He turned his back cleanly on the house and set his shoulders tense.
“Go on, Lee. Be a man.”
He heard the steps of Haines start briskly enough for the house, but they trailed away, slowly and more slowly, and finally there was a long pause.
“He's standing at the door,” muttered Buck. “Thank God I ain't in his boots.”
He jerked out his papers and tobacco, but in the very act of twisting the cigarette tight the door slammed and he ripped the flimsy thing in two. He started to take another paper, but his fingers were so unsteady that he could not pull away the single sheet of tissue which he wanted. Then his hands froze in place.
A faint tapping came out to him.
“He—he's rapping on her door,” whispered Buck, and remained fixed in place, his eyes staring straight before him.
The seconds slipped away.
“He's turned yaller,” murmured Buck. “He couldn't do it. It'll be up to me!”
But he had hardly spoken the words when a low cry came out to him from the house. Then the silence again, but Buck Daniels began to mop his forehead.
After that, once, twice, and again he made the effort to turn towards the house, but when he finally succeeded it was whole minutes later, and Lee Haines was leading a saddled horse from the coral. Kate stood beside the cabin, waiting.
