“No!—I’d do it all myself! I’d either warn him and have done with it, or I’d stand by him.”
“I’m not sure that I like the misunderstanding about me,” Truedale half playfully remarked, “they may shoot me in the back before they find out.”
“Do you” (and here Nella-Rose’s face fell into serious, dangerously sweet, lines), “do you reckon I would leave you to them-all if there was that danger? They don’t aim to shoot or string Burke up; they reckon they’ll take him alive and—get him locked up in jail to—to—”
“What, Nella-Rose?”
“Die of longing!”
“Is that what would happen to Burke Lawson?”
The girl nodded. Then the entrancing mischief returned to her eyes and she became a child once more—a creature so infinitely young that Truedale seemed grandfatherly by comparison.
“Can’t you see how mighty funny it will be to lead them and let them follow on and then some day—they’ll plump right up on you and find out! Godda’mighty!”
Irresponsible mirth swayed the girl to and fro. She laughed, silently, until the tears stood in the clear eyes. Truedale caught the spirit of her mood and laughed with her. The picture she portrayed of setting jealousy, malice, and stupidity upon the wrong trail was very funny, but suddenly he paused and said seriously:
“But in the meantime this Burke Lawson may return; you may be the death of him with your pranks.”