leanor watches this wild creature curiously. Surely she will
apologise for nearly killing her through inexcusable carelessness.

But she says no word, only watches the smoke rise, and anathematises
the fate that has slain a useful beast.

Eleanor forgets her own grievance, and sympathises with the stranger's
loss.

"It could not have been done intentionally," she declares.

"I don't believe in chance; it was a dead aim, depend upon it."

Eleanor's eyes expand at this remark.

"Who are you?" she asks. "What is your name?"

"I am a woman," replies the other, with a mocking smile; "my name is
Paulina."

She shows no wish to be acquainted with Eleanor's identity.

"What will you do without your horse?"

"Get another, of course."

"But now?"

"Walk."

"Then you live in these parts? I hope in the future you will be more
careful how you shoot at random. It would not have been very pleasant
for either of us if you had hit me."

"What are you doing walking about by yourself?"

Eleanor looks up and laughs.

"Not risking other people's lives, at any rate."

"I wish I could unravel the mystery of my unknown assailant! Have you
any idea who watches your movements and revenges himself on my
carelessness?"

A new light flashes across Eleanor at these words. This weird
adventure becomes more interesting and amazing at Paulina's suggestion.

"I don't understand you."

"All the better, perhaps."

The abrupt answer startles Eleanor, a puzzled look creeps over her face.

"Why can't you say what you mean?" she asks hotly, looking at Paulina
with sudden dislike and repugnance.

The stranger laughs, shoulders her gun, and turns away.

"Where would you have been now," she cries in parting, "if I had shot
you down by mistake like a jungle fowl?"

There is a taunting sneer in the words.

A hateful thought steals into Eleanor's mind. This woman, who swears
and treats her with such abominable coolness, knows something of her
past or present, possibly from Elizabeth, with whom she may be
acquainted. This last remark is an insinuation of her unfitness to
die, and that her soul is ripe for perdition. The implied slur
gradually increases and exaggerates itself in Eleanor's brain,
sensitive to a degree. She sees in it a deliberate insult, and
following Paulina, she demands:

"Before you go, please apologise for your carelessness. I am not
accustomed to be made a mark of, either for bullets or jests."

Pa