“I don’t any longer.” She was surprised at the immensity of the relief that surged over her at this chance to unburden her soul of the load of perplexity and trouble which harassed her. “For a long time I haven’t—There’ve been a number of things. I still haven’t an idea of what it’s all about, but—”
“I’m mighty glad you feel that way,” Buck said, as she paused. “I’m not quite sure myself just what he’s up to, but I believe I’m on the right trail.” Very briefly he told her of the steps he had taken since leaving the Shoe-Bar. “You see how impossible it would be to trust myself in his power again,” he concluded. 222
For a moment or two Mary Thorne sat silent, regarding him with a curious expression.
“So that was the reason,” she murmured at length.
His eyes questioned her mutely, and a slow flush crept into her face.
“The reason you—you couldn’t say you had no—special object in being on the Shoe-Bar,” she explained haltingly. “I’m—sorry I didn’t understand.”
“I couldn’t very well tell you without running the risk of Lynch’s finding out. As it happened, I was trying my best to think up a reasonable excuse for leaving the outfit to do some investigating from this end, so you really did me a good turn.”
“Investigating what? Haven’t you any idea what he’s up to?”
Buck hesitated. “A very little, but it’s too indefinite to put into words just yet. I’ve a feeling I’ll get at the bottom of it soon, though, and then I’ll tell you. In the meantime, when you go back, don’t breathe a word of having seen me, and on no account let any one persuade you to—sell the outfit.”
She stared at him with crinkled brows. “But what are you going to do now?” she asked suddenly, her mind flashing back to the present difficulty.