Lorraine stared after him wide-eyed, wondering and yet not daring to wonder.
Her father called to her fretfully, and she went in to him again and told him what Sorry had said about the cracked doubletree, and persuaded him to let her bring his supper at once, and to have the fruit later when Frank arrived.

Brit did not say much, but she sensed his uneasiness, and her own increased in proportion.

Later she saw two tiny, glowing points down by the corral and knew that Sorry and Jim were down there, waiting and listening, ready to do whatever was needed of them; although what that would be she could not even conjecture.
She made her father comfortable, chattered aimlessly to combat her understanding of his moody silence, and listened and waited and tried her pitiful best not to think that anything could be wrong.

The subdued chuckling of the wagon in the sand outside the gate startled her with its unmistakable reality after so many false impressions that she heard it.
"Frank's coming, dad," she announced relievedly, "and I'll go and get the mail and the fruit." She ran down the path again, almost light-hearted in her relief from that vague terror which had held her for the past hour.

From the corral Sorry and Jim came walking up the path to meet the wagon which was making straight for the bunk-house instead of going first to the stable.
One man rode on the seat, driving the team which walked slowly, oddly, reminding Lorraine of a funeral procession.