“Not to marry me?” She gasped. In spite of the gravity of the moment, her own real sorrow, she could not repress feeling natural in a girl who, having made, as she supposes, her own free choice, finds that, from the very beginning, her husband had been wished upon her. “Oh, if I’d only known it!” She added, with loving illogic, “I’m so glad that I didn’t.”
“That’s fine.” He patted her head. “It will be easier, now, if you have to live for a while in the States.”
“The States?” she repeated.
In a brief way, omitting mention of Benson’s death—she had enough to bear—he described the scattering of Valles’s army, concluding, “They’re wild against Americans.” He nodded at the fire. “The men that did this are on the way to Arboles; must be almost there.”
“My poor people!” she broke out, in sudden distress. “Gordon! Come here!” When, with Sliver and Jake, he emerged from the shadows she cried it again: “Our poor, poor people! They are on their way—the raiders! To Arboles! We must go—at once!”
“Too late!” Bull spoke heavily. “Even an aeroplane couldn’t get us there in time.” After, even more briefly, he had sketched for the others recent events, he went on: “I came back to bring you and Mary and the child out. For them it’s too late, but you must go at once—you an’ your husband an’ Sliver an’ Jake.”
“And you?” Lee questioned.
“I’m going on.” The statement in its simplicity carried more significance than the wildest vow of revenge.
“Alone?” Lee again demanded. “And you think we’d go slinking home to the States and leave you to face that band yourself?”
“It’s my quarrel, my work.” His answer, steady and heavy, issued on the darkness. “You are young and have your husband. Your future is all ahead. Mine is most behind. You folks head at once for the border. With Sliver an’ Jake to guard you—”