"It's Dorman!" he cried. "He's lost. They haven't seen him since we
left. You know, Trix, he was standing at the gate "
Beatrice went white as Dick; whiter, for she was untanned. An
overwhelming sense of blame squeezed her heart tight. Keith, seeing her
shoulders droop limply, reined close, to catch her in his arms if there
was the slightest excuse. However, Beatrice was a healthy young woman,
with splendid command of her nerves, and she had no intention of
fainting. The sickening weakness passed in a moment.
"It's my fault," she said, speaking rapidly, her eyes seeking Dick's for
comfort. "I said 'yes' to everything he asked me, because I was thinking
of something else, and not paying attention. He was going to buy your
horse, Mr. Cameron, and now he's lost!"
This, though effective, was not particularly illuminating. Dick wanted
details, and he got them--for Beatrice, having remorse to stir the dregs
of memory, repeated nearly everything Dorman had said, even telling how
the big, high pony put up his front hand, and he shaked it, and how
Dorman truly needed some little wheels on his feet.
"Poor little devil," Keith muttered, with wet eyes.
"He--he said you lived over there," Beatrice finished, pointing, as
Dorman had pointed--which was not toward the "Cross" ranch at all, but
straight toward the river.
Pages:
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62