evil!" I muttered, "you have the wrong man. You think me
weak as O'mie, whose body you could bind. I have a mind to choke you
here, you murderer. I could do it and rid the world of you, now." He
struggled and I gave him air. There was something princely about him
even as he lay in my power. And, fiend as he was, he never lost the
spirit of a master. To me also, brute violence was repulsive now that
the advantage was all mine.

"You deserve to die. Heaven is saving you for a fate you may well dread.
You would be in jail in ten minutes if you ever showed your face here in
the daylight, and hanged by the first jury whose verdict could be given.
I could save all that trouble now in a minute, but I don't want to be a
murderer like you. For the sake of my own hands and for the sake of the
man whose son I believe you to be, I'll spare your life to-night on one
condition!"

I loosed my hold and stepped away from him. He rose with an effort, but
he could not stand at first.

"Leave this country to-night, and never show your face here again. There
are friends of O'mie's sworn to shoot you on sight. Go now to your own
tribe and do it quickly."

Slowly, like a promise made before high heaven, he answered me.

"I will go, but I shall see you there. When we meet again, my hand will
have you by the throat. And--I don't care whose son you are."

He slid down the cliff-side like a lizard, and was gone. I turned and
stumbled through the bushes full into Lettie Conlow crouching among
them.

"Lettie, Lettie," I cried, "go home."

"I won't unless you will come with me," she answered coaxingly.

"I have taken you home once to-night," I said. "Now you may go alone or
stay here as you choose," and I left her.

"You'll live to see the day you'll wish you hadn't said that," I heard
her mutter threateningly behind me.

A gray mist had crept over the low-hanging moon. The world, so glorious
in its softened radiance half an hour ago, was dull and cheerless now.
And with a strange heartache and sense of impending evil I sought my
home.

The next day was a busy one in the office. My father was deep in the
tangle of a legal case and more than usually grave. Early in the
afternoon, Cam Gentry had come into the courthouse, and the two had a
long conference. Toward evening he called me into his private office.

"Phil, this land case is troubling me. I believe the papers we want are
in that old cabin. Could you go out again to-morrow?" He