It was impossible for Wanza to go on for a moment or two. And when she continued, at length, after a paroxysm of sobbing, my arm was around her, and her poor drooping head was against my shoulder.
“When I saw that he was dead, Mr. Dale, I picked up my revolver, and I ran as fast as I could out of the cabin and hid in the underbrush by the lake. By and by I spied Mrs. Batterly’s canoe, and I got in and paddled away as fast as I could. I remembered the hollow stump, because I’d gone there for Mrs. Batterly with fudge for Joey; and when I saw it I just popped the revolver inside. Then I hid the canoe among the willows and started to walk to Roselake. I kept to the woods along the river road until I heard the stage coming, and then I thought ‘I’ll go to Sister Veronica at the Old Mission.’ And I ran out and hailed it, and got in. When the stage got to De Smet that evening a man got in, and I heard him tell the driver that Mrs. Batterly had been arrested for the murder of her husband. So then I knew I had to tell the truth and take the blame or they’d keep her in jail and drag her through an awful trial, and I knew what that would mean to you, Mr. Dale.”
I pressed her head closer against my shoulder. “Wanza,” I said, “you are a noble girl.”
The tears welled up in the cornflower blue eyes.
“Oh, Mr. Dale, you do believe that Mr. Batterly was most respectful to me whenever I met him in the village! He was very polite and respectful. I never spoke to him but three times. Once dad was with me, and once Joey, and once I was alone.”
There was something piteous in her asseveration.
“I am sure he was respectful, child.”
“I wanted to die the minute he spoke too bold to me when he found me there alone at Hidden Lake.”
“I well know that, Wanza.”
“Marna of the quick disdain,