Betty did not smile, but, nevertheless, she was maliciously pleased. It would bring him down a peg, anyhow.
“What’ll you do?” she asked.
“I suppose I can hobble along somehow. Perhaps I’d better take your skis and hurry on. I could borrow a pair at the cabin and come back for you. Yes, I think that would be better.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll go on and send Mr. Black with a pair. I’d rather not wait here in the cold. I’ll not be long. You can keep moving.”
This did not suit Merrick at all. He did not want to be regarded as an incompetent who had bogged down in the snow. It hurt his pride that Betty should go on and send back help to him, especially when they felt criss-cross toward each other.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he said. “You don’t know who is at the cabin. That tramp Cig may be there—or Prowers. They’re dangerous, both of them. Yesterday they tried to blow up the men working on the tunnel.”
“You can lend me your revolver, then, if you like. But I’m not afraid. Mr. Black wouldn’t let them hurt me even if they wanted to.”
“It’s not very cold. I’d be back in a little while. And, as you say, you could keep moving.”
“No, I’m going on,” she answered, and her quiet voice told him she had made up her mind.
He unbuckled his belt and handed it to her. “You’ll be safer with that .38,” he said. What he thought is not of record.