Part 11 (2/2)

”Keep right on going,” Wagstaff answered.

”I won't--I won't!” she flashed. ”I'll find my own way back. What devilish impulse prompted you to do such a thing?”

”You'll have a beautiful time of it,” he said dryly, completely ignoring her last question. ”Take you three days to walk there--if you knew every foot of the way. And you don't know the way. Traveling in timber is confusing, as you've discovered. You'll never see Cariboo Meadows, or any other place, if you tackle it single-handed, without grub or matches or bedding. It's fall, remember. A snowstorm is due any time. This is a whopping big country. A good many men have got lost in it--and other men have found their bones.”

He let this sink in while she sat there on his horse choking back a wild desire to curse him by bell, book, and candle for what he had done, and holding in check the fear of what he might yet do. She knew him to be a different type of man from any she had ever encountered.

She could not escape the conclusion that Roaring Bill Wagstaff was something of a law unto himself, capable of hewing to the line of his own desires at any cost. She realized her utter helplessness, and the realization left her without words. He had drawn a vivid picture, and the instinct of self-preservation a.s.serted itself.

”You misled me.” She found her voice at last. ”Why?”

”Did I mislead you?” he parried. ”Weren't you already lost when you came to my camp? And have I mistreated you in any manner? Have I refused you food, shelter, or help?”

”My home is in Cariboo Meadows,” she persisted. ”I asked you to take me there. You led me away from there deliberately, I believe now.”

”My trail doesn't happen to lead to Cariboo Meadows, that's all,”

Roaring Bill coolly told her. ”If you must go back there, I shan't restrain you in any way whatever. But I'm for home myself. And that,”

he came close, and smiled frankly up at her, ”is a better place than Cariboo Meadows. I've got a little house back there in the woods.

There's a big fireplace where the wind plays tag with the snowflakes in winter time. There's grub there, and meat in the forest, and fish in the streams. It's home for me. Why should I go back to Cariboo Meadows? Or you?”

”Why should _I_ go with you?” she demanded scornfully.

”Because I want you to,” he murmured.

They matched glances for a second, Wagstaff smiling, she half horrified.

”Are you clean mad?” she asked angrily. ”I was beginning to think you a gentleman.”

Bill threw back his head and laughed. Then on the instant he sobered.

”Not a gentleman,” he said. ”I'm just plain man. And lonesome sometimes for a mate, as nature has ordained to be the way of flesh.”

”Get a squaw, then,” she sneered. ”I've heard that such people as you do that.”

”Not me,” he returned, unruffled. ”I want a woman of my own kind.”

”Heaven save _me_ from that cla.s.sification!” she observed, with emphasis on the p.r.o.noun.

”Yes?” he drawled. ”Well, there's no profit in arguing that point.

Let's be getting on.”

He reached for the lead rope of the nearest pack horse.

Hazel urged Silk up a step. ”Mr. Wagstaff,” she cried, ”I must go back.”

”You can't go back without me,” he said. ”And I'm not traveling that way, thank you.”

”Please--oh, please!” she begged forlornly.

Roaring Bill's face hardened. ”I will not,” he said flatly. ”I'm going to play the game my way. And I'll play fair. That's the only promise I will make.”

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