a
certainty; then you will go East with me."

"But you cannot do a thing so horrible!" she exclaimed "I would tell my
story to the first people we met."

He laughed grimly, as he retorted with brutal meaning, "You do not seem to
understand. You will be glad enough to keep the story a secret--when the
time comes to go."

Bewildered by fear and shame, the girl could only stammer, "How could
you--oh how could you! Why, why--"

"Why!" he echoed. Then, as he went a step toward her, he exclaimed, with
reckless profanity, "Ask the God who made me what I am, why I want you!
Ask the God who made you so beautiful, why!"

He moved another step toward her, his face flushed with the insane passion
that mastered him, his eyes burning with the reckless light of one past
counting the cost; and the girl, seeing, sprang to her feet, in terror.
Wheeling suddenly, she ran into the cabin, thinking to shut and bar the
door. She reached the door, and swung it shut, but the bar was gone. While
he was in the cabin he had placed it out of her reach. Putting his
shoulder to the door, the man easily forced it open against her lighter
weight. As he crossed the threshold, she sprang to the farthest corner of
the little room, and cowered, trembling--too shaken with horror to cry
out. A moment he paused; then started toward her.

At that instant, the convict burst through the underbrush into the little
opening.

Hearing the sound, Rutlidge wheeled and sprang to the open door.

The convict was breathing heavily from the exertion of a hard run.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Rutlidge, sharply. "What's the
matter?"

"Some one is following my trail down from Granite Peak."

"Well, what are you carrying that rifle for?" said Rutlidge, harshly, with
an oath.

"There may be others near enough to hear a shot," answered the convict.
"Besides, Mr. Rutlidge, this is your part of the game--not mine. I did not
agree to commit murder for you."

"Where did you see him?"

"A half mile beyond the head of the gulch, where we turn off to go to the
supply point."

Rutlidge, rifle in hand, stepped from the house. "You stay here and take
care of the girl--and see that she doesn't scream." With the last word he
set out at a run.

The convict sprang into the cabin, where Sibyl still crouched in the
corner. The man's voice was imploring as he said, "Miss Andres, Miss
Andres, what is the matter? Did he touch you? Tell me, did he harm you?"

Sobbing