“Jack,” the latter said earnestly, “I read the note over your shoulder, and of course I know what you mean to do. A Southern gentleman could not choose otherwise. But I've come here to beg you to let me have the chance.”
“You?” surprised and curious. “What greater claim on that fellow's life have you than I?”
The pudgy hands of the doctor grasped the plainsman's shoulders.
“It's for Christie,” he explained brokenly. “She was the one he tried to run away with. You—you know how I feel.”
“Sure, I know,” shaking the other off, yet not roughly. “But it happened to be Miss Waite he took, and so this is my job, Fairbain. Besides, I've got another score to settle with him.”
He wasted little time upon preparations,—a few brief words of instruction to Bristoe; a request to the doctor not to leave Hope alone; the extracting of a promise from the two “Bar X” men to return to Larned with the prisoners. Then he roped the best horse in the corral, saddled and bridled him, and went into the cabin. She had a light burning, and met him at the door.
“I thought you would never come, but they told me you were unhurt.”
“Not a scratch, little girl; we have been a lucky bunch. But I have had a great deal to look after. Now I shall be obliged to ride ahead as far as the water-hole, and let you come on with the others a little later, after you get breakfast. You can spare me a few hours, can't you?”
His tone was full of good humor, and his lips smiling, yet somehow she felt her heart sink, an inexplicable fear finding expression in her eyes.
“But—but why do you need to go? Couldn't some of the others?”