r money-sack filled with the night's receipts of her hotel, then at
the fastenings of her door. She knew that law was but a pretense and
order a mockery in the camp, but the next instant she slid back the bolt
and let in a flood of morning sunlight.

There, leaning against her wall, was a tall, dark young man whose head
was hanging loosely and rolling from side to side. His hair beneath the
gray Stetson was wet, his boots were sodden and muddy, one arm was
thrust limply into the front of his coat as if paralyzed. She saw that
the sleeve was caked with blood. Even as she spoke he sagged forward and
slid down at her feet.

She was not the sort to run for help, and so, taking him under the
armpits, she had him on her bed and his sleeve cut away before he opened
his eyes. It was but an instant's work to heat a basin of water; then
she fell to bathing the wound. When she drew forth the shreds of cloth
that had been taken into the flesh by the bullet, the man's face grew
ghastly and she heard his teeth grind, but he made no other sound.

"That hurt, didn't it?" she smiled at him, and he tried to smile back.
"How did it happen?" she queried.

"Accident."

"You have come a long way?"

He nodded.

"Why didn't you ask for help?"

"It--wasn't worth while."

She looked at him wonderingly, admiring his gameness; then was surprised
to hear him say:

"So you're June!"

"Yes."

He closed his eyes and lay still while she poured some brandy for him;
then he said:

"Please don't bother. I must be going."

"Not till you've eaten something." She laid a soft, cool palm upon his
forehead when he endeavored to rise, and he dropped back again, watching
her curiously.

He had barely finished eating when another footstep sounded outside and
a heavy knock followed.

"Hey, June!" called a voice. "Are you up?"

It was Jim Devlin, the marshal, and the girl rose, only to stop at the
look she saw in the wounded man's face. His dark eyes had widened;
desperation haunted them.

"What is it, Mr. Devlin?" she answered.

"Have you seen anything of a wounded man within the last half-hour?"

She flashed another glance at her guest, to find him staring at her
defiantly, but there was no appeal in his face. "What in the world do
you mean?"

"There was a hold-up at Anvil Creek, and some shooting. We're pretty
sure one of the gang was hit, but he got away. Pete, the waterman, says
he saw a sick-looking fellow crossing the tundra in t