loose; he could go elsewhere. He _would_ go elsewhere.

Softly he tip-toed to his own corner of the car, looking over his
shoulder with anxious eyes to see that his movements did not disturb
them. He gathered up his belongings: an ancient violin case, a stout
walking stick, a goodly sized pack done up in gaudy cloth, a well-worn
pair of sandals with long, frayed lacings. As gently he stole back to
the door. Here he sat down, with his feet hanging outside the car. Then,
with many a sly, wary glance at his good comrades, he put on his
sandals and laced them up the leg. He tossed a kiss to the sleeping
girl, his dark gypsy face aglow with admiration and mischief, and was
about to blow out the light of his candle. Then he changed his mind. He
arose and stood over them again, looking long and solemnly at the face
of the sleeping girl. Ah, yes, she was the most beautiful he had ever
seen--the very fairest. He had known her sisters, but-no, they were not
like this one. With a sly grimace of envy he shook his fist at the tall
man whose leg served as a pillow for the tired head.

The girl looked wan and tired--and hungry. Poor thing! Never had he seen
one so sweet and lovely as she; never had he seen such a shockingly
muddy mackintosh, however, as the one she wore, never were hands so
dirty as the slender ones which lay limp before her. With a determined
shake of his head and a new flash of the eye he calmly seated himself
and began to open his ragged pack. Once he paused, a startled look in
his face. He caught sight of the revolver at Truxton's side for the
first time. The instant of alarm passed and a braver smile than ever
came. Ah, here was a knight who would fight for his lady love! Good
fellow! Bravo!

At last his small store of food lay exposed. Without hesitation he
divided the pieces of smoked venison, giving one part to himself, two to
the sleepers; then the miller's bread and the cheese, and the bag of
dates he had bought the day before. He tied up his own slender portion
and would have whistled for the joy of it all had he not bethought
himself in time.

From one of his pockets he drew out tobacco and cigarette papers. With
his back planted up against the wall of the car, his legs crossed and
his feet wiggling time to the inward tune he sang, he calmly rolled half
a dozen cigarettes and placed them, one by one, beside the feast. One
match from his thin supply he placed alongside the cigarettes. Then he
looked ver