"I understand, Mr. Westerfelt" she broke in, quickly. "Don't bring up
that subject again. What you said when I last saw you was enough. It
almost kept me from coming to-night, but it was my duty; but you do not
have to say any more about that." She took a step backward and stood
staring at him in mute misery. She had never felt that she was worthy
of him, in a way, but his cold reference--as she understood it--to her
misfortune released a spring of resentment she hardly knew was wound in
her breast.

"Forgive me," he pleaded, trying to regain her hands. "I'll never
mention it again. I promise you that--never again."

"It's all right," she answered, softening under his passionate gaze.
"But it would be kind of you to avoid mentioning what I cannot help."

He was about to reply, but there was a sound of barking dogs from the
mountain. "Go quick!" She caught her breath. "Don't wait! That may
be them now. Don't let them kill you."

He did not stir. "You'd better go home," he said, calmly. "I don't
care a straw what becomes of me. I've had enough of the whole
business. I have got as much right to live as anybody else, and I will
not be driven from pillar to post by a gang of outlaws, headed by a
coward." He drew a revolver, and, half cocking it, carelessly twirled
the cylinder with his thumb. "I've got five thirty-two-caliber shots
here, and I think I can put some of them where they ought to go."

She pushed the revolver down with her hand. "No, no!" she cried, "you
must not be reckless."

"I am a pretty good shot," he went on, bitterly, "and Toot Wambush
shall be my first target, if I can pick him out. Then the rest may do
what they like with me. You go home. It will do you no good to be
seen with me."

She caught his arm. "If you don't go, I'll stay right here with you.
Hush! Listen! What was--? Great Heavens, they are coming. Go! Go!"

She glided swiftly to the door, and he followed her. Coming along the
Hawkbill road, about an eighth of a mile distant, they saw a body of
horsemen, their heads and shoulders dressed in white. His revolver
slipped from his fingers and rang on a fallen anvil. He picked it up
mechanically, still staring into the moonlight. Again he wondered if
he were afraid, as he was that night at the hotel.

"Run! get out a horse," she cried. "Mr. Washburn is there; he will
help you! Go quick, for God's sake! I shall kill myself if they harm
you." He stared