“Don’t—don’t you ever play Injun except when it’s necessary?” she said reproachfully.
I did not reply.
“Didn’t you like to play Injun that time?”
“It served its purpose,” I said.
She cast at me a swift and troubled glance, bowed her head, and stepped out. Without looking back she started up the hill, and presently I rose, without any conscious effort on my part, and began to follow.
Once she stopped and looked behind her; I only felt it; I dared not look to see. For the tumult which woke within me at the sight of her as she moved through that primitive scene frightened me. It seemed to lift me above, or cast me below, considerations of right or wrong. My conventional self whispered that I was treading on dangerous ground; that I must not go up the hill. But I went, even as Brack had gone, in answer to Betty’s call, but with my eyes held fearfully on the ground.
“Look!” she cried at the cave’s mouth. “The foliage has grown so in a few days that you scarcely could tell we’d ever had an entrance there.”
I tore the brush aside to make a way for her and stood aside with eyes averted.
“Aren’t you going in—Mr. Pitt?” she asked softly.
“No,” I said. “Why should I?”