THE MAN IN SADDLE
Ferrier's face grew perceptibly paler. His mouth opened a little into a round shape, remained speechless as if the words it was formed for had been blown away.
"And I am not going to tell them," the horse-breaker concluded emphatically. There was a ring of magnanimity in these words that he did not quite like; it sounded as if only Ferrier was to benefit by this silence. Yet after all wasn't that the best thing for the fellow to think? Let him think what he would. He was not to be explained to in this matter any more than he was to be lied to. He was to be commanded. He looked now scarcely so much reassured by Carron's words as carried off his feet by a stronger will.
He moistened his lips. "And afterward you will go?"
"Yes."
"Right afterward?"
"Yes," Carron repeated impatiently, and with the repetition hated himself more for stooping to deceive such a poor creature. It was no lie in the letter, and was the worse for that; for the meaning the promise had, in fact, was very different from the meaning it had for Ferrier. A look of relief spread over his face.
"All right," he said. "I'll be there."
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