Certainly the boy had some quality which made certain types of people trust him.
Fifteen minutes passed. Resting in a hiding place they had chosen, Vera grew more and more uneasy. If nothing had happened to prevent, why had Billy not returned? If he were all right certainly it was selfish of him not to care for her anxiety and dullness.
But, then, Billy was selfish about little things and Vera recognized the fact. One had to accept this fault in him, feeling there were other characteristics which made one willing to endure it. In big matters the girl believed he had wonderful stores of unselfishness.
Half an hour afterwards Billy came strolling toward her as nonchalantly as he had gone away. Only his eyes were brighter and his expression less boyish.
“We must hurry to get back to camp before dark,” he said, without apologizing for the delay. “I’ll tell you what I found out while we are riding home; but, of course, I understand I have your promise, Vera, never to repeat anything I tell you—no matter what takes place.”
Vera nodded silently. She was accustomed to Billy’s confidences and did not take them all seriously, and this one did not appear as especially important.
“The men have been working on the railroad out here and have gone on a strike. The railroad has refused to come to terms, but they don’t seem to be planning to go away. They are not exactly in hiding, only they want to be left alone until they decide what they are going to do next.”
CHAPTER X
A Good Samaritan
Ellen Deal came out into the September sunshine with a breakfast tray in her hand. The tray chanced to be a flat pine board, but it was covered with a neat little paper napkin. And, although the china on it was rough and failed to match, the aroma of the coffee, the fragrance of the freshly broiled bacon, made one indifferent to details.
The tall young man, who had been lying back in a steamer chair mournfully reading a torn newspaper several days old, suddenly straightened up and smiled.