“I did what I had to do. There is no blame due either you or me for it,” he said, with quiet conviction.
“I know. But it seems so dreadful. And then they put you in jail—and you broke out! Wasn't that it?”
“That was the way of it, Miss Arlie. How did you know?”
“Henry Speed's note to father said you had broken jail. Dad wasn't at home. You know, the round-up is on now and he has to be there. So I saddled, and came right away.”
“That was right good of you.”
“Wasn't it?” There was a softened, almost tender, jeer in her voice. “Since you only saved our lives!”
“I ain't claiming all that, Miss Arlie.”
“Then I'll claim it for you. I suppose you gave yourself up to them and explained how it was after we left.”
“Not exactly that. I managed to slip away, through the sage. It was mo'ning before I found the road again. Soon as I did, a deputy tagged me, and said, 'You're mine.' He spoke for me so prompt and seemed so sure about what he was saying, I didn't argue the matter with him.” He laughed gayly.
“And then?”