man. Now, her blood was losing its fever. With the slowing
pulse, the softer instincts prevailed to thwart her purpose. Despite
an anguished eagerness, she could not kill this trembling wretch. She
loathed her frailty, even as she yielded to it. She must let him go
unscathed, a foe the more dangerous after this humiliation. Of no use
to threaten him, to extort promises. There was no truth in him. He
must be left free to work what evil he would. Oh, if only the wrath in
her had not died too soon!

"Put yer han's down, an' march up the trail," she commanded,
presently. Her voice was lifeless. The man drew new hope from the
quality of it. He ventured no resistance to the command, but went
padding softly through the dust. Behind him, Plutina followed, her
bare feet padding an echo. Her right hand hung at her side, but it
retained the revolver, ready for instant use. As she came to Hodges'
rifle, she picked it up, and threw it far down into the ravine. At the
clattering noise of its fall, the outlaw started, but he did not pause
in his stride, or turn. The girl's whole soul was convulsed with
longing that he should make some effort of revolt--anything. Then, she
would shoot and kill--oh, so gladly!

But the instinct to live guided the man. He trudged meekly. There was
no excuse against him. So, they came at last near to the Siddon
clearing, where a little path ran through the wood toward the house.
Here, Plutina paused, without a word. She was ashamed of herself,
grievously ashamed of this softness of fiber that had spared a life.
Without a word, she watched him pass along the trail, up the slope,
and out of sight beyond. Her face was drawn and white, and the great
eyes were brooding with bitterness, when, finally, she stirred, and
moved forward in the path. She slipped the revolver into its holster.
Then, her fingers went to the bag that held the fairy cross to her
breast. She fondled it tenderly. She was longing as never before for
the giver of the talisman.

CHAPTER XV

Plutina had no sleep the night following her encounter with Dan
Hodges. Throughout the dragging hours, she was tortured by sinister
imaginings. She exhausted her brain in futile strivings for some means
of escape from the mesh of circumstance. It was not until the gray
twilight of dawn shone through the curtains that a possibility of
relief stirred in her mind. It was out of desperation that the idea
sprang. She felt herself so utterly forlor