That was what we rather naively call "second nature", habit born of Bud's growing years amongst dangers which every pioneer family knows.

Alert he was, yet deeply dreaming; a tenuous dream too sweet to come true, he told himself; a dream which he never dared to dream until the cool stars, and the little night wind began to whisper to him that Marian was free from the brute that had owned her.

He scarcely dared think of it yet.

Shyly he remembered how he had held her hand to give her courage while they rode in darkness; her poor work-roughened little hand, that had been old when he took it first, and had warmed in his clasp.

He remembered how he had pressed her hands together when they parted--why, surely it was longer ago than last night!--and had kissed them reverently as he would kiss the fingers of a queen.
"Hell's too good for Lew Morris," he blurted unexpectedly, the thought of Marian's bruised cheek coming like a blow.
"Want to go and tell him so?
If you don't yuh better shut up," Eddie whispered fierce warning.