Andy swore in his astonishment and gave his horse a kick as a
mild hint for haste. He thought he knew every woman-voice in
the neighborhood--or had until the colony came--but this
voice, high and sweet and with a compelling note that stirred
him vaguely, was absolutely strange. While he loped forward,
silenced for the moment, he was conscious of a swift, keen
thankfulness that Pink had at the last minute decided to stay
in camp that night instead of accompanying Andy to One Man.
He was in that mood when a sentimental encounter appealed to
him strongly; and a woman's voice, singing to him from One
Man cabin, promised undetermined adventure.
He did not sing again. There had been something in the voice
that held him quiet, listening, expectant. But she also was
silent after that last, high note--like a meadow lark
startled in the middle of his song, thought Andy whimsically.
He came within sight of the cabin, squatting in the shadow of
the grove at its back. He half expected ,to see a light, but
the window was dark, the door closed as he had left it. He
felt a faint, unreasoning disappointment that it was so. But
he had heard her. That high note that lingered upon the word
"here" still tingled his senses. His eyes sent seeking
glances here and there as he rode up.
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