d me you'd have told me.

"But I've got to have my horse for Eve. Her feet are wounded. She's in
her night-dress and wringing wet. I've got to set her on my horse and
try to take her through to Ghost Lake."

Darragh stared at Stormont, at the ghostly figure of the girl who had
sunk down on the sand at the lake's edge. Then he scrambled out of the
saddle and handed over the bridle.

"Quintana came back," said Stormont. "I hope to reckon with him some
day. ... I believe he came back to harm Eve. ... We got out of the
house. ... We swam the lake. ... I'd have gone under except for her----"

In his distress and overwhelming mortification, Darragh stood miserable,
mute, irresolute.

Stormont seemed to understand: "What you did, Jim, was well meant," he
said. "I understand. Eve will understand when I tell her. But that
fellow Quintana is a devil. You can't draw a herring across any trail
he follows. I tell you, Jim, this fellow Quintana is either blood-mad
or just plain crazy. Somebody will have to put him out of the way.
I'll do it if I ever find him."

"Yes. ... You people ought to do that. ... Or, if you like, I'll
volunteer. ... I've a little business to transact in New York, first.
... Jack, your tunic an breeches are soaked; I'll be glad to chip in
something for Eve. ... Wait a moment----"

He stepped into cover, drew the morocco box from his grey shirt, shoved
it into his hip pocket.

Then he threw off his cartridge belt and hunting coat, pulled the grey
shirt over his head and came out in his undershirt and breeches, with
the other garments hanging over his arm.

"Give her these," he said. "She can button the coat around her waist
for a skirt. She'd better go somewhere and get out of that soaking wet
night-dress----"

Eve, crouched on the sand, trying to wring out and twist up her drenched
hair, looked up at Stormont as he came toward her holding our Darragh's
dry clothing.

"You'd better do what you can with these," he said, trying to speak
carelessly. ... "_He_ says you'd better chuck -- what you're
wearing----"

She nodded in flushed comprehension. Stormont walked back to his horse,
his boots slopping water at every stride.

"I don't know any place nearer than Ghost Lake Inn," he said ... "except
Harrod's."

"That's where we're going, Jack," said Darragh cheerfully.

"That's _your_ place, isn't it?"

"It is. But I don't want Eve to know it. ... I think it better she
should not k