She turned to him wistfully, a swift light upon her face. He had said, "leave us"--not "leave me." And his voice was gentle. Surely he was the kind-hearted and chivalrous rancher of his own simple letters. She began to feel a woman's sense of superiority. On the defensive, she replied: "I don't know yet. Suppose we--suppose----" "Suppose that we wait awhile, eh?" said Sim Gage, himself wistful. "Why--yes." "All right, ma'am. We'll do anything you like. You don't need no trunk full of things out here--I hope you'll git along somehow." Knowing that he ought to assist her, he put out a hand to touch her arm, withdrew it as though he had been stung, and then hastily stood as he felt her hand rest upon his arm. He led her slowly to the edge of the platform. Then she heard his footsteps passing, heard the voices of two men--for now a bystander had gone across to do something for the plunging horses, one of which had thrown itself under the buckboard tongue. She heard the two men as they worked on. "Git up!" said one voice. "Git around there!" Then came certain oaths on the part of both men, and conversation whose import she did not know. Their voices were as though heard in a dream. There suddenly came an overwhelming sense of guilt to Mary Warren. She had been unfair to this man! He was a trifle crude, yes; but kind, gentle, unpresuming. She felt safer and safer--guilty and more guilty. How could she ever explain it all to him? "I reckon they're all right now," said Sim Gage, after a considerable battle with his team. "Nothing busted much. Git up on the seat, won't you, Bill, and drive acrosst--I got to help that lady git in." "Who is she?" demanded the other, who had not failed to note the waiting figure. "It's none of your damn business," said Sim Gage. "That is, it's my housekeeper--she's going to cook for the hay hands." "With a two months' start?" grinned the other. "Drive on acrosst now," said Sim Gage, in grim reply, which closed the other's mouth at once. Mary Warren heard the crunch of wheels, heard the thump of her valise as Sim Gage caught it up and threw it into the back of the buckboard. Then he spoke again. She felt him standing close at hand. Once more, trembling as in an ague, she placed a hand upon his arm. "Now, when I tell you," he said gently, "why, you put your foot up on the hub of the wheel here, and grab the iron on the side, and climb in quick--these horses is sort of uneasy." "I can't see the wheel," said Mary Warren, groping. She felt his hand steadying her--felt the rim of the wheel under her hand, felt him gently if clumsily try to help her up. Her foot missed the hub of the wheel, the horses started, and she almost fell--would have done so had not he caught her in his arms. It was almost the first time in his life, perhaps the only time, that he had felt the full weight of a woman in his arms. She disengaged herself, apologized for her clumsiness.