Bob did not answer this. He was already striding toward the hotel.
Out of the darkness of the adobe wall shadow a slim figure moved to meet the ranger. The young fellow’s heart lost a beat.
“I—wanted to see you before you left,” a low voice said.
A kind of palsy came over Dillon. He stood motionless, no life in him except for the eloquent eyes. No words came to help him.
“I thought—maybe—” June stopped, hesitated, and came out impetuously with what was in her mind. “Aren’t we ever going to be friends again, Bob?”
A warm glow suffused him. The back of his eyes smarted with tears. He started to speak, but stopped. For he was boyishly ashamed to discover that he could not trust his voice.
“Don’t you like me any more?” she asked. “Have I done something to make you mad?”
“No, you haven’t.” There was a rough edge to the words, put there by suppressed emotion. “You know better ’n that. I keep away from you because—because I acted like a yellow dog.”
“When you fought Bandy Walker to keep clean my good name?” she asked in a murmur.
“Oh, that!” He waved her question aside as of no importance.