THE FIGHTING SHEPHERDESS
"There's not the slightest danger. He's done his work for the present, and it may be a long time before I'm again molested."
"Whom do you mean?" he asked quickly.
"A 'breed' named Mullendore that hates me."
"Do you mean to say," incredulously, "that since you know who did it, he'll ever have another opportunity?"
"I can't prove it; and, besides," bitterly, "you don't know Prouty."
With a swift transition of mood she crept into his arms voluntarily, crying chokingly:
"Hold me close, Hughie! I feel so safe with your arms about me, as though nothing or nobody could hurt me ever!"
In the morning Kate drove down to the camp at daylight the few sheep that had not eaten enough of the salt-peter to kill them, or had missed it altogether—only a small percentage of the valuable herd that had started up the mountain.
Brusque, businesslike, she was as different from the girl who had clung to Hugh for love and sympathy as could well be imagined.
They had breakfast together in the cook tent, which in the summer camp was used as a dining tent also. It was while she was standing by the stove that she turned suddenly and said impulsively:
"Do you know, Hughie, I love to cook, this morning, and ordinarily I hate it! It's because it's for you—isn't it curious?" Her eyes were shining with a look of love that was warm and generous; then the tears filled them and she turned her back quickly.
"If I hadn't the same feeling about you, I might think so," he responded. "I'm simply aching to do something
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