Singleton knew. He was standing near Warden, in the grip of a malign
anticipation. His lips were bestially pouted.
"Showed yellow at the last minute," he whispered to Warden; "only
drivin' about half of them. Well, we'll take care of them he's leavin'
before the winter's over."
CHAPTER XII
THE NIGHT WIND'S MYSTERY
After the departure of Lawler on the night of Gary Warden's visit to the
Hamlin cabin, silence, vast and deep reigned inside. The last golden
shadows from the sinking sun were turning somber shades of twilight as
Ruth came to the door and peered outward, to see Lawler riding away.
For a long time the girl watched Lawler, her face burning with shame
over what had happened, her senses revolting from the realization of the
things Lawler knew concerning her father. Then she seated herself on the
threshold of the doorway, watching the long shadows steal over the
plains.
She loved Lawler; she never had attempted to deny it, not even to
herself. And she had found it hard to restrain herself when he had stood
outside the door of her room gravely pleading with her. Only pride had
kept her from yielding--the humiliating conviction that she was not good
enough for him--or rather that her father's crimes had made it
impossible for her to accept him upon a basis of equality.
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