d Both exits from the house were guarded. Jack felt that he could
safely enjoy a smoke.

Chapter XXXI

Goodheart Makes a Promise and Breaks It

Pauline was a singularly honest little soul, but she now discovered in
herself unsuspected capacity for duplicity. She went singing about her
work, apparently care-free as a lark. Presently, still humming a French
chanson, she appeared on the porch swinging a key, passed the two men
with a gay little nod, and disappeared around the corner of the house
to the cellar.

The rancher apologized for the key. "We've had to lock the cellar lately
since so many movers have been going through on this road. Eh bien! Our
hams--they took wings and flew."

Polly rattled the milk pans for a moment or two and then listened. From
above there came to her the sound of three faint raps on the woodwork of
the bed. She crept up the stairs that led from the cellar into the house.
At the top of them was a trapdoor. Very slowly and carefully she pushed
this up. Through the opening she passed into a bedroom.

Softly the girl stole to the bed. From the cellar she had brought a
butcher knife and with this she sawed at the rope which bound the
prisoner.

"But your handcuffs. What can we do about them?" she whispered.

Clanton stretched his stiff muscles. He made no answer in words. For a
moment or two his arms writhed, then from out of the iron bracelet his
long slender hand slowly twisted. Soon the second wrist was also free.

"I've had a lot of fun poked at my girl hands, but they come in useful
sometimes," he murmured.

"I'll have to hurry back or I'll be missed," she told him. "You'll find a
saddled horse in the aspens."

He caught her by the shoulders and held her fast. "You've been the
truest little friend ever a man had. You've stuck by me an' believed in
me even when I didn't believe in myself any longer. No matter what folks
said about me or about you for takin' an interest in such a scamp, you
never quit fightin' to keep me decent. I've heard tell of guardian
angels--well, that's what you've been to me, little pilgrim."

"I haven't forgotten the boy who rode up Escondido Canon to save me from
death and dishonor," Pauline cried softly.

"You've paid that debt fifty times. I owe you more than I can tell. I
wisht I knew a way to pay it."

Her soft and dusky eyes clung to his pleadingly. "If you get away, Jim,
you _will_ be good, won't you?"

"I'll be as good as I've got it