I do?"

The man seemed to hear now, and to understand. He sprang up, spun about,
and tossed his head.

"What will I do! Shoot 'em!--scalp every mother's son of 'em!" And he
brought his fist down on the little mantel-piece till the bits of gold
remaining and the little trinkets leapt half way across the room.

The little woman lay a moment silent, and then she threw back the
clothes, and pushing Sandy back, as if he had been a great child, sprang
up again, and again dashed through the door.

Limber Tim had been standing there all the time, half hidden behind the
fence, against which he had glued his back, waiting to be of some use if
possible to the guardian angel of the camp. There was also a row of men
reaching within hail all the way down to the town, waiting to be of
help, for Limber Tim had told them the Widow was ill.

The man started from his fastening on the fence at sight of this
apparition, wild, half-clad, with her hair all down about her loose,
ungathered garments, and he stood before her.

"I want to go home," the woman cried, wringing her hands. "I want to go
home. I will go home. There is something wrong. You do not understand.
Sandy is an angel; I am a devil. I want to go home."

The strong man's arms were about her again as she stood there on the
edge of the fence, and he bore her back, half fainting and quite
exhausted, into the house.

He laid her down, and stood back as if half frightened at what he had
done. Never before had he put out a finger, said a word, held a thought,
contrary to her slightest and most unreasonable whim. Then he came back
timidly, as if he was afraid he would frighten her, for she began to
tremble again, and she was whiter than before. She did not look up, she
was looking straight ahead, down toward her feet, but she knew he was
there--knew he would hear her, let her speak never so low.

"When the great trouble comes, Sandy, when the trouble comes and covers
both of us with care, will you remember that you would not put me off?
When the trouble comes, will you ever remember that you would not let me
go away? that you would not go away? Will you remember, Sandy?"

She was getting wild again, and sprang up in bed as she said this last,
and looked the man in his face so earnest, so pleading, so pitiful, that
Sandy put up his two hands and swore a solemn oath to remember.

She sank back in bed, drew the clothes about her, hid her face from the
light, and then Sandy drew