When he reached her, she was already mounted. He halted beside her, panting, his hand on her bridle.
“Don't do it, Kate!” he pleaded. “Lemme go with you. Lemme go and try to help.”
The brisk wind up the gulch set her clothes fluttering, stirred the hair about the rim of her hat, and she seemed to Buck more gracefully, more beautifully young than he had ever seen her; but her face was like stone.
“You'd be no help,” she answered. “When I get to the place I may have to meet him! Would you face him, Buck?”
His hand fell away from the bridle. It was not so much what she said as the cold, steady voice with which she spoke that unnerved him. Then, without a farewell, she turned the brown horse around and struck across the meadow at a swift gallop. Buck turned to meet the sick face of Haines.
“Well?” he said.
“Let me have that flask.”
Buck produced a metal “life-saver,” and Haines with nervous hands unscrewed the top and lifted it to his lips. He lowered it after a long moment and stood bracing himself against the wall.
“It was hell, Buck. God help me if I ever have to go through a thing like that again.”
“I see what you done,” said Buck angrily. “You walked right in and took your story in both hands and knocked her down with it. Haines, of all the ornery,
