When they returned to the dug-out, Imbrie studied their faces through narrowed lids, trying to read there what had passed between them. Their serenity discomposed him. Hateful taunts trembled on his lips, but he dared not utter them.
As for Clare and Stonor, neither of them sentimental persons, their breasts were eased. Each now felt that he could depend on the other in the best sense until death: meanwhile passion could wait. They made a fire together and cooked their supper with as unconscious an air as if they had just come out from home a mile or two to picnic. They ignored Imbrie, particularly Clare, who, with that wonderful faculty that women possess, simply obliterated him by her unconsciousness of his presence. The prisoner could not understand their air towards each other. He watched them with a puzzled scowl. Clare was like a child over the prairie-chicken. An amiable dispute arose over the division of it, which Stonor won and forced her to eat every mouthful.
She washed the dishes while he cleared a space among the bushes on top of the bank, and pitched her little tent. The camp-bed was still in Imbrie’s outfit, and Stonor set it up with tender hands, thinking of the burden it would bear throughout the night. Also in Imbrie’s outfit he found his own service revolver, which he returned to Clare for her protection.
Afterwards they made a little private fire for themselves a hundred feet or so from Imbrie, and sedately sat themselves down beside it to talk.
Stonor said: “If you feel like it, tell me what happened after I went to hunt my horses that morning.”
“I feel like it,” she said, with a smile. “It is such a comfort to be able to talk again. Mary and I scarcely dared whisper. You had been gone about half an hour that morning when all the Indians rode down out of the woods, and crossed the ford to our side. There were about thirty of them, I should say. I did just what you told me, that is, went on with my packing as if they were not there. For a little while they stood around staring like sulky children. Finally one of them said to me through Mary with a sort of truculent air, like a child experimenting to see how far he can go, that they were going to take Imbrie back. I told Mary to tell him that that was up to him; that he would have to deal with you later, if they did. Meanwhile I noticed they were edging between me and Imbrie, and presently Imbrie stood up, unbound. He took command of the band. It seemed he had known they were coming. I was only anxious to see them all ride off and leave us.
“Soon I saw there was worse coming. At first I knew only by Mary’s scared face. She argued with them. She would not tell me what it was all about. Gradually I understood that Imbrie was telling them I was his wife, and they must take me, too. I almost collapsed. Mary did the best she could for me. I don’t know all that she said. It did no good. The principal Indian asked me if I was Imbrie’s wife, and I could only answer that I did not know, that I had lost my memory. I suppose this seemed like a mere evasion to them. When Mary saw that they were determined, she said they must take her, too. She thought this was what you would want. They refused, but she threatened to identify every man of them to the police, so they had to take her.
“One man’s horse had been killed, and they sent him and three others off to the Horse Track village on foot to get horses to ride home on. That provided horses for Imbrie, Mary, and me. They made them go at top speed all day. I expect it nearly killed the horses. I was like a dead woman; I neither felt weariness nor anything else much. If it had not been for Mary I could not have survived it.
“We arrived at their village near Swan Lake early in the afternoon. Imbrie stopped there only long enough to collect food. We never had anything to eat but tough smoked meat of some kind, dry biscuits, and bitter tea, horrible stuff! It didn’t make much difference, though.
“Imbrie told the Indians what to say when the police came. He couldn’t speak their language very well, so he had to use Mary to translate, and Mary told me. Mary was trying to get on Imbrie’s good side now. She said it wouldn’t do any harm, and might make things easier for us. If we lulled his suspicions we might get a chance to escape later, she said. She wanted me to make up to Imbrie, too, but I couldn’t.