nvarying attitude toward her.
This was, to say the least, a further awkward complication for her
feelings. She already had enough to confuse them.

CHAPTER XIV

NAN DRIFTS

Without going in to speak to Gale, whom Bull Page, his nurse, reported
very cross but not hurt much, Nan left her packet for him and rode
home. Her uncle Duke was in town. She had the house to herself, with
only Bonita, the old Mexican serving-woman, and Nan ate her late
supper alone.

The longer she pondered on de Spain and his dilemma--and her own--the
more she worried. When she went to bed, up-stairs in her little gable
room, she thought sleep--never hard for her to woo--would relieve her
of her anxiety for at least the night. But she waited in vain for
sleep. She was continually asking herself whether de Spain was really
very badly hurt, or whether he might be only tricking her into
thinking he was. Assailed by conflicting doubts, she tossed on her
pillow till a resolve seized her to go up again to his hiding-place
and see what she could see or hear--possibly, if one were on foot, she
could uncover a plot.

She dressed resolutely, buckled a holster to her side, and slipping a
revolver--a new one that Gale had given her--into it for protection,
she walked softly down-stairs and out of doors.

The night air was clear with a three-quarter moon well up in the sky.
She took her way rapidly along the trail to the mountain, keeping as
much as possible within the great shadows cast by the towering peaks.
Not a sound met her acute listening as she pressed on--not a living
thing seemed to move anywhere in the whole great Gap, except this
slender-footed, keen-eyed girl, whose heart beat with apprehension of
wiles, stratagems, and ambush concerning the venture she was making.

Breathing stealthily and keyed to a tense feeling of uncertainty and
suspicion, Nan at length found herself below the ledge where de Spain
was in hiding. She stopped and, with the craft of an Indian, stood
perfectly still for a very long time before she began to climb up to
where the enemy lay. Hearing no sound, she took courage and made the
ascent. She reached without adventure the corner of the ledge where
she had first seen him, and there, lying flat, listened again.

Hearing only the music of the little cascade, she swept the ledge as
well as she could with her eyes, but it was now so far in shadow as to
lie in impenetrable darkness. Hardly daring to breathe, she