No, she could not leave a crippled man to die alone, even though he were her enemy. That was the goal to which her circling thoughts came always home, and with a sob she turned her horse’s head. It was a piece of soft-headed folly, she confessed, but she could not help it.
So back she went and found him lying just where she had left him. His derisive smile offered
her no thanks. She doubted, indeed, whether he felt any sense of gratitude.
“Y’u didn’t break your neck hurrying,” he said.
She made her confession with a palpable chagrin. “I meant to ride away. I rode a mile or two. But I had to come back. I couldn’t leave you here alone.”
His eyes sparkled triumphantly. She saw that he had misunderstood the reason of her return, that he was pluming himself on a conquest of his fascinated victim.
“One couldn’t leave even a broken-legged dog without help,” she added, quietly.
“So how could we expect a woman to leave the man she’s getting ready to love?”
She let her contemptuous eyes rest on him in silence.
“That’s right. Look at me as if I were dirt under your feet. Hate me, if it makes y’u feel better. But y’u’ll have to come to loving me just the same.”