a few minutes he stood without moving, a little dazed by the
suddenness with which she had left him. She had not been in his room
more than a minute or two. She had been terribly frightened, terribly
afraid of discovery before her work was done. On the floor at his feet
lay the knife. _That_ was why she had come, _that_ was what she had
brought him! His blood began to tingle. He could feel it resuming its
course through his numbed legs and arms, and he leaned over slowly, half
afraid that he would lose his balance, and picked up the weapon. The
chanting of Wapi and his people was only a distant murmur; through the
high window came the sound of returning voices--voices of white men.

There swept through him the wild thrill of the thought that once more
the fight was up to him. Marge O'Doone had done her part. She had struck
down the Indian woman Hauck had placed over her as a guard--had escaped
from her room, unbound him, and put a knife into his hands. The rest was
_his_ fight. How long before Brokaw or Hauck would come? Would they give
him time to get the blood running through his body again? Time to gain
strength to use his freedom--and the knife? He began walking slowly
across the room, pumping his arms up and down. His strength returned
quickly. He went to the pail of water and drank deeply with a consuming
thirst. The water refreshed him, and he paced back and forth more and
more swiftly, until he was breathing steadily and he could harden his
muscles and knot his fists. He looked at the knife. It was a horrible
necessity--the burying of that steel in a man's back, or his heart! Was
there no other way, he wondered? He began searching the room. Why hadn't
Marge brought him a club instead of a knife, or at least a club along
with the knife? To club a man down, even when he was intent on murder,
wasn't like letting out his life in a gush of blood.

His eyes rested on the table, and in a moment he had turned it over and
was wrenching at one of the wooden legs. It broke off with a sharp snap,
and he held in his hand a weapon possessing many advantages over the
knife. The latter he thrust into his belt with the handle just back of
his hip. Then he waited.

It was not for long. The western mountains had shut out the last
reflections of the sun. Gloom was beginning to fill his room, and he
numbered the minutes as he stood, with his ear close to the door,
listening for a step, hopeful that it would be the Girl's and not