“You’ll surely come again, ma’am?” he begged her.
Blanche inclined her head.
“Surely,” she said.
Lightning watched her go. He watched her until she had passed completely from view. Then he got down and unhooked his team.
CHAPTER XXVI
The Climax
LIGHTNING had just reached the barn with his team. His horses stood timidly regarding the thing that held the man aghast. Perhaps they were mildly wondering at the extraordinary situation that held them up just as they were about to pass into the barn for their midday feed.
But Lightning was no longer concerned for their needs. He was startled, horrified, and he stared in helpless wonder at the litter of hay sprawled at the entrance to the barn, and the prone figure lying huddled upon it.
It was Molly—the seemingly dead body of Molly. Her eyes were half closed. Her face was ashen, with that dreadful pallor that to Lightning looked like death. There was an abrasure on her forehead, a slight wound that disfigured her face and suggested the cause of the tragic thing he had discovered.
In the first rush of his horror Lightning believed the girl to be dead. And he stood and stared in a queer sort of daze. But it was only for a moment. All of a sudden he dropped upon his knees beside her, unable any longer to withstand the tide of incoherent pleading that broke from him.
There was no response to his pleading, nor to the tender chafing of her cold hands. And after a moment the man looked up and gazed about him. The heat of the sun was furious. The air was without movement, and alive with the hum of flies. There was not a creature to whom he could appeal for help. In that moment an agony of doubt assailed him. She was a girl. She was his young mistress. He was a rough uncultured creature, without knowledge or refinement. She might be dead. It looked like it. And then again, there might be something he could do to save her. What must he do?