be able
to see the sun rise. I've sort of lost my interest in the sunset."

"Now, Cliff," she said, as soon as the camp was in order and a fire
started, "I reckon you'd better ride on. I haven't any further use for
you."

"Don't say that, Berrie," he pleaded. "I can't leave you here alone with
a sick man. Let me stay and help."

She looked at him for a long time before she replied. "I shall never be
able to look at you again without hating you," she said. "I shall always
remember you as you looked when you were killing that boy. So you'd
better ride on and keep a-riding. I'm going to forget all this just as
soon as I can, and it don't help me any to have you around. I never want
to see you or hear your name again."

"You don't mean that, Berrie!"

"Yes, I do," she asserted, bitterly. "I mean just that. So saddle up and
pull out. All I ask of you is to say nothing about what has happened
here. You'd better leave the state. If Wayland should get worse it might
go hard with you."

He accepted his banishment. "All right. If you feel that way I'll ride.
But I'd like to do something for you before I go. I'll pile up some
wood--"

"No. I'll take care of that." And without another word of farewell she
turned away and re-entered the tent.

Mounting his horse with painful slowness, as though suddenly grown old,
the reprieved assassin rode away up the mountain, his head low, his eyes
upon the ground.

XII

BERRIE'S VIGIL

The situation in which Berea now found herself would have disheartened
most women of mature age, but she remained not only composed, she was
filled with an irrational delight. The nurse that is in every woman was
aroused in her, and she looked forward with joy to a night of vigil,
confident that Wayland was not seriously injured and that he would soon
be able to ride. She had no fear of the forest or of the night. Nature
held no menace now that her tent was set and her fire alight.

Wayland, without really knowing anything about it, suspected that he owed
his life to her intervention, and this belief deepened the feeling of
admiration which he had hitherto felt toward her. He listened to her at
work around the fire with a deepening sense of his indebtedness to her,
and when she looked in to ask if she could do anything for him, his
throat filled with an emotion which rendered his answer difficult.

As his mind cleared he became very curious to know precisely what had
taken place, but he