She had seen the bronze of his face turn to
white. How gaunt and worn he looked. Older he appeared, with deeper lines
and whiter hair. His jaw quivered.
"Carley Burch, so it was you?" he queried, hoarsely.
"Glenn, I reckon it was," she replied. "I bought your Deep Lake ranch site.
I came back too late . . . . But it is never too late for some things. . . .
I've come to wish you and Flo all the happiness in the world--and to say
we must be friends."
The way he looked at her made her tremble. He strode up beside the mustang,
and he was so tall that his shoulder came abreast of her. He placed a big
warm hand on hers, as it rested, ungloved, on the pommel of the saddle.
"Have you seen Flo?" he asked.
"I just left her. It was funny--the way she rushed me off after you. As if
there weren't two--"
Was it Glenn's eyes or the movement of his hand that checked her utterance?
His gaze pierced her soul. His hand slid along her arm to her waist--around
it. Her heart seemed to burst.
"Kick your feet out of the stirrups," he ordered.
Instinctively she obeyed. Then with a strong pull he hauled her half out of
the saddle, pellmell into his arms. Carley had no resistance. She sank
limp, in an agony of amaze.
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