At noon, when Rivers went out to feed the team, Bailey went over toward the wretched woman. His face was kind but firm:
"Mrs. Burke, I hope you've decided not to do this thing."
She looked at him with shrinking eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you can't afford to go away with Jim this way."
"What else can I do? I can't live without him, and I can't go back."
"Well, then, go away alone. Go back to your folks."
"Oh, I can't do that! Can't you see," she said, finding words with effort—"can't you see, I must go? Jim is my real husband. I must be true to him now. My folks can't help me—nobody can help me but Jim—If he stands by me, I can live." She stopped, feeling sure she had explained nothing. It was so hard to find words.
"There must be some way out of it," he replied, and his hesitation helped her. She saw that he was thinking upon the problem, and found it not at all a clear case against her.
After Rivers came back they resumed their seats about the fire, talking about the storm—at least, Bailey talked, and Rivers had the grace to listen. He really seemed less sullen and more thoughtful.