dn't you?"

"Well, I don't now. I like Polly Roubideau better."

Abruptly she flung at him a statement that was a question. "You didn't
kill Mr. Webb."

"No. I never killed but one man without givin' him an even break. That
was Peg-Leg Warren, an' he was a cold-blooded murderer."

A troubled little frown creased her forehead. "I've thought for more than
a year now that you--liked me that way. And I've had it in my mind
a great deal as to what I ought to do if you spoke to me about it. I wish
you had a good wife, Jim. Maybe she could save you from yourself."

"Mebbe she could, Polly."

The lashes of her eyelids fell. She looked down at the bands of iron
around his small wrists. "I--I've prayed over it, Jim. But I'm not clear
that I've found an answer." Her low voice broke a little. "I don't know
what to say."

"Is it that you are afraid of what I'm goin' to be? Can't you trust yore
life with me? I shouldn't think you could."

Her eyes lifted and met his bravely. "I think that wouldn't stop me
if--if I cared for you that way."

"It's Billie Prince, then, is it?"

"No, it isn't Billie Prince. Never mind who it is. What I must decide is
whether I can make you the kind of wife you need without being exactly--"

"In love with me," he finished for her.

"Yes. I've always liked you very much. You've been good to me. I love you
like a brother, I think. Oh, I don't know how to say it."

"Let's get this straight, Polly. Is there some one else you love?"

A tide of color flooded her face to the roots of the hair. She met his
steady look reluctantly.

"We needn't discuss that, Jim."

"Needn't we?" He laughed a little, but his voice was rough with feeling.
"You're the blamedest little pilgrim ever I did see. What kind of a
fellow do you think I am? I ain't good enough for you--not by a thousand
miles. Even if you felt about me the way I do about you, it would be a
big risk for you to marry me. But now--Sho, little missionary, I ain't so
selfish as to let you sacrifice yore life for me."

"If I marry you it will be because I want to, Jim."

"You'll want to because you're such a good little Christian you think
it's up to you to save a brand from the burning. But I won't let you do
any such foolishness. You go marry that other man. If he's a good,
square, decent fellow, you'll be a whole lot better off than if you tied
up with a ne'er-do-well like me."

They heard a step on the porch.

"Don't forget. Three taps