houghts were I
might not know, but they sat heavy upon her, closing her throat with the
torture of vain self-reproach. That much I sensed. But I could not
reassure her; could not volunteer to her that I welcomed her company, that
she was blameless, that I had only defended my honor, that affairs would
have reduced to pistol work without impulse from her--that, in short, the
responsibility had been wholly Daniel's. My own thoughts were so grievous
as to crush me with aching woe that forebade civil utterance.

This, then, was I: somebody who had just killed a man, had broken from the
open trail and was riding, he knew not where, through darkness worse than
night, himself an outlaw with an outlawed woman--at the best a chance
woman, an adventuring woman, and as everybody could know, a claimed
woman, product of dance hall and gaming resort, wife of a half-breed
gambler, and now spoil of fist and revolver.

But that which burned me almost to madness, like hot lava underneath the
deadening crust, was the thought that I had done a deed and a defensible
deed, and was fleeing from it the same as a criminal. Such a contingency
never had occurred to me or I might have taken a different course, still
with decency; although what course I could not figure.

We rode, our mules picking their way, occasionally stumbling on rocks and
shrubs. At last she spoke in low, even tones.

"What do you expect to do with me, please?"

"We shall have to do whatever is best for yourself," I managed to answer.
"That will be determined when we reach the stage line, I suppose."

"Thank you. Once at the stage line and I shall contrive. You must have no
thought of me. I understand very well that we should not travel far in
company--and you may not wish to go in my direction. You have plans of
your own?"

"None of any great moment. Everything has failed me, to date. There is
only the one place left: New York State, where I came from. I probably can
work my way back--at least, until I can recoup by telegraph message and
the mails."

"You have one more place than I," she replied. She hesitated. "Will you
let me lend you some money?"

"I've been paid my wages due," said I. "But," I added, "you have a place,
you have a home: Benton."

"Oh, Benton!" She laughed under breath. "Never Benton. I shall make shift
without Benton."

"You will tell me, though?" I urged. "I must have your address, to know
that you reach safety."

"You are strictly busines