“You’re very complimentary. I was only wondering whether I could find it if I should manage to escape.”
He stroked his black mustache and smiled gallantly at her. “I reckon I won’t let so pretty a prisoner escape.”
“Do you expect me to burden your hospitality forever and a day? Wouldn’t that be a little too much of Mariana of the Robbers’ Roost?” she asked, lightly.
“I’m willing to risk it.”
He looked with half-shut smoldering eyes at her slender exquisiteness, so instinct with the vital charm of sex. There was veiled passion in his eyes, but there was in them, too, a desire to stand well with her. He meant to win her, but if possible he would win with her own reluctant consent. She must bring him with hesitant feet a heart surrendered in spite of her pride and flinty puritanism. The vanity of the man craved a victory that should be of the spirit as well as of the flesh.
Deftly she guided the conversation back to less dangerous channels. In this the increasing difficulty of the climb assisted her, for after they reached the last ascent sustained talk became impossible.
“See that trough above us near the summit?. Y’u’ll have to hang on by your eyelashes, pardner.” He always burlesqued the word of comradeship a little to soften its familiarity.
“Dear me! Is it that bad?”
“It is so bad that at the top y’u have to jump for a grip and draw yourself up by your arms.”
“I’ll never be able to do it.”