eBooks Base 2000

"
"No, he was a beast," responded Teresa promptly. "And your mother--do
you remember her?"
"No, I think she died."
"You _think_ she died? Don't you know?"
"No!"
"Then you're another!" said Teresa. Notwithstanding this frankness,
they shook hands for the night; Teresa nestling like a rabbit in a
hollow by the side of the camp-fire; Low with his feet towards it,
Indian-wise, and his head and shoulders pillowed on his haversack, only
half distinguishable in the darkness beyond.
With such trivial details three uneventful days slipped by. Their
retreat was undisturbed, nor could Low detect, by the least evidence to
his acute perceptive faculties, that any intruding feet had since
crossed the belt of shade. The echoes of passing events at Indian
Spring had recorded the escape of Teresa as occurring at a remote and
purely imaginative distance, and her probable direction the county of
Yolo.
"Can you remember," he one day asked her, "what time it was when you
cut the _riata_ and got away?"
Teresa pressed her hands upon her eyes and temples.


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