As he drew near he heard a murmur of voices barely distinguishable above the booming of the cañon. Again he faltered and stopped and stood hesitating. The open front of the tent faced at right angles to his line of approach. As he hesitated, he saw Isobel’s head appear, veiled in the loose meshes of her chestnut hair. She looked about towards him, and drew back with a startled little cry.
He turned away to go to Rocket. A quick heavy step sounded behind him. Knowles had sprung out of the tent and was striding to overtake the retreating man. 394
“Hold on, Lafe,” he ordered. “Where you going?”
Ashton faced him with quiet resolution. His eyes were dark with misery, but his once lax mouth was strangely like Blake’s in its firm full lines.
“There’s only one thing for me to do, Mr. Knowles,” he replied. “I am going away. Your daughter will understand why.”
“How’re you going?” asked the cowman, his face impassive.
“I traded with Miss––Miss Knowles for Rocket. Didn’t she ever tell you?”
“Don’t matter if she did. Rocket wasn’t her hawss to trade.”
“Then, unless my pony is up here, I shall walk down as far as the ranch,” said Ashton. He added with bitter humiliation: “It’s well I have learned about Rocket in time. I’ve done enough, without adding horse thief to the list. I would have started at once, but I could not leave until I had asked about Mr. Blake. I wished to thank him for all that he has done for me.”
“All that he––!” echoed Knowles. “If you want to know, it was a mighty narrow squeak. But we pulled him through. He’s awake now and says he’s doing fine. He wants to talk to you.”