reproach.
With childish frankness she went to Lize and told her what she had learned, her eyes dim with hot tears. “Ross came to town, and went away back to his cabin without coming to see me.”
“Are you sure he’s been here?”
“Yes. Mr. Sifton saw him go. He came in, got some letters at the post-office, and then rode away—” Her voice broke as her disappointment and grief overcame her.
Lize struggled to a sitting position. “There’s some mistake about this. Ross Cavanagh never was the whifflin’ kind of man. You’ve got to remember he’s on duty. Probably the letter was some order that carried him right back to his work.”
“But if he had really cared, he could have ridden by to say just a word; but he didn’t, he went away without a sign, after promising to come.” She buried her face in the coverlet of her mother’s bed, and wept in childish grief and despair.
Lize was forced to acknowledge that the ranger’s action was inexplicable, but she did her best to make light of it. “He may have hurried to town on some errand, and hadn’t a moment to spare. These are exciting days for him, remember. He’ll be in to-morrow sure.”