Page:RidersOfSilences - Max Brand.djvu/168

162 spoken by either of them. The only sound was the rustling of Jacqueline's stolen silks and the purling of a small stream of water near them, some meager spring.

But presently: "P-P-Pierre, I'm f-freezing."

He himself was numbed by the chill air and paused in the task of thrusting a leg into the trousers, which persisted in tangling and twisting under his foot.

"So'm I. It's c-c-cold as the d-d-d-devil."

"And these—th-things—aren't any thicker than spider webs."

"Wait. I'll build you a great big fire.'

And he scooped up a number of dead twigs.

"P-P-Pierre! D-d-d-don't you d-d-dare c-come in s-sight of m-me."

"D-d-damn it! I don't want to see you."

"P-Pierre! Aren't you ash-sh-sh-shamed to talk like that?"

"Jack, this damned collar won't button."

"K-k-eep t-t-t-trying."

"Come help me."

"Pierre! How can I come dressed like th-th-this?"

"I'm n-n-not going to the dance."

"P-P-P-Pierre!"

"I'm not."

"Then I am."

"W-w-w-without me?"

"Y-y-yes."

"Jack, you're a flirt."

"I hate you, Pierre!"

"Thank G-G-G-God! The collar's on."

"I can't tie this th-th-thing."