Part 40 (2/2)
heat and thirst. A poor, useless rag.”
He spoke in a low voice, very slowly, each word dropping distinct and separate. His lowering expression, his steady gaze, his deliberate speech, spoke of mental forces in abeyance. It was another man, not the Courant she knew.
She tried to quell her tremors by simulating indignation. If her breathing shook her breast into an agitation he could see, the look she kept on him was bold and defiant.
”Don't speak of him that way,” she cried scrambling to her feet. ”Keep what you think to yourself.”
”And what do _you_ think?” he said and moved forward toward her.
She made no answer, and it was very silent in the cleft. As he came nearer the gra.s.ses crackling under his soft tread were the only sound.
She saw that his face was pale under the tan, the nostrils slightly dilated. Stepping with a careful lightness, his movements suggested a carefully maintained adjustment, a being quivering in a breathless balance. She backed away till she stood pressed against the rock. She felt her thoughts scattering and made an effort to hold them as though grasping at tangible, escaping things.
He stopped close to her, and neither spoke for a moment, eye hard on eye, then hers s.h.i.+fted and dropped.
”You think about him as I do,” said the man.
”No,” she answered, ”no,” but her voice showed uncertainty.
”Why don't you tell the truth? Why do you lie?”
”No,” this time the word was hardly audible, and she tried to impress it by shaking her head.
He made a step toward her and seized one of her hands. She tried to tear it away and flattened herself against the rock, panting, her face gone white as the alkaline patches of the desert.
”You don't love him. You never did.”
She shook her head again, gasping. ”Let me out of here. Let go of me.”
”You liar,” he whispered. ”You love me.”
She could not answer, her knees shaking, the place blurring on her sight. Through a sick dizziness she saw nothing but his altered face.
He reached for the other hand, spread flat against the stone, and as she felt his grasp upon it, her words came in broken pleading:
”Yes, yes, it's true. I do. But I've promised. Let me go.”
”Then come to me,” he said huskily and tried to wrench her forward into his arms.
She held herself rigid, braced against the wall, and tearing one hand free, raised it, palm out, between his face and hers.
”No, no! My father--I promised him. I can't tell David now. I will later. Don't hold me. Let me go.”
The voice of Daddy John came clear from outside. ”Missy! Hullo, Missy! Where are you?”
She sent up the old man's name in a quavering cry and the mountain man dropped her arm and stepped back.
She ran past him, and at the mouth of the opening, stopped and leaned on a ledge, getting her breath and trying to control her trembling.
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