Molly broke off with an exclamation of supreme disgust and helpless indignation. And she fled headlong towards the house as though Lightning’s very presence were something she could no longer endure.
The old man gazed after her. Then the yearning in his eyes gave place to an expression which no thought of Molly could have inspired. He turned to his team, and it was the comfortable, gentle Jane he led, and addressed, as he moved towards the barn.
“It ain’t no use, old gal,” he said, with a shake of his grizzled head. “I’ll sure jest hev to do it one day.”
He hunched his shoulders in the fashion peculiar to him.
“Guess I ain’t blind yet, an’ my nerve’s dead steady, an’ I’m surely glad that’s so.”
CHAPTER XVIII
The Spy
AS Andy McFardell rode home from the Marton farm two definite channels of thought preoccupied him. And curiously enough that which had his passionate infatuation for Molly for its inspiration made by far the lesser claim upon him.
Perhaps it was the result of his confidence. Had Molly been more difficult, had she been less of the simple child she was, had she had knowledge and experience of the world of men, or realised something of the physical charm she exercised, doubtless she could have transformed his confidence into an agony of doubt, and plunged him into a vortex of maddening suspense that would have made any other interest impossible to him.
As it was his dominating concern had become the obvious antagonism of Lightning. He had left the farm under no misapprehension on the score of the old choreman’s regard. The cattleman had displayed his displeasure at his intrusion without any attempt at concealment, and, deep in his heart, McFardell understood the reason.
The reason of it left him undisturbed. And he smiled to himself as he wondered what the man’s attitude would have been had he been witness to that which had taken place just before his return from work.