She turned white with dread—now that she neared the actual deed.
"Oh, Jim! I wish there was some other way."
He was a little rough. Her feminine hesitation he could not sympathize with.
"Well, there isn't. We've got to get right out of this. Hurry on your things. The wind is rising, and we must make Wheatland by five o'clock. I came out to hold down my claim, but it ain't worth it. I reckon I've squeezed all the juice out of this lemon. This climate is a little boisterous for me."
He brought in a blanket and warmed it at the fire while she wrapped herself in cloak and shawl.
"I'd better write a little note to—him."
"What for? I've got nothing against him, except that he saw you first. But I guess he's out of the running now. It's you and me from this day on."
"I hate to go without saying good-bye," she said, tremulously. "He's always been good to me," she added, smitten with sudden realization of her husband's kindness.
He perceived that she was in earnest. "All right—only it does no good, and delays us. Every minute is valuable now. The outlook is owly."
The plain was getting gray as they came out of the door, and the woman shrank and shivered with an instant chill, but Rivers tenderly tucked the robe about her and leaped into the sleigh.