oken to you."

"To be sure. I suppose you signed the letter?"

"Certainly."

"That was a mistake. You must rewrite it, leaving out your name, and
send it. All you need to say is that the man who robbed the Bayou State
Security is escaping on the _Belle Julie_; that he is disguised as a
deck-hand, and that his name on the steamer's books is John Wesley
Gavitt. That will be amply sufficient."

"But that isn't your name," she asserted.

"No; but that doesn't matter. It is the name that will find me."

She was silent for a moment. Then: "Why mustn't I sign it? They will pay
no attention to an anonymous letter. And, besides, it seems so--so
cowardly."

"They will telegraph to every river landing ahead of us within an hour
after your letter reaches New Orleans; you needn't doubt that. And the
suppression of your name isn't cowardly; it is merely a justifiable bit
of self-protection. It is your duty to give the alarm; but when you have
done that, your responsibility ceases. There are plenty of people who
can identify me if I am taken back to New Orleans. You don't want to be
summoned as a witness, and you needn't be."

She saw the direct, man-like wisdom of all this, and was quick to
appreciate his delicate tact in effacing the question of the reward
without even referring to it. But his stoicism was almost appalling.

"It is very shocking!" she murmured; "only you don't seem to realize it
at all."

"Don't I? You must remember that I have been arguing from your point of
view. My own is quite unchanged. It is your duty to do what you must
do; it is my affair to avert the consequences to myself, if I can
manage it without taking an unfair advantage of your frankness."

"What will you do?"

"It would be bad faith now for me to try to run away from the steamer,
as I meant to do. So far, you have bound me by your candor. But beyond
that I make no promises. My parole will be at an end when the officers
appear, and I shall do what I can to dodge, or to escape if I am taken.
Is that fair?"

"It is more than fair: I can't understand."

"What is it that you can't understand?"

"How you can do this; how you can do such things as the one you did last
night, and still----"

He finished the sentence for her.--"And still be a common robber of
banks, and the like. I fancy it is a bit puzzling--from your point of
view. Sometime, perhaps, we shall all understand things better than we
do now, but to that time, and beyond it,