Houck jeered.
“I wish I could!” she cried furiously.
“But you can’t. You had yore chance, an’ you couldn’t. What you need is a master, some one you’ll have to honor an’ obey, some one who’ll look after you an’ take the devil outa you. Meanin’ me—Jake Houck. Understand?”
“I won’t! I won’t!” she cried. “You come here an’ bully me because—because of what you know about Father. If you were half a man—if you were white, you wouldn’t try to use that against me like you do.”
“I’m using it for you. Why, you li’l’ spitfire, can’t you see as Jake Houck’s wife you get a chance to live? You’ll have clothes an’ shoes an’ pretties like other folks instead o’ them rags you wear now. I aim to be good to you, June.”
“You say that. Don’t I know you? I’d ’most rather be dead than married to you. But you keep pesterin’ me. I—I—” Her voice broke.
“If you don’ know what’s best for you, I do. To-morrow I got to go to Meeker. I’ll be back Thursday. We’ll ride over to Bear Cat Friday an’ be married. Tha’s how we’ll fix it.”
He did not take her in his arms or try to kiss her. The man was wise in his generation. Cheerfully, as a matter of course, he continued:
“We’ll go up to the house an’ tell Tolliver it’s all settled.”
She lagged back, sulkily, still protesting. “It’s not settled, either. You don’t run everything.”
But in her heart she was afraid he had stormed the last trench of her resistance.
CHAPTER VII
AN ELOPEMENT
Bob Dillon was peeling potatoes outside the chuck tent when he heard a whistle he recognized instantly. It was a very good imitation of a meadow-lark’s joyous lilt. He answered it, put down the pan and knife, and rose.
“Where you going?” demanded the cook.
“Back in a minute, Lon,” the flunkey told him, and followed a cow trail that took him up the hill through the sage.
“I never did see a fellow like him,” the cook communed aloud to himself. “A bird calls, an’ he’s got to quit work to find out what it wants. Kinda nice kid, too, if he is queer.”
Among the piñons at the rock rim above Bob found June. He had not seen her since the day when she had saved him from a thrashing. The boy was not very proud of the way he had behaved. If he had not shown the white feather, he had come dangerously close to it.
“How are cases, June?”
His eyes, which had been rather dodging hers, came to rest on the girl at last. One glance told him that she was in trouble.
“I don’ know what to do, Bob,” she broke out. “Jake will be back to-day—by dinner-time, I reckon. He says I’ve got to go with him to Bear Cat an’ be married to-morrow.”
Dillon opened his lips to speak, but he said nothing. He remembered how he had counseled her to boldness before and failed at the pinch. What advice could he give? What could he say to comfort his friend?
“Haven’t you got any folks you could go to—some one who would tell Houck where to head in at?”
She shook her head. “My father’s all I’ve got.”
“Won’t he help you?”
“He would, but—I can’t ask him. I got to pretend to him I’d just as lief marry Jake.”
“Why have you?”
“I can’t tell you why, Bob. But that’s how it is.”
“And you still hate Houck?”
“Ump-ha. Except—sometimes.” She did not explain that elusive answer. “But it don’t matter about how I feel. When he comes back I’ve got to do like he says.”
June broke down and began to weep. The boy’s tender heart melted within him.
“Don’t you. Don’t you,” he begged. “We’ll find a way, li’l’ pardner. We sure will.”
“How?” she asked, between sobs. “There ain’t—any way—except to—to marry Jake.”
“You could run away—and work,” he suggested.
“Who’d give me work? And where could I go that he wouldn’t find me?”
Practical details stumped him. Her objections were valid enough. With her inexperience she could never face the world alone.
“Well, le’s see. You’ve got friends. Somewhere that you could kinda hide for a while.”
“Not a friend. We—we don’t make friends,” she said in a small, forlorn voice with a catch in it.
“You got one,” he said stoutly. “Maybe he don’t amount to much, but—” He broke off, struck by an idea. “Say, June, why couldn’t you run off with me? We’d go clear away, where he wouldn’t find us.”
“How could I run off with you?” A pink flood poured into her face. “You’re not my brother. You’re no kin.”
“No, but—” He frowned at the ground, kicking at a piece of moss with his toe to help him concentrate. Again he found an idea. “We could get married.”
This left her staring at him, speechless.
He began to dress his proposal with arguments. He was a humble enough youth who had played a trifling part in life. But his imagination soared at seeing himself a rescuer of distressed maidens. He was a dreamer of dreams. In them he bulked large and filled heroic rôles amply.
June was a practical young person. “What d’ you want to marry me for?” she demanded.
He came to earth. He did not want to marry her. At least he had not wanted to until the moment before. If he had been able to give the reason for his suggestion, it would probably have been that her complete isolation and helplessness appealed to the same conditions in himself and to a certain youthful chivalry.
“We’re good pals, ain’t we?” was the best he could do by way of answer.
“Yes, but you don’t—you don’t—”
Beneath the tan of her dark cheeks the blood poured in again. It was as hard for her to talk about love as for him. She felt the same shy,
