He did not understand his own emotions. He was as unsophisticated
as she in the affairs of the heart. His man's life of the woods had kept
him free from women. His friendship with this child, their rides, their
companionship, had been almost on the plane of boy with boy; her
character invited that kind of intimacy.
And so he wondered what to say; for her demand had been explicit, and
she demanded candor in return.
At that moment he welcomed the appearance of even Ivus Niles. That sooty
prophet of ill appeared around a bend in the read ahead. The twilight
shrouded him, but there was no mistaking his stove-pipe hat and his
frock-coat. He was leading his buck sheep, and the hounds rushed forward
clamorously. Niles stopped in the middle of the road, and let them
frolic about him and his emblematic captive.
"The dogs won't hurt you, Niles," Harlan assured him, spurring forward.
"I ain't afraid of dogs, I ain't afraid of wolves, not after what I've
been through with the political Bengal tigers I've been up against
to-day," Niles assured him, sourly.
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