She flung a glance in the direction of Urmston, who felt horribly uncomfortable. It occurred to him that, if she had seen him enter the bluff, it was also possible that she had seen the outlaw come out. That she did not say she had done so was, after all, no great consolation, for he knew Eveline Annersly could be silent when she had a reason. He was afraid that, if she had one now, the result might not be altogether creditable to him when she saw fit to speak. In the meanwhile, it was evident that she expected him to say something.

"I believe you were right about the time," he said.

Carrie looked up, for his indifference seemed too p.r.o.nounced to be quite natural, but she brushed the half-formed thought out of her mind.

Urmston was a man of her own station, and could not, she reasoned, be deficient in qualities which even her husband's teamsters possessed.

Still, while she sat silent, looking out upon the vast sweep of plain, she could not help once more contrasting him with the man she had been driven into marrying. She understood Leland better, now that she had seen the land he lived in, for there were respects in which he resembled it. Men, indeed, usually do not only fit themselves to their environment, but borrow from it something that becomes a part of them.

It was evidently from the prairie that Charley Leland had drawn his strength of character, his capacity for holding on with everything against him, and his silent, deep-rooted optimism. She had seen that plain bleached with months of frost and parched with drought, but the flowers had sprung up from the streaming sod, and now the wheat was growing tall and green again. One could feel out there that, while all life is a struggle which every blade of wheat must wage, in due time fruition would come. Her husband, it seemed, realised it, and had also faith in himself. She remembered how, when his neighbours hesitated, fearing the outlaws' vengeance, he had said he was going on even if he went on alone. She also knew that he would be as good as his word, for he was not the man to turn back because there was peril in his path.

She could rather fancy him hastening to meet it, with the little hard smile she had often seen in his steady eyes.

Then from out of the great stillness there crept the distant sound of a moving horse, and Carrie felt a feeling of relief come over her. She would scarcely admit it to herself, but, during the past two or three hours, she had been troubled by a growing sense of uneasiness. She would not have felt it a few months earlier, for, while she would have had no harm come to him, there was no hiding the fact that it would have set her free from an almost intolerable bondage. It was, however, different now.

The thud of hoofs grew louder, and the dim figure of a mounted man grew out of the prairie. A little thrill ran through her as she watched him swing past at a canter and draw rein between the house and the stables.

He waited a moment as though looking for somebody in whose care to leave the horse, and Carrie could see that he was weary and dusty. Though his face was dimly visible, she fancied it was drawn and grey. Slanting over his shoulder, the barrel of his Marlin rifle glinted in the moon.

"That," said Eveline Annersly, "is, I think, more suggestive than ever of the border spear."

She glanced at Carrie as the girl rose and went down the stairway. Then Eveline Annersly turned to Urmston with a little smile.

"I scarcely think they will want us, and I'm going in," she said.

Urmston had moved into the moonlight now, and his face was set. "There is, of course, no reason why you shouldn't, but I'm not sure that you are entirely right," he said. "In fact, if it's permissible to mention it, I had a notion that Carrie asked you here to make the convenient third."

His companion looked at him with a faint gleam in her eyes. "You haven't any great penetration, after all, or you would have seen that I have outstayed my usefulness. In any case, I feel inclined to favour you with a piece of advice. It may save you trouble if you go back to your agricultural duties as soon as possible."

"You seem unusually anxious to get rid of me," said the man, with something in his tone that suggested satisfaction.

Eveline Annersly laughed as she rose and moved back into the shadow.

"Oh, dear no! If I were really anxious, the thing would be remarkably easy."

She left him with this, and Urmston, who leant somewhat moodily on the bal.u.s.trade, felt that his love for her was certainly no greater than it had been before. He began to feel himself especially unfortunate in having fallen in with the rustler.

In the meanwhile, Leland, who started as he saw the girl coming towards him, swung himself out of the saddle and stood awaiting her, with the bridle of the jaded horse in his hand. His face was worn and weary, and he stood slackly with all the springy suppleness apparently gone out of him. The grime was thick upon his coa.r.s.e blue shirt and jean jacket.

"It was very good of you to wait so long," he said.

Carrie smiled in a curious fashion. "Did you expect me to sleep?"

"You were a little anxious about me, then?"

"Of course!" said the girl, softly. "Wouldn't it have been unnatural if I hadn't been?"

Leland made an abrupt gesture. "My dear, I don't want you to do the natural or the correct thing, that is, just because it is so."

"Ah," said Carrie, "who can tell exactly why they do anything? Still, I was anxious. How have you got on?"

The man laughed a trifle grimly. "Badly--we were either fooled or outgeneraled, and the whisky boys came out ahead of us. We had one horse shot, and another broke its leg in a badger-hole. Hadn't you better go in now? It'll take me some time to put up."

"I slept most of last night, and you have been out on the prairie two nights and days. I'm coming with you to the stable. I can, at least, hold a lantern."

