no, no! It's all my fault. I sent you away. Oh, I wish I hadn't.
I wish I had let you come back when you wanted to. ... I was waiting for
you. ... I left the door unbolted for you. When it opened I thought it
was you. And it was Leverett! -- it was Leverett!----"

Stormont's face grew very white: "What did he do to you, Eve? Tell me,
darling. What did he do to you?"

"Dad's money was under my pillow," she wailed. "Leverett tried to make
me tell where it was. I wouldn't, and he hurt me----"

"How?"

"He pricked me with his knife. When I screamed for you he tried to
choke me with the pillow. Didn't you hear me scream?"

"Yes. I came on the jump."

"It was too late," she sobbed; "-- too late! He saw the money packet
under my pillow and he snatched it and ran. Somehow I found your rifle
and fired. I fired twice."

Her only bullet had torn his campaign hat from his head. But he did not
tell her.

"Let me see your neck," he said, bending closer.

She bared her throat, making a soft, vague complaint like a hurt bird,
-- lay there whimpering under her breath while he bathed the blood away
with lint, sterilised the two cuts from his emergency packet, and bound
them.

He was still bending low over her when her blue eyes unclosed on his.

"That is the second time I've tried to kill you," she whispered. "I
thought it was Leverett. ... I'd have died if I had killed you."

There was a silence.

"Lie very still," he said huskily. "I'll be back in a moment to
rebandage your feet and make you comfortable for the night."

"I can't sleep," she repeated desolately. "Dad trusted his money to me
and I've let Leverett rob me. How can I sleep?"

"I'll bring you something to make you sleep."

"I can't!"

"I promise you you will sleep. Lie still."

He rose, went away downstairs and out to the barn, where his campaign
hat lay in the weed, drilled through by a bullet.

There was something else lying there in the weeds, -- a flat, muddy,
shoeless shape sprawling grotesquely in the foggy starlight.

One hand clutched a hunting knife; the other a packet.

Stormont drew the packet from the stiff fingers, then turned the body
over, and, flashing his electric torch, examined the ratty visage --
what remained of it -- for his pistol bullet had crashed through from
ear to cheek-bone, almost obliterating the trap-robber's features.

* * * * *

Stormont came slowly into Eve's room and laid the packet on the