While the general hunt was on, Blake had entered in,
thinking to square things, while not bringing himself into too much
prominence.
"Yo' infernal critter!" murmured Lawson, "in another minute you'll howl,
yo' po' brute. I hate ter shoot yo'--yo' being what yo' are--but here
goes."
After that White's was impossible for a time and Nella-Rose must wait.
In a day or so, probably--so Burke quickly considered--he could make a
dash back, get White to help him, and bear off his prize, but for the
moment the sooner he reached safety beyond the ridge, the better.
Shooting a dog was no light matter.
Lawson reached safety but with a broken leg; for, going down-stream, he
had met with misfortune and, during that long, hard winter, unable to
fend for himself, he was safely hidden by a timely friend and served by
a doctor who was smuggled to the scene and well paid for his help and
silence.
And in Lois Ann's cabin Nella-Rose waited, at first with serene hope,
and then, with pitiful longing. She and the old woman never referred to
the conversation of the first night but the girl was sure she was being
watched and shielded and she felt the doubt and scorn in the attitude of
Lois Ann.
"I'll--I'll send for my man," at last she desperately decided at the
end of the second week. But she dared not risk a journey to the far
station in order to send a telegram.
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