There was no light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for
him on the porch.

She embraced him, and the sudden, violent, unfamiliar contact sent such
a shock through him that he all but forgot the deep game he was playing.
She, however, in her agitation did not notice his shrinking. From her
embrace and the tender, incoherent words that flowed with it he gathered
that Euchre had acquainted her of his action with Black.

"He might have killed you," she whispered, more clearly; and if Duane
had ever heard love in a voice he heard it then. It softened him. After
all, she was a woman, weak, fated through her nature, unfortunate in
her experience of life, doomed to unhappiness and tragedy. He met her
advance so far that he returned the embrace and kissed her. Emotion such
as she showed would have made any woman sweet, and she had a certain
charm. It was easy, even pleasant, to kiss her; but Duane resolved that,
whatever her abandonment might become, he would not go further than the
lie she made him act.

"Buck, you love me?" she whispered.

"Yes--yes," he burst out, eager to get it over, and even as he spoke
he caught the pale gleam of Jennie's face through the window. He felt
a shame he was glad she could not see. Did she remember that she had
promised not to misunderstand any action of his? What did she think of
him, seeing him out there in the dusk with this bold woman in his
arms? Somehow that dim sight of Jennie's pale face, the big dark eyes,
thrilled him, inspired him to his hard task of the present.

"Listen, dear," he said to the woman, and he meant his words for the
girl. "I'm going to take you away from this outlaw den if I have to kill
Bland, Alloway, Rugg--anybody who stands in my path. You were dragged
here. You are good--I know it. There's happiness for you somewhere--a
home among good people who will care for you. Just wait till--"

His voice trailed off and failed from excess of emotion. Kate Bland
closed her eyes and leaned her head on his breast. Duane felt her heart
beat against his, and conscience smote him a keen blow. If she loved
him so much! But memory and understanding of her character hardened him
again, and he gave her such commiseration as was due her sex, and no
more.

"Boy, that's good of you," she whispered, "but it's too late. I'm done
for. I can't leave Bland. All I ask is that you love me a little and
stop your gun-throwing."

The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of dark moun