ne to go into the very midst of their besiegers
encamped about the well, fill the canteens and return alive, but it was
a gallant and splendid try, and she would have liked a memory of his
grave face. It would have blotted out the look of Jimsy King's face,
singing his tipsy song. She thought she would keep on seeing that as
long as she lived, and that made it less terrible to think that she
might not live many more hours.

CHAPTER XV

They would not leave her alone. Carter came to stay with her and she
sent him away, and then Madeline King came, her very blue eyes red
rimmed and deep with understanding, but Honor could not talk with her
nor listen to her. She went away, shaking her head, and Josita came in
her place. Honor did not mind the little Mexican serving woman. She did
not try to talk to her. She just crouched on the floor at her feet and
prayers slipped from her tongue and her fingers:

_Padre Nuestra qui estas en los cielos--_

and presently:

_Santa Maria--_

Honor found herself listening a little scornfully. Was there indeed a
Father in the heavens or anywhere else who concerned Himself about
things like this? Josita seemed to think so. She was in terror, but she
was clinging to something ... somewhere.... Honor decided that she did
not mind the murmur of her voice; she could go on with her thinking just
the same. _Jimsy._ _Jimsy King_--Jimsy--"Wild"--King. What was she going
to do? What had she promised Stepper that day on the way to the train?
It all came back to her like a scene on the screen--the busy
streets--the feel of the wheel in her hands again--Stepper's slow
voice--"But, if the worst should be true, if the boy really has gone to
pieces, you won't marry him?" And her own words--"No; if Jimsy should
be--like his father--I wouldn't marry him, Stepper. There shouldn't be
any _more_ 'Wild Kings.'"

That was her promise to her stepfather, her best friend. But what had
been her promise to Jimsy, that day on the shore below the Malibou Ranch
when they sat in the little pocket of rocks and sand and sun, and he had
given her the ring with the clasped hands? Hadn't she said--"I do
believe you, Jimsy. I'll never stop believing you!" Yes, but how was she
to go on believing that he would not do the thing she saw him do? How
compass that? Her love and loyalty began to fling themselves against
that solid wall of ugly fact and to fall back, bruised, breathless.

Jimsy King of