“Melissy!”
She answered, and the voice came slowly nearer.
“You’re off the trail,” it told her presently, just before a human figure defined itself in the gloom.
“I’m afraid,” she sobbed.
A strong hand came from nowhere and caught hers. An arm slipped around her waist.
“Don’t be afraid, little girl. I’ll see no harm comes to you,” the man said to her with a quick, fierce tenderness.
The comfort of his support was unspeakable. It stole into her heart like water to the roots of thirsty 127 plants. To feel her head against his shoulder, to know he held her tight, meant safety and life. He had told her not to be afraid, and she was so no longer.
“You shot at me,” she murmured in reproach.
“I didn’t know. We thought it was Bellamy’s herd. But it’s true, God forgive me! I did.”
There was in his voice the warm throb of emotion, and in his eyes something she had never seen before in those of any human being. Like stars they were, swimming in light, glowing with the exultation of the triumph he was living. She was a splendid young animal, untaught of life, generous, passionate, tempestuous, and as her pliant, supple body lay against his some sex instinct old as creation stirred potently within her. She had found her mate. It came to her as innocently as the same impulse comes to the doe when the spring freshets are seeking the river, and as innocently her lips met his in their first kiss of surrender. Something irradiated her, softened her, warmed her. Was it love? She did not know, but as yet she was still happy in the glow of it.