“I am very sorry, but I really can’t hold on,” she said.
Clavering glanced at the prairie, and Hetty looked at him. Nothing moved upon all the empty plain which was fading to a curious dusky blue. Darkness crept up across it from the east, and a last faint patch of orange was dying out on its western rim, while with the approaching night there came a stinging cold.
“It might be best if you rode on, Miss Torrance, and sent a sleigh back for us,” he said. “Walk your horse, Miss Schuyler, and I’ll keep close beside you. If you fell I could catch you.”
Hetty’s face was anxious, but she shook her head. “No, it was my fault, and I mean to see it through,” she said. “You couldn’t keep catching her all the time, you know. I’m not made of eider-down, and she’s a good deal heavier than me. It really is a pity you can’t ride, Flo.”
“Nevertheless,” said Miss Schuyler tartly, “I can’t—without a saddle—and I’m quite thankful I can’t drive.”
Hetty said nothing, and they went on in silence, until when a dusky bluff appeared on the skyline, Clavering, taking the bridle, led Miss Schuyler’s horse into a forking trail.
“This is not the way to Allonby’s,” said Hetty.
“No,” said Clavering quietly. “I’m afraid you would be frozen before you got there. The homestead-boys who chop their fuel in the bluff have, however, some kind of shelter, and I’ll make you a big fire.”
“But——” said Hetty.
Clavering checked her with a gesture. “Please let me fix this thing for you,” he said. “It is getting horribly cold already.”