Lee Virginia waited with increasing impatience for Ross Cavanagh's return,
expecting each noon to see him appear at the door; but when three days
passed without word or sign from him, her uneasiness deepened into alarm.
The whole town was profoundly excited over the murder, that she knew, and
she began to fear that some of the ranger's enemies had worked their evil
will upon him.
With this vague fear in her heart, she went forth into the street to
inquire. One of the first men she met was Sifton, who was sitting, as
usual, outside the livery-barn door, smiling, inefficient, content. Of him
she asked: "Have you seen Mr. Cavanagh?"
"Yes," he answered, "I saw him yesterday, just after dinner, down at the
post-office. He was writing a letter at the desk. Almost immediately
afterward he mounted and rode away. He was much cut up over his chief's
dismissal."
"Why has he not written to me," she asked herself, "and why should he have
gone away without a word of greeting, explanation, or good-bye? It would
have taken but a moment's time to call at the door."
The more she dwelt upon this neglect the more significant it became. After
the tender look in his eyes, after the ardent clasp of his hand, the
thought that he could be so indifferent was at once a source of pain and
self-reproach.
With childish frankness she went to Lize and told her what she had
learned, her eyes dim with hot tears. "Ross came to town, and went away
back to his cabin without coming to see me."
"Are you sure he's been here?"
"Yes. Mr. Sifton saw him go. He came in, got some letters at the
post-office, and then rode away--" Her voice broke as her disappointment
and grief overcame her.
Lize struggled to a sitting position. "There's some mistake about this.
Ross Cavanagh never was the whifflin' kind of man. You've got to remember
he's on duty. Probably the letter was some order that carried him right
back to his work."
"But if he had really cared, he could have ridden by to say just a word;
but he didn't, he went away without a sign, after promising to come." She
buried her face in the coverlet of her mother's bed, and wept in childish
grief and despair.
Lize was forced to acknowledge that the ranger's action was inexplicable,
but she did her best to make light of it. "He may have hurried to town on
some errand, and hadn't a moment to spare. These are exciting days for
him, remember. He'll be in to-morrow sure."
With a faint hope of this, the girl rose and went about her daily tasks;
but the day passed, and another, without word or sign of the recreant
lover, and each day brought a deeper sense of loss, but her pride would
not permit her to show her grief.
Young Gregg, without knowing in the least the cause of her troubled face,
took this occasion to offer comfort. His manner toward her had changed
since she no longer had a part in the management of the eating-house, and
for that reason she did not repulse him as sharply as she had been wont to
do. He really bore Cavanagh no ill-will, and was, indeed, shrewd enough to
understand that Lee admired the ranger, and that his own courtship was
rather hopeless; nevertheless, he persisted, his respect for her growing
as he found her steadfast in her refusal to permit any familiarity.
"See here, Miss Virginia," he cried, as she was passing him in the hall,
"I can see you're worried about Lize (I mean your mother), and if I can be
of any use I hope you'll call on me." As she thanked him without
enthusiasm, he added: "How is she to-night?"
"I think she's better."
"Can I see her?"