He looked up at Ricky in a sort of dull surprise, and then his
gaze shifted to Val.
"What--"
"We won the war," Val tried to grin, an operation which tore his mask of
dried blood, "thanks to Ricky. And now we're going home."
At that, Jeems made a violent effort to sit up.
"_Non_!" his English deserted him and he broke into impassioned French.
"Yes," Val replied firmly as Ricky pushed the swamper down. "Of course
you're coming with us. You've had a nasty knock on the head that needs
attention."
"Ah'm not a-goin' to no hospital!" His eyes burned into Val's.
"Certainly not!" cried Ricky. "You're bound for our guest-room. Now keep
quiet. We'll be there soon."
"Ah ain't a-goin'," he declared mutinously.
"Don't be silly," Ricky scolded him; "we're taking you. Does Val have to
come and hold you down?"
"Ah can't!" His eyes flickered from Val's face to hers. There was
something more than independence behind that firm refusal. "Ah ain't
a-goin' theah."
"Why not?"
He seemed to shrink from her. "It ain't fitten," he murmured.
"How perfectly silly," laughed Ricky. But Val thought that he
understood.
"Because of the secret you know?" he asked quietly.
The pallor beneath Jeems' heavy tan vanished in a flush of slow-burning
red. "Ah reckon so," he muttered, but he met Val's eyes squarely.
"Let's leave all explanations until later," Val suggested.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168