Diane, wasn't Sally the deceitful thing? An heiress all the
time! And I'm to be a planter and smoke fine cigars and drink mint
juleps! No, there won't be any juleps."
"Russ, you're talking nonsense," reproved Sally. "Surely it's no time to
be funny."
"All right," I replied with resignation. It was no task to discard that
hollow mask of humor. A silence ensued, and I waited for it to be
broken.
"Is Steele badly hurt?" asked Miss Sampson presently.
"No. Not what he or I'd call hurt at all. He's got a scalp wound, where
a bullet bounced off his skull. It's only a scratch. Then he's got
another in the shoulder; but it's not bad, either."
"Where is he now?"
"Look across on the other ridge. See the big white stone? There, down
under the trees, is our camp. He's there."
"When may--I see him?" There was a catch in her low voice.
"He's asleep now. After what happened yesterday he was exhausted, and
the pain in his head kept him awake till late. Let him sleep a while
yet. Then you can see him."
"Did he know we were coming?"
"He hadn't the slightest idea. He'll be overjoyed to see you. He can't
help that. But he'll about fall upon me with harmful intent."
"Why?"
"Well, I know he's afraid to see you.
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