Tryin' to run out on me, huh?' he said, as she shrank back in alarm. `Well, I treated you fair, but now ...'
He left the sentence unfinished, and gripping her wrist, dragged her back to the camp. Obeying his gesture, she sank on the bed again. Drait fetched his own blanket and saddle, arranged them, stretched himself beside her, and slid an arm about her shoulders.
`I ain't trustin' you no more,' he said gruffly.
Swift-born panic seized her and she struggled to rise. Her resistance infuriated him, and his fingers, vice-like, bit into the soft flesh of her arm as he pulled her nearer. She fought back, to her own undoing, for contact with her lithe young body roused a devil of desire and rendered him ruthless. His hot breath scorched her cheek, and then avid lips found her own, and held them.
When she awoke, the day was but a few hours old. On the other side of the fire, Drait was preparing breakfast. He pointed to the creek.
`A sluice'll freshen you up, an' you'll be needin' food,' he said. `We got some hard ridin' ahead.'
The roughness had gone from his voice, but she was too crushed to notice. Wearily she went to the stream, and kneeling, bathed her face and hands in the ice-cold water. Back at the fire, she swallowed mechanically the bread, fried bacon, and coffee he passed to her. She was vaguely conscious that he was regarding her with an air of puzzlement. At length the silence proved too much for him.
`Why'n hell didn't you tell me--'bout yoreself?' he burst out. `How was I to know? I figured you were--'
`Bardoe's plaything, and therefore, anybody's,' she finished stormily, roused by his attempt to put the blame on her. `I wasn't--I never saw him until an hour before we met you. He offered me work--at his ranch.'
Drait's lips curled in a sneer. `An' you believed that?'
`Why not? Are all men liars?' she retorted. `I'd run away, and was lost in the woods.'
`What were you runnin' from?'
'Another beast like you,' she flashed back.
Bit by bit, he got the story. She had lost her parents early, and was raised in an orphanage. At sixteen, she had been found employment with a small farmer. She had been well-treated, and for nearly four years, was happy. Then misfortune came, the family returned to the East, and she took another situation. Here she was wretched; the wife was cruel, and the husband wanted to be kind--too kind. In the midst of a terrible scene, she fled, not even waiting to collect her few possessions.
`What's yore name?' Drait asked.
`Mary,' she replied shortly.
`We'll be on our way,' he said.
He fetched and saddled the horses, packed the gear, and threw water on the blazing sticks; whatever laws he might break, that of guarding against the forest fires was not one of them. She was struggling to get astride the big horse when two strong arms lifted her into position. In another moment, he was in his own saddle and heading for the trail.
At the end of five miles, they paused on a lofty bench which gave them a view of the surrounding country. Away on their right, several columns of smoke indicated a settlement.
`Burnt Hollow,' he muttered. `Find what we want there, mebbe.'
`What are you going to do with me?' she asked fearfully. `Marry you,' he replied bluntly.
The reply deprived her of speech; she could only stare at him round-eyed. The hard jaw and sombre expression told her he was not joking; he would do it, and she was powerless. Dimly, she understood that he was trying to put things right, but her animosity remained. She shrugged her shoulders in contemptuous despair; what did it matter?
The tiny township of Burnt Hollow was just awakening when they rode in. Drait drew rein outside a building labelled `General Store,' through the open door of which a man in his shirtsleeves was sweeping yesterday's dirt.
`Got any duds for a woman?' he asked.
`Shore,' was the reply. `Step right in.'
They hitched their horses and followed him into the store. `I want a complete outfit for this girl,' Drait said. `Can you do it?'
`Well, if you ain't lucky,' the tradesman smiled. `Got one for the darter o' Lem Wilkins, the big cattle-man, you know.' He cast a measuring eye over the girl. `She's just about yore build, ma'am. My missus 'll fix you up.'
An angular grey-haired woman answered his call, and when he had explained, said to the girl, `Come with me, my dear,' and to Drait, `It's goin' to cost you somethin, Mister.'
`Go the limit,' he told her, and turned to the storekeeper. `I need some cartridges an' smokin'. Got a parson?'
`I don't stock 'em, but there's one in town--'bout twenty yards along the street,' the merchant grinned.
The customer nodded, perched himself on the counter, and rolled a cigarette. He smoked that one and another before the woman reappeared, and then he had to look twice ere he recognised his fellow-traveller. The calico dress had been replaced by a neat riding-skirt, with a shirt-waist, and a light coat; the clumsy shoes by high boots, and the sun-bonnet by a soft, black felt hat beneath which the trimmed, golden-brown curls showed to advantage. In one hand, the girl carried a small grip. The clothes set off the shapeliness of her youthful body, and Drait suddenly realised that a smile on the cold, immobile face would have made it beautiful.
`There's extras in the bag,' the woman said anxiously. `You said for to make a good job of it.'
`You've done fine, ma'am,' Drait replied, as he paid the bill. `I'm obliged.'
They went out and walked down the street. The storekeeper laughed. `That's a weddin'-dress you've sold, mother,' he said. `Askin' for a parson, he was.'
`Looks more like she's goin' to her funeral,' the woman retorted.
Meanwhile, the pair they were discussing had stopped at a small log cabin on the door of which a notice announced, `Josiah Jones, Minister.' Drait rapped, and the man himself appeared. A frail figure, prematurely grey, utterly unfit it would seem to `fight the good fight' in a place where the laws of neither God nor man were of little avail. Yet there was a simple dignity, derived, no doubt, from his calling.`We want you to marry us,' Drait said.
The minister nodded and took them into the parlour. It was a small room, neatly but poorly furnished with plain wood chairs, a desk, and table on which lay a Bible and prayer-book. They sat down, and he asked their names, ages, and whether either had been married before, entering their replies in a book. He knew quite well that he could not prove or disprove anything they told him, but the formality satisfied his conscience.
`Mary Francis Darrell, twenty-one, and Nicholas Drait, twenty-seven, both single,' he read out. `We shall need two witnesses; my good neighbours usually oblige.'
He went out and presently returned with two youngish men who favoured the bride with an immediate stare of admiration, which ceased abruptly when the groom turned his own narrowed eyes upon them.
`Cut out the frills, Padre, we're pressed for time,' Drait requested.
A runaway pair, the minister decided.
He began the service, omitting all out the essential portions. The girl listened with a face of stone, but made her responses clearly and firmly.
`With this ring.....' The minister paused and looked expectantly at the bridegroom.
Drait bit back an oath, then grinned, and fumbling in the breast of his shirt, produced a narrow gold band hanging round his neck by a string. Snapping this, he slipped the ring on the bride's finger and became aware that her hand was icy.
Having pronounced them man and wife, the minister recorded the event, all present signed their names, and the ceremony was over. The witnesses went out, richer by easily-earned dollars, and the minister handed a copy of his entry to the bride.
`Take good care of that, my dear, and I hope you will be very happy,' he said.
`Thank you,' she murmured, and for an instant there was a gleam of warmth in her sombre eyes.
Drait laid a bill on the table. Will that cover yore fee?' he asked.
`More than five times,' the little man smiled.
He watched them walk up the street, mount, and ride away. All was not well there, but he could do nothing. `A pretty lass,' he mused. `She reminds me of someone; but it was long ago.'
Clear of the town, the newly-wedded couple came to where the trail forked, and Mary Drait, without a glance
