Garth was glad he had told her.
Rina stood studying him with her strange and secret air. "You love her ver' moch," she said suddenly, pointing to Natalie.
Garth bent over the sleeping figure in a way that answered her better than words.
"I t'ink she love you too," said Rina gravely. "When I 'urt her, she try not to cry because it 'urt you so bad."
A slow red crept under Garth's skin. He hated to betray himself under the eyes of the red woman; and he bustled about, averting his face from her. "When can she be moved?" he asked, brusquely changing the subject.
Rina shook her head. "I not know," she said. "Maybe she have fever. Three, four week maybe."
Garth's heart sunk heavily, as he considered their scanty supplies, the approach of winter—and, more dangerous still, the fruitful opportunities of conflict the weeks would offer to four souls so strangely opposed, and so strangely bound together in the wilderness.
"What is Mabyn doing now?" he asked suddenly.
Rina's face instantly became as blank as plaster. "I not talk to you about him," she said coolly.
Garth was conscious of receiving a rebuke.