With a shudder she recalled the moment upon the verge of the bench when
in a flash she had realized the true character of Purdy and her own
utter helplessness. With a great surge of gratitude--and--was it only
gratitude--this admiration and pride in the achievement of the man who
had rushed to her rescue? Alone there in the darkness the girl flushed
to the roots of her hair as she realized that it was for this man she
had unhesitatingly and unquestioningly ridden far into the night in
company with an unknown Indian. Realized, also, that above the pain of
her tortured muscles, above the uncertainty of her own position, was
the anxiety and worry as to the fate of Endicott. Where was he? Had
Tex lied when he told her there would be no lynching? Even if he
desired could he prevent the cowboys from wreaking their vengeance upon
the man who had killed one of their number? She recalled with a
shudder the cold cynicism of the smile that habitually curled the lips
of the Texan. A man who could smile like that could lie--could do
anything to gain an end. And yet--she realized with a puzzled frown
that in her heart was no fear of him--no terror such as struck into her
very soul at the sudden unmasking of Purdy. "It's his eyes," she
murmured; "beneath his cynical exterior lies a man of finer fibre.
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