“Yes, I have come back.”
“And you found what you wanted to find?”
“I found what I was looking for. I don’t know that I wanted to find just that,” he ended bitterly.
She came slowly toward him until she stood in the firelight, so near that he could have put out his hand and touched her. He saw the brown arms reflecting the wavering fire, the dark braids, the full, round throat, her eyes even, deep and earnest. And something he glimpsed in their quiet depths sent a quick pain to his heart.
“Yes,” she answered as if he had spoken. “I heard. I listened outside. I heard every word.” She broke off, only her hands clasping each other tightly showing him that the calmness of her still figure was forced over a tumult within. “And so,” she barely whispered after a little, “you have come back to kill dear old Daddy!”
He moved back, away from her, back from the quiet misery in her eyes, making no answer. And she came with him, step by step until he had stopped, and put her hand upon his arm.
“You have come back,” she repeated in the same lifeless tone, so different from the glad note which he had so often thrill through her voice, “to kill Daddy. Is that it?”
“You heard,” he muttered heavily.
“Yes. He killed your pardner.” She shivered and the hand upon his arm grew very tense. “So you want to kill him. Will that do any good? It will make me very miserable. It will take my father away from me—all I have. And will it do your pardner any good?”
“Why did you come?” he cried out fiercely. “You don’t understand.”