“He—he's rapping on her door,” whispered Buck, and remained fixed in place, his eyes staring straight before him.
The seconds slipped away.
“He's turned yaller,” murmured Buck. “He couldn't do it. It'll be up to me!”
But he had hardly spoken the words when a low cry came out to him from the house. Then the silence again, but Buck Daniels began to mop his forehead.
After that, once, twice, and again he made the effort to turn towards the house, but when he finally succeeded it was whole minutes later, and Lee Haines was leading a saddled horse from the coral. Kate stood beside the cabin, waiting.
When he reached her, she was already mounted. He halted beside her, panting, his hand on her bridle.
“Don't do it, Kate!” he pleaded. “Lemme go with you. Lemme go and try to help.”
The brisk wind up the gulch set her clothes fluttering, stirred the hair about the rim of her hat, and she seemed to Buck more gracefully, more beautifully young than he had ever seen her; but her face was like stone.
“You'd be no help,” she answered. “When I get to the place I may have to meet him! Would you face him, Buck?”
His hand fell away from the bridle. It was not so much what she said as the cold, steady voice with which she spoke that unnerved him. Then, without a farewell, she turned the brown horse around and struck across the meadow at a swift gallop. Buck turned to meet the sick face of Haines.