d
afterward!"

"You're one white girl," Garland said with emphasis, "but I'm in too
deep. You can tell him if you like, and you can tell him I'm pulling
out. I never meant to do more than bluff you. Good-by."

He was gone. Faith got water, towels, and bathed Angus' head. Touching
the wound with tender fingers she found that as Garland had said it was
apparently in the scalp merely. Presently Angus sighed, stirred,
muttered and opened his eyes.

"Hello!" he said, and as recollection came to him he sat up suddenly,
staring around. "Where are they?" he demanded.

"They are gone, dear. It's all right. Don't try to get up."

But he shook his head impatiently and rose to his feet.

"What happened? Blake French and Garland! What were they doing? What's
the matter with your hair? Your dress is torn." A tremendous expletive
burst from him. "What are those marks on your throat?"

Her hand fluttered upward involuntarily. "Nothing. Never mind now.
Please----"

"They laid hands on you!" he cried. "On _you_! And I wasn't here! Tell
me. No, no, I'm all right. Tell me!"

She told him, seeing his face set and grow rigid. He groaned.

"They stretched a rope between two trees, and I rode into it. The fall
almost knocked me out, and they finished the job. They roped me up. It
took me a long time to get loose." He held out his wrists, stripped of
skin to the raw flesh. "I was afraid of some devil's work, but----" He
broke off, shaking his head, and put his hand to his left side. When he
removed it his finger tips were stained.

"Oh, you are hurt--twice!" Faith cried.

"I don't think this is much." He stripped himself to the waist. The
lamplight revealed a red furrow lying along his ribs, but though it bled
freely the skin was little more than broken. To Faith's pleading to lie
down he shook his head. On his instructions she brought an old sheet
which he ripped into a long bandage. "That was Blake's first shot," he
said as he replaced his garments. "He'll have to do better shooting than
that--next time."

"Next time?" she exclaimed.

He did not reply, but going into the hall came back with a rifle in one
hand and his gun belt in the other.

"Old girl, please rustle me some grub--cold meat and bread--and put it
in an old sugar sack."

"But Angus, what are you going to do?"

"To do? I am going after Blake French and Garland, of course."

"But you are hurt. You are not fit--"

"I am not hurt at all--to speak of. I have