XXXI
THE COTTONWOODS
I do not know how long I stayed there alone. It was the Virginian who came back, and as he stood at the foot of my blankets his eye, after meeting mine full for a moment, turned aside. I had never seen him look as he did now, not even in Pitchstone Cañon when we came upon the bodies of Hank and his wife. Until this moment we had found no chance of speaking together, except in the presence of others.
"Seems to be raining still," I began after a little.
"Yes. It's a wet spell."
He stared out of the door, smoothing his mustache.
It was again I that spoke. "What time is it?"
He brooded over his watch. "Twelve minutes to seven."
I rose and stood drawing on my clothes.
"The fire's out," said he; and he assembled some new sticks over the ashes. Presently he looked round with a cup.
"Never mind that for me," I said.
"We've a long ride," he suggested.
"I know. I've crackers in my pocket."
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