RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
"I went off by myself to think a little," he explained.
"You never looked that way before. What—what is it? Won't you tell me?"
"Well, Bess, the fact is I've been dreaming a lot. This valley makes a fellow dream. So I forced myself to think. We can't live this way much longer. Soon I'll simply have to go to Cottonwoods. We need a whole pack train of supplies. I can get—"
"Can you go safely?" she interrupted.
"Why, I'm sure of it. I'll ride through the Pass at night. I haven't any fear that Wrangle isn't where I left him. And once on him—Bess, just wait till you see that horse!"
"Oh! I want to see him—to ride him. But—but, Bern, this is what troubles me," she said. "Will—will you come back?"
"Give me four days. If I'm not back in four days you'll know I'm dead. For that only shall keep me."
"Oh!"
"Bess, I'll come back. There's danger—I wouldn't lie to you—but I can take care of myself."
"Bern, I'm sure—oh, I'm sure of it! All my life I've watched hunted men. I can tell what's in them. And I believe you can ride and shoot and see with any rider of the sage. It's not—not that I—fear."
"Well, what is it, then?"
"Why—why—why should you come back at all?"
"I couldn't leave you here alone."
"You might change your mind when you get to the village—among old friends—"
"I won't change my mind. As for old friends—" He uttered a short, expressive laugh.
"Then—there—there must be a—a woman!" Dark red mantled the clear tan of temple and cheek and neck. Her eyes were eyes of shame, upheld a long moment by intense, straining search for the verification of her fear.
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