Roaring Bill's slower pace was fast enough at that. She followed till
her strength began to fail. And when in spite of her determination she
lagged behind, he stopped at the first water.
"We'll camp here," he said. "You're about all in, and we can't get
anywhere to-night, I see plainly."
Hazel accepted this dictum as best she could. She eat down on a mossy
rock while he stripped the horses of their gear and staked them out.
Then Bill started a fire and fixed the roll of bedding by it for her to
sit on. Dusk crept over the forest while he cooked supper, making a
bannock in the frying pan to take the place of bread; and when they had
finished eating and washed the few dishes, night shut down black as the
pit.
They talked little. Hazel was in the grip of utter forlornness, moody,
wishful to cry. Roaring Bill lumped on his side of the fire, staring
thoughtfully into the blaze. After a long period of abstraction he
glanced at his watch, then arose and silently arranged her bed. After
that he spread his saddle blankets and lay down.
Hazel crept into the covers and quietly sobbed herself to sleep. The
huge and silent land appalled her. She had been chucked neck and crop
into the primitive, and she had not yet been able to react to her
environment.
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