“Yes, now,” he said, moving toward his horse.
“What about me, Allan?”
The word arrested him as if a hand had gripped him.
“You,” he said in a dazed manner. “Why, Mandy, of course, there's you. He might have killed you.” Then, shaking his shoulders as if throwing off a load, he said impatiently, “Oh, I am a fool. That devil has sent me off my head. I tell you what, Mandy, we will feed first, then we will make new plans.”
“And there is Moira, too,” said Mandy.
“Yes, there is Moira. We will plan for her too. After all,” he continued, with a slight laugh and with slow deliberation, “there's—lots—of time—to—get him!”
CHAPTER VII
THE SARCEE CAMP
The sun had reached the peaks of the Rockies far in the west, touching their white with red, and all the lesser peaks and all the rounded hills between with great splashes of gold and blue and purple. It is the sunset and the sunrise that make the foothill country a world of mystery and of beauty, a world to dream about and long for in later days.