ttered a low cry.

The man did not seem to notice. "But the man will do as he promised, Miss
Andres. He wishes to make the girl his wife. He can give her all that
women, these days, seem to desire in marriage. In the eyes of the world,
she would be envied by thousands. And the convict would gain freedom and
the right to live an honorable life--the right to earn his bread by doing
an honest man's work. Freedom and a life of honorable service, at the
price; or hell, with only the memory of a good deed--which should he
choose, Miss Andres? The convict is past deciding for himself."

The troubled answer came out of the honesty of the girl's heart; "Mr.
Marston, I do not know."

A moment, the man on the other side of the fireplace waited. Then, rising,
he quietly left the cabin. The girl did not know that he was gone, until
she heard the door close.

* * * * *

In that log hut, hidden in the deep gorge, in the wild Cold Water country,
Sibyl Andres sat before the dying fire, waiting for the dawn. On a high,
wind-swept ledge in the Galena mountains, Aaron King grimly walked his
weary beat. In Clear Creek Canyon, Myra Willard and Conrad Lagrange
waited, and Brian Oakley planned for the morrow. Over in the Galena
Valley, an automobile from Fairlands stopped at the mouth of a canyon
leading toward Granite Peak. Somewhere, in the darkness of the night, a
man strove to know right from wrong.

Chapter XXXVII

The Man Was Insane

Neither Sibyl Andres nor her companion, the next morning, reopened their
conversation of the night before. Each was preoccupied and silent, with
troubled thoughts that might not be spoken.

Often, as the forenoon passed, Sibyl saw the man listening, as though for
a step on the mountainside above. She knew, without being told, that the
convict was expecting his master. It was, perhaps, ten o'clock, when they
heard a sound that told them some one was approaching.

The man caught up his rifle and slipped a round of cartridges into the
magazine; saying to the girl, "Go into the cabin and bar the door; quick,
do as I say! Don't come out until I call you."

She obeyed; and the convict, himself, rifle in hand, disappeared in the
heavy underbrush.

A few minutes later, James Rutlidge parted the bushes and stepped into the
little open space in front of the cabin. The convict reappeared, his rifle
under his arm.

The new-comer greeted the man whom Sibyl knew as