"No!" he answered curtly.

"It wasn't badly sprained at all," she persisted. "I was only--" She caught herself, with a shock. "I was only frightened, I think."

"I don't believe you."

"But it's the truth."

"Then it was not the truth in the first place."

There it was now, her best occasion to come out with it. But no; she could not.

"It's not so bad as I feared," she stammered.

"I trust not. A sprain is a bad business."

"But you'll go back now!" she pleaded.

"No."

"Oh, why won't you?"

"I've started."

"That's not the reason!" she cried desperately.

"True, there's another reason. That makes two."

"What other reason?"

"I want to ask Huntington about his health."

The deviltry had come back into his voice; and just ahead of them she saw the fork of the road.

"There's a third reason too, I'm afraid," she answered bitterly.

"What's that, do you think?"

"You want to punish me!"

"Perhaps--a little."

"Do you think that's--"

"n.o.ble? Manly? Kind? Generous?" he broke in.

"Do you really think it's worth your while to punish me?" she asked with pa.s.sionate irony.

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Because I hope to be let alone hereafter."

At that her anger rose.

"Do you think that is the way a man should speak to a woman?"

"It seems to be the only way to make a woman understand. And even then--"

She felt that he shrugged his shoulders in the darkness.

"Then I'm sorry for the women you have known!" she retorted.

"That should make it all the easier for you to avoid any more accidents in my part of the Park," he answered unperturbed. "It's your own fault if I'm rude. I haven't forced my attentions upon you. If you feel that you've been mistreated, there's another reason--that makes four, doesn't it?--for my going to Huntington's. We'll be there in five minutes. You can tell him."

She could find no answer to all this. Brutal as it was, she knew that she had deserved it. Her anger fell away, for she had found already that she could not be angry with him long; and now, even in her torment, she began to be sorry for him, wondering what he had pa.s.sed through that had so hardened and embittered him.

But the team had turned into the branch road; and she must act at once. There remained but one thing for her to do: to leap out of the trap, and refuse to go farther with him. On the thought, she measured the distance to the ground, the speed of the trotting sorrels. Perhaps she moved a little. Or had he actually read her thoughts? For suddenly, but very quietly, he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"No!" he said. "You might really hurt yourself this time."

She sank back in dismay, but with a thrill of admiration. What was this man, who knew her thoughts before she herself knew them, who mastered her--and despised her? She trembled, and was glad of the night that concealed her flushed face from him. As for her purpose, she was at the end of her resources. No confession, no plea would avail to shake his determination. She could do no more; and judgment was upon her--soon.

"Hold the reins, please!" commanded Haig.

He leaped out of the trap, opened the gate, and closed it when he had led the sorrels through. Then he climbed into the trap, and drove on.

There was no moon. The ranch buildings lay huddled and indistinct in the dim starlight.

At the sound of the hoofs and wheels a man emerged from the stable, bearing a lantern. He hurried up to them, stumbling sleepily, and peering at the figures vaguely seen in the gloom.

"Here, Williams!" Haig said shortly. "Hold my team, will you! I'll be only a few minutes."

The lantern fell from the man's hand, struck the ground with a clatter, and lay on its side, flaming and smoking.

"Pick it up!" ordered Haig.

The man obeyed, with the suddenness of a jack-in-the-box, and stood as if petrified.

"Quick! The horses! They're no d.a.m.ned broncos!"

Williams jumped to the bridles; and a gleam from the lantern showed Marion his face. His mouth was open, his eyes staring with incredulity and alarm. She was seized with a preposterous desire to laugh at that comical visage, made grotesque by the wavering light of the lantern that danced in the fellow's hand. She was on the verge of hysteria.

Haig leaped out, and held up his arms for her, snapping his fingers impatiently. In almost complete inertia, yet with every nerve quivering, she let him help her to the ground, where he placed her arm in his, and started toward the ranch house.

"Limp! Limp!" he whispered in her ear.

She obeyed him mechanically. Everything seemed to have become very still and cold; feeling had frozen in her limbs; terror clutched at her icily out of the gloom. There were two lighted windows in front of her, two baleful yellow gleams, like the eyes of a monster of the night. At any instant the door would open, gulping her in.

She choked down a cry. Her feet were like lead now, and she stumbled on the first of the half-dozen steps that led to the veranda. Haig pulled her up quickly, flung his right arm around her waist, and fairly carried her up the steps. At that moment, just as they stood on the level floor, the door was opened, and Huntington's huge body appeared in silhouette against the lamplight.