"
"You sound as if you wanted to go slow," he answered, his smile
indulgently quizzical, as completely shut away from her, in his man's
ignorance, as though no bond of love and blood held them together.
"No, no, of course not," she faltered. "But I'm not at all sure we'll
get through it so easily. I'm making allowance for delays. There are
always delays."
"Yes, there may be delays, but we'll hope to be one of the lucky trains
and get through on time."
She swallowed dryly, her heart gone down too far to be plucked up by
futile contradition [Transcriber's note: contradiction?]. He mused a
moment, seeking the best method of broaching a subject that had been
growing in his mind for the past week. Frankness seemed the most
simple, and he said:
"I've something to suggest to you. I've been thinking of it since we
left the Pass. Bridger is a large post. They say there are trains
there from all over the West and people of all sorts, and quite often
there are missionaries."
"Missionaries?" in a faint voice.
"Yes, coming in and going out to the tribes of the Northwest. Suppose
we found one there when we arrived?"
He stopped, watching her.
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