As they passed the trapper’s cabin, the noise of the rushing train sent Pegasus galloping madly about the pasture. With flying hoofs that tore up the sod he circled around the field, then came to the fence and with his beautiful head held high on the arched neck he looked with startled eyes at the speeding train.
With a gesture intensely eloquent, Connie flung out her arms. “Good-bye, Peggy! Good-bye!” She found her way to a seat and covered her face with her hands.
Donald flung himself from the gas-car before it had ceased moving. “Train gone, Andy?” he shouted.
Andy stood with arms folded. “Gone?” he yelled, “of course it’s gone. Why in ’ell wasn’t you ’ere?”
“I had to go up the line to look over some logs, and the car broke down,” replied Donald bitterly.
“Of course,” said Andy with withering sarcasm, “the timber couldn’t ’ave waited another day.”
“Andy,” asked Donald excitedly, ignoring the remark, “did Connie leave you her address?”
“Why the ’ell should she give me ’er address? ’Aven’t you ’er address?” was Andy’s unaccommodating reply.
“No, I haven’t, I know that they are going to England, and that is all.”
Andy’s face softened. “Do you like Connie?” he queried.
“In that case I don’t see ’ow she didn’t let you know where to find ’er,” puzzled Andy.
“She doesn’t know that I care for her,” said Donald gloomily.
Andy’s mouth opened. He seized Donald by the shoulder. “Do you mean to tell me that you let that girl get away from you without letting ’er know that you wanted ’er?” he demanded incredulously. “Strike me ’andsome,” blazed Andy, “of all the blinkin’ mutts in this ’ere world—you—you——” Speech failed him for a moment. “You let that dear little girl go away broken-’earted. . . .”
“Andy,” interrupted Donald eagerly, “do you think Connie cares for me?”
For a moment, as he looked into his friend’s face, Andy was tempted to tell him of the scene after his fight with Hand. But the promise to Connie sealed his lips.
“’Ow the ’ell should I know?” he mumbled. “But,” he added with fine sarcasm, “if bone was ten cents a cubic foot you’d be a multi-millionaire, you blinkin’ pie-eyed nincompoop—you—you——” He clapped a tragic hand to his brow. “You give me a ’eadache,” and muttering to himself, he trudged up the hill.
