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"I don't care what it is, I won't blame you; if it's something wrong, why, it couldn't be, I'll forgive you. You know that, Marylyn." Again, "No, no," but with less resistance. "Tell me," said Dallas, firmly. Marylyn looked up. "You'll hate me if I do," she faltered. The elder girl laughed fondly. "As if I could!" "You promise not to tell pa?" "Course, I promise." "Oh, Dallas!"
To one side, rolled up neatly, was the mattress upon which Dallas and Marylyn slept. But nothing else met his expectant hand and foot. Next, he had visited the lean-to, where he felt his way carefully from stall to stall, discovering no occupant. Then, he had gone out to pry around the yard. And lit upon the marks that told of the struggle. The absence of the wagon was a clue.
As the wagon trundled out of ear-shot, that one of the trio least consulted in the affairs of the shack was hard beset by a temptation: to tell Dallas about Lieutenant Fraser and his earnest, oft-repeated promise of protection. But Marylyn hesitated, afraid to speak no less afraid of her sister than of her father.
"You take the cartridge-belt," she called to Marylyn. The other obeyed. "Ready?" said Dallas, and lifted the lantern to shake it. She got no reply. Instead, gasping in alarm, Marylyn came headlong to her, pinioning her arms with wildly clinging ones. "Dallas! oh, help " Outside there was a sound of rapid running. Dallas flung herself against the door, driving it shut.
Lifting the rifle to her left shoulder, she came alongside to give the support of an arm. "Where's the cartridge belt?" she whispered. "Heavy," panted the other "dropped it." And now despite Dallas' aid, Marylyn straggled weakly. Another mile, and with scarcely a sigh of warning, she sank again, exhausted. "Charley," called Dallas. The Squaw joined them. "You take one arm that's it."
Oh, the land wasn't worth it! the land wasn't worth it!" Something to quicken life in Marylyn was the first thought. Then, food and drink were given the girls. Meanwhile, the troopers were sent out under Fraser to range the bend and beat the coulée. Oliver stayed.
"You never could. But, dear, Marylyn is a child yet. She's too young to know her own mind. And we're taking her more seriously than she takes herself." "You don't know how sick and down in the mouth she's been. Just before father went, she got a little better. After that, for a while, she was bad again. But I could see it wasn't all about father. There's something else.
The younger girl murmured gratefully, and locked her hands beneath The Squaw's chin. This left his arms free to part a path through the thickets of burweed and plantain that choked the defile, and, for fully a half-hour, he kept a good jog. But, well worn and hampered as he was, he began then to wobble. Dallas gave him the weapons and received Marylyn upon her own shoulders.
Lounsbury turned in his saddle and looked toward the shack. "Marylyn?" he said. "What a pretty name! Sounds like Maryland. How'd she " He paused questioningly. "Mother's name was Mary Lynn," she answered, her voice lowered. "So she just put it together." "And yours?" "Mine's Dallas. I was born in Texas." He leaned back against his high cantle and smiled. "I could 'a' guessed that," he declared.
At the cut, he climbed the bank at a leisurely pace and continued his way eastward, making straight across the snow toward the squat shack of the Lancasters. His approach was instantly marked. Marylyn was once more at her post, studying the square of landscape framed by a window. When he made a quick figure on that landscape, she saw him, and called to Dallas.
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