The bunk-house door opened, and Sorry came out on the
doorstep, stood there a minute and came slowly to meet her as she
retraced her steps to the house.
"Where'd Lone go so sudden?" he asked, when she came close to him in the
dusk. "That was him, wasn't it?"
Lorraine stopped and stood looking at him without speaking. A vague
terror had seized her. She wanted to scream, and yet she could think of
nothing to scream over. It was Lone's haste, she told herself
impatiently. Her nerves were ragged from nursing her dad and from
worrying over things she must not talk about,--that forbidden subject
which never left her mind for long.
"Wasn't that him?" Sorry repeated uneasily. "What took him off again in
such a rush?"
"Oh, I don't know! He said Frank should have been here long ago. He went
to look for him. Sorry," she cried suddenly, "what _is_ the matter with
this place? I feel as if something horrible was just ready to jump out
at us all. I--I want my back against something solid, all the time, so
that nothing can creep up behind. Nothing," she added desperately,
"could happen to Frank between here and the turn-off at the ford, could
it? Lone saw him turn into our trail over an hour ago, he said.
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