The girl admitted that the latter was the case, and Weston spread out his hands.
“Well,” he said, “it will be at least another six hours before the first sunlight falls on that ledge. Besides, as you may remember, you have had only one meal since early yesterday morning, and I shall be especially fortunate if I can get back here with the Indians by noon. Major Kinnaird and his daughter must stay, but that doesn’t apply to you. Are you still quite sure you have any cause to be angry with me?”
Ida looked at him with a little flash in her eyes.
“Oh,” she said, “I suppose you’re right. Still, is it necessary to make the thing so very plain?”
Weston laughed.
“I just want you to realize that you are in my hands until we reach level ground,” he replied. “In the meanwhile I should like you to put on this jacket.”
He held out the warm deerhide garment, and the girl flashed a covert glance at him. He stood close by her in loose blue shirt and thin duck trousers, and, as far as she could see by the moonlight, his face was pinched and blue with cold.
“I won’t,” she said.
Weston pursed up his face whimsically. He seldom shone where diplomacy was advisable. As a rule, he endeavored to bring about the end he had in view by the most direct means available. In the present instance he felt very compassionate toward his companion, and recognized only the necessity of getting her back to camp, where there was food and shelter, as soon as possible. Still, it not infrequently happened that his severely simple procedure proved successful.
“Well,” he said, “since I don’t intend to wear it we’ll leave it here. I’ll leave you for a minute or two while I prospect for an easier route than the one by which I came up.”