if you're alone in the room," she said in a
whisper.

Goodheart came into the parlor with Pierre Roubideau. "Expect we'd better
turn in, Clanton. We've got to make an early start to-morrow."

The prisoner rose at once. Pauline had drawn her father aside and was
giving him some instructions. The old Frenchman nodded, smiling. He
understood her little feminine devices and was a cheerful victim of them.

The young woman found a chance for a word alone with the deputy.

"I want to see you to-night, Jack, about--something." Her eyes were very
bright and the color in the soft cheeks high. She spoke almost in a
whisper.

The lank young sheriff had the soul of an inarticulate poet. Beneath the
tan of his leathery face the blood burned. This was the first really kind
word he had had from her since their arrival. All her solicitation had
been for the condemned youth in his care. Perhaps all she wanted now was
to ask some favor for Clanton, but hope leaped in his heart.

He made arrangements for the night in his usual careful way. It was not
pleasant to have to watch the prisoner as a cat does a mouse, but
Goodheart was thorough in whatever he undertook. Skillfully he tied
Clanton in such a way as to allow him enough freedom of motion to change
position without giving him enough to make it possible for him to untie
himself.

"Back after a while" he told Jim.

The young man on the bed grunted sleepily and the deputy returned to the
parlor.

Pauline, still in her kitchen apron, smiled in at the door upon him and
her father.

"You two go out on the porch and smoke your pipes," she said. "I have to
finish my work in the kitchen, then I have to go down to the cellar and
take care of the milk. Ill not be long."

Pierre, an obedient parent, rose and moved toward the porch. Before
he left the room Goodheart took the precaution to lock the bedroom
door and pocket the key. He was a little ashamed of this, but he knew
that Go-Get-'Em Jim was a very competent and energetic person. Convicted
and sentenced though he was, Clanton still boasted with cool aplomb that
there would be no hanging on the sixth. The deputy strolled round to the
back of the house to make sure his assistant was still on the job. After
a few words with the man he returned to the porch. He was satisfied there
was no possible chance of an escape. The prisoner lay handcuffed and tied
to a bed by the champion roper of the Southwest. The door of the room was
locke