“Watch sharp for Indians,” she breathed, and her face whitened momentarily. Then the color returned. Her eyes welled full of sweet, soft light.
“Allie, I can’t go,” said Neale, hoarsely. The clasp of her arms unnerved him.
“You must. It’s your work. Remember the big job!... Dearest! Dearest! Hurry—and—go!”
Neale could no longer see her face clearly. He did not know what he was saying.
“You’ll always—love me?” he implored.
“Do you need to ask? All my life!... I promise.”
“Kiss me, then,” he whispered, hoarsely, blindly leaning down. “It’s hell—to leave you!... Wonderful girl—treasure—precious—Allie!... Kiss me—enough!... I—”
She held him with strong and passionate clasp and kissed him again and again.
“Good-by!” Her last word was low, choked, poignant, and had in it a mournful reminder of her old tragic woe.
Then he was alone. Mounting clumsily, with blurred eyes, he rode into the winding trail.