The eyes looking into mine were suddenly confused, the apology he gave murmured. He stared as though I bewildered him. He pushed his hat back. I hadn’t recognized Bobby Haralson, but I knew that lock of hair on his brow. Had I not once watched a flame devour it? Head and heart awhirl, I smiled at him. “Mr. Haralson,” I said, and I laughed outright. “I am on the level.”
There was the sound of approaching footsteps. He flashed the light out. “So you know me?” he said.
“Who does not?” I answered. “But you do not know me, honest, now.”
“I do—and I don’t,” he said.
Not far away a figure loomed; it brought us back to the poor little girl that lay there so quietly between us.
“You must get away, quickly. Officer!” he called. His voice has a carrying quality if it is so low, for soon an answering hail came through the fog.
“Will you go? Go!” he commanded. “I’ll see this through.”
“I can’t,” I said, and I suddenly knew that I spoke out of a vast content. “I’m lost. It’s no use to tell me west. I don’t know west.”
“West what?” Again his words bit into me like they were steel.
“Twenty.” The officer was only a few steps away and Bobby fairly forced it from me.