Par Bleu, that was the
part of a man!"
"But you!" cried Harry. "What the deuce did you mean by
pretending to play the black? I tell you, that was a shabby
trick. Most unpleasant moment you gave us."
Desiree sent me a quick glance; she was plainly surprised to find
Harry in ignorance of what had passed between us that evening in
the camp on the mountain. Wherein she was scarcely to be blamed,
for her surprise came from a deep knowledge of the ways of men.
"I am beginning to know you, Paul," she said, looking into my
eyes.
"Now what's up?" demanded Harry, looking from her to me and back
again. "For Heaven's sake, don't talk riddles. What does that
mean?"
But Desiree silenced him with a gesture, placing her fingers
playfully on his lips. They were seated side by side on the
granite couch; I stood in front of them, and there flitted across
my memory a picture of that morning scene in the grounds of the
Antlers at Colorado Springs, when Desiree and I had had our first
battle.
We talked; or, rather, Harry and Desiree talked, and I listened.
First he insisted on a recital of her experiences since her
reckless dash into the "cave of the devil," and she was most
obliging, even eager, for she had had no one to talk to for many
days, and she was a woman.
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