This some one was a man. Dimly
Thornton saw the blur of the form, but more than his eyes his ears told
him that this tread, though guarded, was too heavy for a girl like
Winifred Waverly.
"Pollard," he told himself swiftly. "Not ten feet away. And if he comes
this way ..."
The man at the steps stopped and in the long silence Thornton knew that
the two other people playing this grim game with him were listening even
as he was, trying to force their eyes to see through the shadows. Then
the heavy tread again, and Thornton thought that it was coming nearer.
Then a pause, the step once more, and Pollard, if Pollard it were, had
turned the other way and keeping close to the house was moving toward
the far corner. The steps grew fainter as they drew farther away, and he
knew that the man had gone around the corner of the building.
That other person at the other corner of the house, at Thornton's right,
had heard and understood, too. The cowboy heard steps there again, quick
steps, almost running, soft, quick breathing not a yard away, and
bending forward a little, knew that Winifred Waverly had come to keep
her tryst with him.
"Miss Waverly?" he whispered softly.
She was at his side, close to him, so close that he could feel the sweep
of her skirts against his boots.
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