to tell him that I want to be near no matter what fate hangs over him."
And the boy, whiter still, and whiter, looked at her with clearing, narrowing eyes.
"So you're one of them," said the boy softly; "you're one of the fools who listen to Red Pierre. Well, I know you; I've known you from the minute I seen you crouched there at the fire. You're the one Pierre met at the dance at the Crittenden school-house. Tell me!"
"Yes," said Mary, marveling greatly.
"And he told you he loved you?"
"Yes."
It was a fainter voice now, and the color was going up her cheeks.
The lad fixed her with his cold scorn and then turned on his heel and slipped into an easy position on the bunk.
"Then wait for him to come. He'll be here before morning."
But Mary followed across the room and touched the shoulder of Jack. It was as if she touched a wild wolf, for the lad whirled and struck her hand away in an outburst of silent fury.
"Why shouldn't I stay? He hasn't—he hasn't changed—Jack?"
The insolent black eyes looked up and scanned her slowly from head to foot. Then he laughed in the same deliberate manner. It was to Mary as if her clothes had been torn from her body and she were exposed to the bold eyes of a crowd, like a slave put up for sale.
