He unconsciously put out his hand toward her. "Mary——"
She lingered. "Well—Jack?"
"Let me go instead. I can't stay quiet here."
"You must. You don't know their talk as well as I do. Nothing can happen to me. If they do find me out, they are my friends."
"But the dogs——"
"They bark at nothing. No one minds them."
Her eyes beamed on him softly, like stars through the night; her soft voice was of the night too; and so brave and tender! She was adorable to him. He abruptly flung himself down in the grass to keep from seizing her in his arms.
"Go on," he said a little thickly. "Hurry back."
Hours passed, it seemed to him; it was perhaps half of one hour. The dogs barked and howled, and finally fell silent. A partridge drummed in the depths of the forest, and an owl flew out from among the trees with a moan that rose to a shriek of agony. Down the valley a fox uttered his sharp, challenging bark, and the dogs returned with a renewed infernal clamour. A band of horses stampeded aimlessly up and down between the tepees. It was a heavy, ominous night, and every creature was uneasy.
At last quite suddenly he saw her crouching and running up the grassy slope toward him. His heart bounded with relief.