They turned away together, Leland walking very stiffly, the girl, who felt her heart beating, close at his side, until they reached one of the uninjured buildings. It was very dark inside, and redolent with the smell of wild peppermint in the prairie hay. Leland groped for a lantern, and, when he had lighted it, hung it to a hook in the stall joist, so that its light fell upon them.

"I really think you would have been sorry if the boys had brought me back with a bullet in me?" he said, half-questioningly.

He saw the little shiver that ran through his companion, but, in another moment, she was standing very straight and still. "How can you ask me that?" she said. "I did not think you would be vindictive--to me."

"Look at me," and Leland, leaning forward, laid a hard, dust-grimed hand on her shoulder. "It wouldn't have been a release when you had got over the shock of it?"

The colour crept into Carrie's face, and, after the first moment, she did not meet his eyes, while the man, with an impetuous movement, slipped a hand about her waist. Then, with a forced calm, he slowly drew her towards him and kissed her on the brow and cheek and mouth. For an instant only he held her fast. Then he let his hands fall.

Carrie looked at him, with the hot blood tingling in her cheeks.

"Now," he said gravely, though there was a faint ring of exultation in his voice, "that is for a sign that you belong to me, and I guess I'm strong enough to keep what is mine. You couldn't get away from me if you wanted to."

Carrie realised it, though the fact no longer brought her any sense of intolerable restraint or disgust. She said nothing, and made no sign.

Leland went on.

"Still, I'm not going to hurry you, or spoil things by impatience," he said. "You will be willing to take me for what I am some day, and, if things hurt you as they are now, that's the one way of escape. There can't be any other until one of us is dead."

He turned from her, and commenced to unbuckle the horse's girth, while Carrie, scarcely knowing why, slipped past him, busying herself with the head-stall. Then she brought the chopped fodder while he went for water, and stood holding the lantern while he rubbed the jaded beast down.

Neither of them said anything, but it was evident to both that the distance between them had been lessened. By and by they went back together towards the house, and Leland laughingly held up the lantern when they reached the threshold.

"You see, I never even remembered to put this thing down," he said.

Carrie smiled, but there was a trace of diffidence in her manner.

"I have kept your supper, and will bring it in as soon as you come down," she said. "Everything you will want clean is laid out in your room."

"Oh, yes," said Leland, reaching out and grasping her arm, "Mrs. Nesbit is quite a smart housekeeper."

Carrie shook his grasp off, and flitted away from him. "Mrs. Nesbit is not responsible this time," she said laughingly. "I'm afraid I haven't looked after my household duties as I should have done hitherto."

CHAPTER XVIII

A MIDNIGHT VISITOR

Summer had come in earnest, and Leland, who had ridden out at daybreak with every man at Prospect to cut prairie hay, had not come back, when Carrie sat late at night beside the stove in the big room. The stove was lighted, and a kettle stood on it. A meal was laid out upon the table, for Carrie expected that Leland would arrive during the next hour. In fact, a horse stood ready saddled in one of the stables, and she was trying to decide whether she should ride out to meet him or stay where she was. It was a still night, the house was unpleasantly hot, and the thought of a canter through the cool darkness was attractive. Leland, who was busier than ever, had, however, been away somewhat frequently of late, and pride was still strong in her. She would not unbend too far, or give him reason to believe that he could be sure of her, while there was also the difficulty that Urmston, who was then sitting close by, would probably insist upon accompanying her, and she fancied that such an arrangement might not commend itself to her husband. Urmston, too, had been growing somewhat presumptuous, and she felt that on the whole it might not be advisable to have him for a companion. Something, however, urged her to set out, though she would not admit that it was the thought of Leland's satisfaction at meeting her. She had scarcely seen him, except for an odd five minutes, during the last week or two, and that piqued her, although she knew that he had many anxieties and much to do. There was, it seemed, nothing to be gained by being unduly gracious, so long as he was content without her company.

This was, perhaps, a little hard upon Leland, who was then toiling at something, or in the saddle, from early morning to late at night. He had a good many teams to be fed, and hay was scarce after the unusually dry spring. Hay is seldom sown in that country, and, as the natural gra.s.s is, for the most part, only a few inches high, the prairie farmer must cut it where it grows harsh and tall in the sloos, or hollows, that are turned for a few weeks into lakes and ponds by the melting snows. Most of them had dried up prematurely that season, and, as the supply of the natural produce was becoming a serious question, Leland had to make long journeys in search of it. On the night in question, the men were camped beside a distant sloo, though he himself purposed to ride home, calling on one of his neighbours on the way. While Carrie considered whether she would set out to meet him or not, Urmston glanced at the tray upon the table with a sly little laugh.

"You are getting domesticated, Carrie," he said. "I used to fancy that you looked down upon anything connected with housekeeping. Be warned, and don't go too far. You saw what domesticity has done for Mrs.

Custer."

"She seems happy," said the girl, reflectively. "Custer, I believe, is, in his own way, very kind to her."