His calm voice seemed to puzzle her. She stood in the center of the room, nervously fingering her heavy gloves.
“I am betraying my trust—in warning you,” she wavered. “Why do you hesitate? You can easily ride into San Fernando, and take the early train up to Frisco. It may mean years of imprisonment if you remain in this camp.”
“Believing me guilty, Miss Breen,” he ventured curiously to ask, “why are you doing this?”
The first color came to her cheeks. “Because—I hate to think—I——”
“Why did you not try to aid me the other night? The night I was about to capture the man who had smashed our water mains? Why did you cry out that my gun was unloaded—and allow him to escape?”
“I—I—— Oh, I did not understand at the time. I had met Mr. Macmillan at the ranch. He told me so many lies—lies about you. I was foolish, and believed them. That is why I was startled when I met you that first day on the trail—the day my horse ran away. He told me there was crooked work going on in the camp—and said you were responsible. So when I saw him that night I felt sorry for him. I called out and allowed him to get away.”
Nash shook his head. “He did not get away—far,” he answered. “I suppose you heard about——”
She nodded. “Yes. They brought his body to the ranch to-night.”
“Macmillan was an old subforeman in this camp when I came here,” Nash explained. “I was put to work under him. We had an argument, and I proved him to be in the wrong. Mr. Hooker, then the foreman of the camp, discharged him, and gave me his position. That explains his hatred of me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have believed a word of his story—had I not discovered the truth myself,” Miss Breen broke out impulsively. “I liked you from the very first. You seemed to be built of different stuff from most men. I couldn’t believe that you would——”