“Nothing, upon my honor. I almost wish there were something to keep back. But there isn’t anything. There haven’t been any accidents reported. And I shouldn’t keep anything back from you.”
“Why?”
“Because you would be equal to it, whatever it was.”
“I don’t see why you say that.” She weakly found comfort in the praise which she might once have resented as patronage.
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” he retorted:
“Because I am not fit to be trusted at all.”
“Do you mean”—
“Oh, I haven’t the strength to mean anything,” she said. “But I thank you, thank you very much,” she added. She turned her head away.
“Confound Maynard!” cried the young man. “I don’t see why he doesn’t come. He must have started four days ago. He ought to have had sense enough to telegraph when he did start. I didn’t tell his partner to ask him. You can’t think of everything. I’ve been trying to find out something. I’m going over to Leyden, now, to try to wake up somebody in Cheyenne who knows Maynard.” He looked ruefully at Grace, who listened with anxious unintelligence. “You’re getting worn out, Miss Breen,” he said. “I wish I could ask you to go with me to Leyden. It would do you good. But my mare’s fallen lame; I’ve just been to see her. Is there anything I can do for you over there?”
“Why, how are you going?” she asked.