"Oh, I'm so glad you come I've had you
on my mind--"
But she interrupted him suddenly. Looking round at the bleak room and
its scant furniture, she said: "I--I thought may be I could persuade
you now to come back to your room at the hotel, where mother and I
could wait on you. You do not look as well as you did, Mr. Westerfelt."
He smiled and shook his head.
"It's mighty good of you to ask me," he returned, "but this is good
enough for me, and I don't want to be such a bother. The Lord knows I
was enough trouble when I was there."
A look of sharp pain came upon her sensitive face for an instant, then
she said; "I wish you wouldn't talk that way; you weren't one bit of
trouble."
He looked away from her. He was, indeed, not at his best. His beard
had grown out on his usually clean-shaven face and his cheeks looked
sallow and sunken. He was tingling all over with a raging desire to
throw his arms about her and tell her how he loved her and longed to
make her his wife, but suddenly a mind-picture of Toot Wambush rose
before him. He saw her deliberately lying to the officers to save him
from arrest, and--worse than all--he saw her in the arms of the
outlaw's father sobbing out a confession of her love.
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