. "Quick! We must haul him up
before he comes to."

Lennon did not budge.

"No, Miss Farley. That beast shall not again set foot in this place
until Elsie is safe away."

The girl's eyes widened. Her hand clutched and drew close across her
rounded bosom the folds of the blanket that she had flung about her
shoulders to cover her night gown. Her face paled and as quickly flushed
scarlet.

"I thought I heard sounds in the passage, but the rug curtain muffled
them," she murmured. "Was he trying to--to----"

"Had been drinking," replied Lennon. "My regret now is that the blow did
not kill him."

"And leave us no chance against Cochise? He's the only living creature
that Cochise fears. Can't you see we must make believe--must keep up
with him until we are rid of the Apaches? Bad as he is, he's a white
man. Cochise is a--devil! When he tired of Blossom, he'd give her to his
men."

Convinced against his will, Lennon began to wind in on the windlass.
Carmena went to the edge of the cliff. When the body of Slade came
spinning and swinging up out of the gloom she held down the light and
peered anxiously at the knot that held the rope about his thick ankles.
It showed no signs of slipping. His down-hung head wobbled up into the
flickering light of the candle. The face was purple; the bloodshot eyes
were glazed.

Carmena swung in the crane and freed the rope the moment Lennon eased
off. Slade was wheezing as if almost suffocated. At Carmena's urging,
Lennon helped her drag the stupefied man back into the living room. The
girl ran to fetch a bowl of water.

"Loosen your clothes," she whispered in Lennon's ear. "Hide your
moccasins--look as if you'd just jumped out of bed--get your arm back in
the sling. That's it. Now lift his head and shoulders up against this
chair."

As Lennon raised the flaccid upper body, Carmena began to dash water
into the purple face. The blotched skin gradually lightened to its
natural red. The pale eyes lost their fishy glaze. They stared dazedly
up into the deeply concerned face of Carmena. She flung the last cupful
of water from the bowl. Slade roused enough to mumble virulent curses.

"Oh!" exclaimed Carmena, in a tone of sympathetic relief. "He's not
dead--he's coming to. Oh, Mr. Slade, what happened? Did you fall against
the table? Or was it a fit? You looked terribly black in the face, as if
you'd had a fit. That's why I used the water. Jack held you up to drain
the blood out of your