The situation in which Berea now found herself would have disheartened
most women of mature age, but she remained not only composed, she was
filled with an irrational delight. The nurse that is in every woman was
aroused in her, and she looked forward with joy to a night of vigil,
confident that Wayland was not seriously injured and that he would soon
be able to ride. She had no fear of the forest or of the night. Nature
held no menace now that her tent was set and her fire alight.
Wayland, without really knowing anything about it, suspected that he owed
his life to her intervention, and this belief deepened the feeling of
admiration which he had hitherto felt toward her. He listened to her at
work around the fire with a deepening sense of his indebtedness to her,
and when she looked in to ask if she could do anything for him, his
throat filled with an emotion which rendered his answer difficult.
As his mind cleared he became very curious to know precisely what had
taken place, but he did not feel free to ask her. "She will tell me if
she wishes me to know." That she had vanquished Belden and sent him on
his way was evident, although he had not been able to hear what she had
said to him at the last. What lay between the enemy's furious onslaught
and the aid he lent in making the camp could only be surmised. "I wonder
if she used her pistol?" Wayland asked himself. "Something like death
must have stared him in the face."
"Strange how everything seems to throw me ever deeper into her debt," he
thought, a little later. But he did not quite dare put into words the
resentment which mingled with his gratitude. He hated to be put so
constantly into the position of the one protected, defended. And yet it
was his own fault. He had put himself among people and conditions where
she was the stronger. Having ventured out of his world into hers he must
take the consequences.
That she loved him with the complete passion of her powerful and simple
nature he knew, for her voice had reached through the daze of his
semi-unconsciousness with thrilling power. The touch of her lips to his,
the close clasp of her strong arms were of ever greater convincing
quality. And yet he wished the revelation had come in some other way. His
pride was abraded. His manhood seemed somehow lessened. It was a
disconcerting reversal of the ordinary relations between hero and
heroine, and he saw no way of re-establishing the normal attitude of the
male.
Entirely unaware of what was passing in the mind of her patient, Berrie
went about her duties with a cheerfulness which astonished the sufferer
in the tent. She seemed about to hum a song as she set the skillet on the
fire, but a moment later she called out, in a tone of irritation: "Here
comes Nash!"
"I'm glad of that," answered Wayland, although he perceived something of
her displeasure.
Nash, on his way to join the Supervisor, raised a friendly greeting as he
saw the girl, and drew rein. "I expected to meet you farther down the
hill," he said. "Tony 'phoned that you had started. Where did you leave
the Supervisor?"
"Over at the station waiting for you. Where's your outfit?"
"Camped down the trail a mile or so. I thought I'd better push through
to-night. What about Norcross? Isn't he with you?"
She hesitated an instant. "He's in the tent. He fell and struck his head
on a rock, and I had to go into camp here."
Nash was deeply concerned. "Is that so? Well, that's hard luck. Is he
badly hurt?"
"Well, he had a terrible fall. But he's easier now. I think he's
asleep."
"May I look in on him?"
"I don't think you'd better take the time. It's a long, hard ride from
here to the station. It will be deep night before you can make it--"
"Don't you think the Supervisor would want me to camp here to-night and
do what I could for you? If Norcross is badly injured you will need me."
She liked Nash, and she knew he was right, and yet she was reluctant to
give up the pleasure of her lone vigil. "He's not in any danger, and
we'll be able to ride on in the morning."
Nash, thinking of her as Clifford Belden's promised wife, had no
suspicion of her feeling toward Norcross. Therefore he gently urged that
to go on was quite out of order. "I _can't_ think of leaving you here
alone--certainly not till I see Norcross and find out how badly he is
hurt."
She yielded. "I reckon you're right," she said. "I'll go see if he is
awake."
He followed her to the door of the tent, apprehending something new and
inexplicable in her attitude. In the music of her voice as she spoke to
the sick man was the love-note of the mate. "You may come in," she called
back, and Nash, stooping, entered the small tent.
"Hello, old man, what you been doing with yourself? Hitting the high
spots?"