"You'll think me absurd, but I've decided not to go with you, after all. I believe I'd rather stay with Virginia. She'll be lonesome."
He came back to her, scolding whimsically.
"I know I'm foolish," she persisted, "but you're so dreadfully busy and noisy over there."
"Nonsense! And Virgie will be all right. She doesn't need you for a few days."
"I'm sure she'll need me. No—go on alone, there's a dear. I can ride over myself and bring you back for a few days, after your rush is over."
"Well, if you're really set." He submitted, grumbling.
"And kiss me, dear!"
He did so, still grumbling. "And you skip back, if you're going back. You're cold as ice. So long, weathervane! And come over when you feel like it."
"I'll be warm, dear—and good-by."
She watched him down the slope and across the meadow until he vanished into the black of the forest wall. Then she rode on to the camp. Without dismounting she took from the end of a broken branch a revolver in its holster that she had hung there earlier in the day. She made sure again that it was loaded and buckled the holster about her waist.