“I don’t see anything but you and me and the horses. What’s the matter?” For the girl had given a shriek of joy.
“In my coat pocket! A cake of chocolate that Mrs. Van put there—and the sugar. I always bring it for the horses. We’ll keep the chocolate for breakfast, shall we?”
They ate the sandwiches and topped off with the sugar. “Which,” said Polly, seriously, “is very strengthening. I’ve heard that they feed it to the Japanese army.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that, too,” assented Scott, “but I reckon that’s not all they feed ’em.”
“Well, it’s not all you’ve been fed, either, so don’t grumble,” said the lady, practically.
“I think,” said Scott, rising, “that before it grows dark I’ll investigate this trail a bit. It looks sort of blind to me. If we have to start by moonlight it’ll be just as well to have some notion of where to begin.”
Polly leaned back against a tree and watched him lazily. He looked very strong and capable. She recalled Joyce Henderson’s graceful proportions and smiled. She had had to come a long way to find the man she wanted but she was well content. It was odd, she reflected, that she and Joyce Henderson, who had known each other all their lives, were like strangers once they attempted the more intimate relation; while for this man whom she had known but a few weeks she felt a sense of familiarity, of belongingness, that she could scarcely believe. She was trusting him now in a way that she had never imagined herself trusting any man and yet she felt at ease.
Scott, returning, threw himself down beside her. “I’ve found the trail,” he said, “but we’ve got some traveling ahead of us. Don’t look to me as if anybody’d been over it since Gomez was.”
“Didn’t those men come this way?”
“No. They must have hit the trail lower down—from some place we’ve missed. I’ll swear no crowd like that have been where I’ve just been.”