long as you lasts," said Willock with an
unwonted note of gentleness. Bill was so embarrassed by the tone that
he cringed awkwardly. After a pause, Willock suggested that Wilfred
wait for one more letter from Lahoma, provided it come within the next
twenty-four hours, then start up the trail for Chickasha and board the
train for Kansas. "She might write something that needed instant
work," he explained. "If so, I'd like to have you here. I'm looking
for developments in her next letter."

"Strange to me," muttered Bill, "about Red Feather and that sneaking
Gledware. Wonder how came the Indian with a pin on him that Gledware
knew of?"

Willock's face was twisted into a sardonic grin. "Guess I could
explain that, all right--but I says nothing beyond Lahoma's word. I
banks on document'ry proofs, and otherwise stands technical and
arbitrary."

Hitherto Wilfred, as guest of honor, had been offered the cabin as his
sleeping-quarters, and he had accepted it because of the countless
reminders of Lahoma's fresh and innocent life; but this night, he
shared the dugout with Bill, from a sense of impending danger. Until a
late hour they sat over the glowing coals, discussing their present
situation and offering conjectures about Willock's younger days. There
could hardly have been a stronger contrast between the emaciated old
man of the huge white mustache, thin reddish cheeks and shock of white
hair, and the broad-shouldered, handsome and erect young man--or the
stern and gloomy countenance of the former, and the expressive eyes and
flexible lips of Wilfred. Yet they seemed unconscious of any chasm of
age or disposition as they spoke in low tones, not without frequent
glances toward the barricaded door and the heavily curtained window.

The wind made strange noises overhead and at times one could be almost
certain there was the stamping of a man's foot upon the earthen roof.
The distant cry of a wild beast, and the nearer yelping of hungry
wolves mingled with the whistling of the wind. Sometimes Wilfred rose
and, passing noiselessly to the window, raised the curtain with a quick
gesture to stare out on a dark and stormy night; and once, in doing so,
he surprised a pair of red eyes under bristling gray hair which seemed
to glow hot as molten lead, as the fire from the open stove caught them
unaware.

"If my arms were tied," remarked Bill, "I'd rather trust myself to that
coyote than to Red Kimball. I hate to think o