."

The sheriff blew out the light, opened the door, called softly to Jim,
led him into the hut, closed the door, relighted the candle
and--blushed. Jim looked at the sheriff out of the top of his eyes, and
then blushed himself--then he looked at the wounded man. There was for a
moment an awkward silence, which Jim broke by clearing his throat
violently, after which he said:

"Now, both of you make your minds easy. Nobody'll never find you
here--I've hunted through all these woods, but never saw _this_ cabin
before. Arm broke?"

"No," said the counterfeiter, "but--but it runs in the family to shoot
ugly."

Again the sheriff kissed the man repeatedly.

"Then you can move in two or three days," said Jim, "if you're taken
care of rightly. Nobody'll suspect anything wrong about the sheriff, ef
he don't turn up again right away. I'll go back to town, throw everybody
off the track, and bring out a few things to make you comfortable."

Jim looked at the sheriff again, blushed again, and started for the
door. The wounded man sprang to his feet, and hoarsely whispered:

"Swear--ask God to send you to hell if you play false--swear by
everything you love and respect and hope for, that you won't let my
daughter be disgraced because she happened to have a rascal for her
father!"

Jim hesitated for a moment; then he seized the sheriff's hand.

"I ain't used to swearin' except on somethin' I can see," said he, "an'
the bizness is only done in one way," with this he kissed the little
hand in his own, and dashed out of the cabin with a very red face.

Within ten minutes Jim met his brother and Braymer.

"No use, boys," said he, "might as well go back, There ain't no fears
but what the sheriff'll be smart enough to do 'em yet, if he's alive,
an' if he's dead we can't help _him_ any."

"If he's dead," remarked Bill Braymer, "an' there's any pay due him, I
hope part of it'll come for these horses. Mine's dead, an' Pete's might
as well be."

"Well," said Jim, "I'll go on to town. I want to be out early in the
mornin' an' see ef I can't get a deer, an' it's time I was in bed." And
Jim galloped off.

The horse and man which might have been seen threading the woods at
early daybreak on the following morning, might have set for a picture of
one of Sherman's bummers. For a month afterward Jim's mother bemoaned
the unaccountable absence of a tin pail, a meal-bag, two or three
blankets, her only pair of scissors, and sundry other