“Yes,” she said dully.
“All I want now,” went on Sheldon, his voice as gentle as he could make it, “is for you to rest and stay with me until your father comes back.”
“He will never come back while you are here,” she said listlessly. “Never.”
“He’ll be away a deuced long, long time then,” he assured her grimly. “I’ll stay all year if I have to. What makes you think he won’t come back if I am here?”
“I know,” she answered decidedly.
She stopped there. He questioned her still further, but she was defiantly silent, so he drew a chair up and sat down, his rifle across his knees. She watched him curiously, losing not so much as his slightest gesture.
Perplexed, he brought out his pipe, scarcely conscious that he did so. It was his way to smoke at times of uncertainty when he sought to find a way out. He swept a match across his thigh, set it to the bowl of his pipe, drew at it deeply, and sent out a great cloud of smoke.
“You are a devil!” she screamed. “A devil!”
She had leaped to her feet, seeking to stoop under his arms as he sprang in front of her, wildly endeavoring to escape through the open door. But he caught her and carried her back to the bunk. She fought as she had fought before, striking at him, scratching, even trying to sink her teeth into his forearm.
“I’m not the one who is the devil!” he panted as at last he had thrust her back and stood over her again.