orns."
They had reached the broad corridor leading to his wife's bedroom,
Blakeman continuing up to Thayor's room with his traps.
Thayor stepped briskly to Alice's door and knocked, then stood there
waiting for her response, keyed up for the scene he knew would ensue
the moment he crossed the threshold. The next instant, in response
to her voice, he opened the door and entered. To his amazement Alice
raised her eyes to his and smiled.
"So you're back," she laughed, re-tying a ribbon at her throat.
"Yes," he replied, closing the door and drawing a chair mechanically
to her bedside. "Yes, I'm back and I've had a good time, dear."
In spite of her disarming welcome he could not dispel a lingering
distrust of her sincerity. "How do I look?" he added.
She leaned toward him, her head pillowed on her hand, and regarded
him intently, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. Again he
searched for the truth in her eyes, and again he was baffled.
"Splendid, Sam--like a man who had never been ill."
Instantly the doubt faded. A sense of mingled relief and of intense
happiness stole through him. If she would only believe in him now, he
thought, and understand him, and be a help and a comfort to him.
"I was ill when I left," he continued in a softened tone. "You would
not believe it, dear, but I was. I should have been ill in bed if I
had stayed a day longer."
"Yes," she answered carelessly, "you must have been, otherwise I doubt
if you would have had pluck enough to leave me as you did. It was
quite dramatic, that little exit of yours, Sam."
"And so you got my note?" he inquired, stiffening up, yet determined
to ignore her touch of sarcasm, and so preserve the peace.
"Oh, yes; Blakeman did not forget. He never forgets anything you tell
him. I must say it was very thoughtful of you after our interview a
night or two before." This came with a shrug of her shoulders, the
smile still flickering about her mouth. "Of course you had a good
time?"
"Yes, and I feel twenty years younger," he ventured; "couldn't help
it, the way those men took care of me."
"Who?" she asked, still gazing at him curiously.
"Young Holcomb and--"
"Ah, yes, I remember," she mused, while she played with the lace on
the sleeve of her gown.
"And there was Freme Skinner and a grizzled, kindly old trapper,
named Hite Holt," he added. "I have never met with such sincere
hospitality."
"What deliciously amusing names," she sighed
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