The woman nodded wearily and went on. "For all of ten days I had been
alone, except for the cattlemen camping a mile away and an old Indian
helper who slept in his tepee within call. Loneliness makes you weak
when there's something tearing at the heart. So I let M'sieu' Marchand
talk to me. At last he told me that there was a woman at Yargo--that
Dennis did not go there for business, but to her. Everyone knew it
except me, he said. He told me to ask old Throw Hard, the Indian helper,
if he had spoken the truth. I was shamed, and angry and crazy, too, I
think, so I went to old Throw Hard and asked him. He said he could not
tell the truth, and that he would not lie to me. So I knew it was all
true.
"How do I know what was in my mind? Is a woman not mad at such a time!
There I was, tossed aside for a flyaway, who was for any man that would
come her way. Yes, I think I was mad. The pride in me was hurt--as only
a woman can understand." She paused and looked at the two women who
listened to her. Fleda's eyes were on the world beyond the window
of the room.
"Surely we understand," whispered Madame Bulteel.
The woman's courage returned, and she continued: "I could not go to my
father, for he was riding the river scores of miles away.
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