"But what of Davy?" she repeated; "have you heard any word of him?"
"No, and I'm ashamed to say it," he acknowledged; "I haven't been to see him at all since I got back. I've had a lot of things in my head to keep track of, and didn't even send. I'll do it, though, in a day or so—or else go myself."
"I'm afraid he may be sick. If the snow is not bad, it's a wonder he has not been down. I believe I will go."
"I don't like you to go over those trails alone," he said in a lower tone; "not just now, at any rate."
"Why not now?"
"Well, you know these Indian troubles may bring queer cattle into the country. The Kootenai tribe would rather take care of you than do you harm; but—well, I reckon you had better keep to the ranch."
"And you don't reckon you can trust me to tell me why?" she said in a challenging way.
"It mightn't do any good. I don't know, you see, that it is really dangerous, only I'd rather you'd keep on the safe side; and—and—don't say I can't trust you. I'd trust you with my life—yes, more than that, if I had it!"
His voice was not heard by the others, who were laughing and chatting, it was so low; but its intensity made her step back, looking up at him.
"Don't look as if I frighten you," he said quickly; "I didn't come in here for that. You shouldn't have made me come, anyway—I belong to the outside; coming in only helps me remember it."