Beck looked at Jane slowly and his eyes danced.
"It ain't necessary to talk about things that won't happen. You're going to go."
"Who the hell are you to be so certain?"
"My name's Beck, sir. I'm just workin' here."
"And playing the role of a protector?"
"Well, nothing much ever comes up that I don't try to do."
Hilton made as if to speak again but checked himself, walked down the room in long strides, seized his coat, thrust his arms into the sleeves viciously and stood buttoning the garment. Beck looked away into the night as though nothing within interested him and Jane stood clutching the locket at her throat, caressing it with her slim, nervous fingers.
"Under the circumstances, making my farewells must be to the point," Hilton said. He spoke sharply, belligerently. "I have just this to say: I am not through."
"Oh, go!" moaned Jane, dropping into a chair and covering her face with her hands.
She heard the men leave the veranda, heard a gruff, low word from Hilton and knew that he went on alone. After the outer gate had closed she heard Tom walk slowly up the path toward the bunk house. He had left her without comment, without any attempt at an expression of concern or sympathy. She knew it was no oversight, but only a delicacy which would not have been shown by many men.