He looked at her with hard, narrowed eyes. "It will be returned, will it? When?"
"To-day. Within a few hours."
"Who is going to return it?"
Moya had it on the tip of her tongue to tell, but pulled up in time. "I think we'll not go into that."
The American looked at his watch. The hands showed the hour to be 2:30. If the money was to be returned that day someone must already be on the way with it. He had seen his cousin, Captain Kilmeny, take the Gunnison road in a trap not half an hour earlier.
"So the captain is taking it back to-day?" he mused aloud, wary eyes on Moya's face.
A startled expression leaped to her countenance. She had told more than she had intended. "I didn't say so."
"I say so."
Beneath his steady gaze her lashes fell. He nodded, sure that he had guessed correctly.
"I intended to have a talk with you and straighten out some things," he went on. "But I find I haven't time now. We'll postpone it till to-morrow. I'll meet you here at ten o'clock in the morning."
"No," she told him.
The wave of hope had ebbed in her. Given the opportunity to explain the evidence against him, he had cared more to find out what they were doing with the stolen money. He had no time to save his good name.
"Ten in the morning. Remember. It's important. I want to see you alone. If I'm not on time wait for me."
That was his last word. He bowed, turned away almost at a run, and was lost in the small willows. Presently she heard the sound of a galloping horse. A minute later she caught a glimpse of it disappearing up Red Rock cañon. He was following the cutoff trail that led to Gunnison.
She wondered what was taking him away so abruptly. He had meant to stop, then had changed his mind. He had told her calmly she must meet him here to-morrow, and if he were late for the appointment she must wait. His impudence was enough to stagger belief. She would show him about that. If he wanted to see her he must come to the Lodge and face Lady Jim. Even then she would not see him. Why should she, since he was what he was?
Ah, but that was the crux of the whole matter! To look at him was to feel that whatever his faults they were not despicable ones. He was alive, so very much alive, and the look of him was that which an honest man should have. Had he proved his innocence and been released? Or had he broken prison, an alternative of which he was quite capable? And, guilty or innocent, what could be the explanation of his extraordinary demand that she should turn over to him the stolen money?