“No. He’s at the round-up.”
“Gone back, has he?”
She considered a moment before a reluctant “Yes” fell from her lips.
“Reckon I’ll ride over to the camp. Is it still at the foot of the Flat Tops?”
“Yes.” Then, as if something within forced the words out in spite of her, she added: “Are you looking for Brad?”
“I want to have a talk with him.”
His eyes told him that she was in a flutter of apprehension. He guessed that the dread which all day had weighed on her heart was no longer a dull, dead thing in her bosom. Her lips were ashen.
“Maybe—maybe I could tell him what it was.”
“Oh, I’ll ride over. When did he leave?”
“I don’t rightly know just when,” she faltered.