I was not a little gleeful over the apparent possibility of Steele being in the same boat with me.
"Do you think she would have cared if—if I had been shot up bad?"
The great giant of a Ranger asked this like a boy, hesitatingly, with color in his face.
"Care! Vaughn, you're as thickheaded as you say I'm locoed. Diane Sampson has fallen in love with you! That's all. Love at first sight! She doesn't realize it. But I know."
There he stood as if another bullet had struck him, this time straight through the heart. Perhaps one had—and I repented a little of my overconfident declaration.
Still, I would not go back on it. I believed it.
"Russ, for God's sake! What a terrible thing to say!" he ejaculated hoarsely.
"No. It's not terrible to say it—only the fact is terrible," I went on. I may be wrong. But I swear I'm right. When you opened your coat, showed that bloody breast—well, I'll never forget her eyes.
"She had been furious. She showed passion—hate. Then all in a second something wonderful, beautiful broke through. Pity, fear, agonized thought of your death! If that's not love, if—if she did not betray love, then I never saw it. She thinks she hates you. But she loves you."
"Get out of here," he ordered thickly.