His face was drawn and haggard, and his lashes, 227 long and soft and thick, lay against a skin drained of every particle of color. A sudden choking sob rose to the girl’s lips, but she managed to force it back, and when the man’s lids slowly lifted, she smiled tremulously.
“Here’s some coffee,” she said, kneeling down and holding the rim of the cup to his lips.
Buck drank obediently in slow gulps.
“You’re all nerve,” he murmured when the cup was empty. He lay silent for a few moments. “Don’t you think you’d better be starting back?” he asked at length.
“How can I go and leave you like this?” she protested. “You’re so weak. You might get fever. Anything might happen.”
“But you certainly can’t stay,” he retorted with unexpected decision. “Let alone a whole lot of other reasons,” he went on, watching her mutinous face, “if you did, Tex would have a posse out hunting for you in no time. Sooner or later they’d find this place, and you know what that would mean. I’m feeling better every minute—honest. By to-morrow I’ll be able to hobble around and look after myself fine.”
His logic was irresistible, and for a time she sat silent, torn by a conflict of emotions. Then all at once her face brightened.
“I’ve got it!” she cried. “Why can’t I send Bud out? He’s to be trusted surely?” 228
Buck’s eyes lit up in a way that brought to the girl a curious, jealous pang.
“Bud? Sure, he’s all right. That’s one fine idea. You’ll have to be careful Lynch doesn’t know where he’s going, though.”