"Let me go!" Her voice was so low that he hardly
heard it, but full of a thousand threats. Then, swerving her horse
quickly to one side, she jerked the bridle from his slack fingers and
was off across the desert.
CHAPTER VII
It was about an hour after Pearl had ridden away to meet Hanson among
the palms that Bob Flick joined Mr. Gallito, who sat, as usual, upon the
porch of his home, smoking innumerable cigarrettes. He was his composed
and imperturbable self, exhibiting outwardly, at least, no trace of
anxiety, but Flick looked worn, almost haggard.
Gallito had just told him of Pearl's early departure and also of the
fact that she had left no word intimating when she might return or in
what direction she was riding; but when Flick expressed regret that this
had been permitted, he merely lifted his shaggy brows. "What is done is
done," he said. "She slipped away before either Hugh or myself knew that
she was gone, and what could we or you, for that matter, have done to
prevent her?"
"I wish I'd been here," muttered Flick uneasily. "I'd have done
something." But his tone did not bear out the confidence of his words.
"I am too old and, I hope, too wise," returned the Spaniard, "to attempt
to tame the whirlwind. But cheer up, my friend. Although she rode off to
meet this Hanson, without a doubt, still, the day is not over."
"You know what she is when her head is set," murmured Flick.
"I! Have I not cause?" exclaimed Gallito, a depth of meaning in his
tone.
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