It was Alice Fuller’s voice, and in an instant the young man was on his feet and out of the tent. Day had just dawned, gray and chill, but already the camp was astir and the young woman in her saddle.
“Did you call me?” he cried.
“No,” she answered; but he seemed to detect a tremor of fear in her voice.
“I thought I heard you say you wished to bid ‘goodbye’ to me!”
“You must have been dreaming. But I do wish to bid you ‘good-bye.’”
Two of the muleteers stood near, and the old attendant, mounted, had already started slowly on his way. John sprang to her side, and as he came to a stand by the horse, she stooped and slipped a small box into his coat pocket.
“Good-bye! good-bye!” she cried somewhat boisterously, with an exclamation that seemed to be half sob and half laugh. “Go back to your tent at once and brush your hair. It’s enough to frighten anyone,” and now she laughed with unnecessary vehemence, the near mountains echoing the peal with a strange mocking cadence that sent a chill up the spine of one listener.
“What does this mean?” he asked himself.
The man at the bridle turned the horse’s head towards the distant railway, and the other smote the steed on the flank.
“Let go my horse!” commanded Miss Fuller savagely. The man slouched away. She touched the animal with her heel and galloped off, while Steele stood in a daze watching her. Only once she looked back, then made a quick motion to the pocket of her jacket and disappeared round the ledge of rock. Jack remembered the packet she had dropped into his pocket, and imagining her gesture might have reference to that, walked to his tent to examine the present so surreptitiously given him, remembering that she had said the night before it would prove more significant than the ring she had so reluctantly accepted. It was a little, square parcel, tied in a bit of newspaper with a red string. He whisked this off, and held in his hand a box of white metal. Opening the box he saw within it a simple cake of soap!