ood still; he knew that once
more he must return to captivity.

CHAPTER VIII

TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW

Jacky held her treasure fast. The choking grip of the running noose
quieted Golden Eagle into perfect docility. Bunning-Ford was off his
horse in a moment. Approaching the primitive dwelling he forced open the
crazy door. It was a patchwork affair and swung back on a pair of hinges
which lamented loudly as the accumulation of rust were disturbed. The
interior was essentially suggestive of the half-breed, and his guess at
its purpose had been a shrewd one. Part storehouse for forage, part
bedroom, and part stable, it presented a squalid appearance. The portion
devoted to stable-room was far in the back; the curious apparatus which
constituted the bed was placed under the window.

The man propped the door open, and then went to relieve the girl from
the strain of holding her captive. Seizing the lariat he gripped it
tightly and proceeded to pass slowly, hand over hand, towards the
beautiful, wild-eyed chestnut. Golden Eagle seemed to understand, for,
presently, the tension of the rope relaxed. For a moment the animal
looked fearfully around and snorted, then, as "Lord" Bill determinedly
attempted to lead him, he threw himself backward. His rebellion lasted
but for an instant, for, presently, drooping his proud head as though in
token of submission, he followed his captor quietly into the stable
which had always been his.

The girl dismounted, and, shortly after, "Lord" Bill rejoined her.

"Well?" she asked, her questioning eyes turned in the direction of the
cave.

"He's snug enough," Bill replied quietly, glancing at his watch. He
looked up at the chilly sky, then he seated himself on the edge of a
boulder which reposed beside the entrance to the stable. "We've just got
two hours and a half before dark," he added slowly. "That means an hour
in which to talk." Then he quietly prepared to roll a cigarette. "Now,
Jacky, let's have your yarn first; after that you shall hear mine."

He leisurely proceeded to pick over the tobacco before rolling it in the
paper. He was usually particular about his smoke. He centered his
attention upon the matter now, purposely, so as to give his companion a
chance to tell her story freely. He anticipated that what she had to
tell would affect her nearly. But his surmise of the direction in which
she would be affected proved totally incorrect. Her first words told him
this.