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It was Miss Norvell who first broke the constraint. "You are evidently well acquainted with the intricacies of the prayer-book," she remarked quietly, "and hence I venture to inquire if you are a churchman." "Not exactly, although my parents are both communicants, and I was brought up to attend service." "Do you know, I am glad even of that?
But I can tell you this, Miss Norvell, the manager considers you a treasure; he said as much to me." She stood before him, the glare of the stage glinting in her hair, her hands clasped, her dark eyes eagerly reading his face as though these unexpected words of appreciation had yielded her renewed courage, like a glass of wine. "Really, is that true? Oh, I am so glad.
I did not make this trip without a purpose. 'He, you say? Who is he? Who was it that rode away from here just now? Not Farnham?" Mercedes laughed a trifle uneasily, her eyes suddenly lowered before the other's anxious scrutiny. "Ah, no, señorita," she answered softly. "Eet surprises me mooch you not know; eet vas Señor Brown." Miss Norvell grasped her firmly by the shoulder.
"Miss Norvell," and Winston straightened up, "possibly I may be employed here for a reason similar to that which has induced you to travel with a troupe of barn-stormers." She shrugged her shoulders, her lips smiling, the seductive dimple showing in her cheeks. "And what was that?" "The ambition of an amateur to attain a foothold upon the professional stage." "Who told you so?" "Mr.
I 'll get your money, don't fear, if I have to trail him clear to Denver, but I 'll take what little the miserable thief owes me out of his hide." The next moment he was down below in the office rapidly preparing for action, and Miss Norvell, leaning far out across the banister, listened to his quick, nervous words of instruction with an odd thrill of pride that left her cheeks crimson.
Si, señor, I vait for you for de dance, sure." She turned eagerly to Miss Norvell. "You go vis him, señorita; he ver' good man, I, Mercedes, know." The American looked at them both, her eyes slightly smiling in understanding. "Yes," she assented quietly, "I believe he is."
Yet there was that about her constrained manner which held him to respectful silence, so that for a moment the hesitation between them grew almost painful. Miss Norvell, realizing this new danger, struggled weakly against sudden temptation to throw herself unreservedly upon the mercy of this new friend, confide wholly in him, accept his proffered aid, and flee from possible coming trouble.
It was a weird, uncanny journey, in which the nerves tingled to uncouth shapes and the wild echoing of mountain voices. Once, at such a moment of continued suspense, Beth Norvell bent forward and whispered a sentence into her ear. The girl started, impulsively pressing her lips against the white hand grasping the pony's mane. "No, no, señorita," she said softly.
The other members of the troupe slept late, leaving him to breakfast alone after vainly loitering about the office in the hope that Miss Norvell might by some chance appear and keep him company.
Halfway across the open space, only dimly revealed in the star-light, her long hair dislodged and flying wildly about her shoulders, the gleam of the weapon in her hand, apparently stopped in the very act of flight, her eyes filled with terror staring back toward him, stood Beth Norvell.
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