Molly hesitated as Jim indicated the water.
“It’s easy,” he said, with a smile. “I guess your pinto knows it, if her memory’s good. Maybe you don’t. Those grey eyes of yours couldn’t see a thing, Molly, when I carried you up this stream.”
Molly gazed downstream at the narrowing hills that lined it on either side. She shook her head.
“No,” she said quickly. “And I sort of don’t want to remember.” Then, in flat contradiction, she asked: “You—you carried me along—this?”
“Sure.”
“My!”
Molly’s eyes were smiling. For one moment her nightmare had left her, and a soft light shone in her eyes.
“I must have been mighty heavy,” she said.
Then, almost at once, she frowned. Again the purpose of their journey flooded her mind.
Jim ignored the frown and laughed.