t, and she stood rigid, her eyes wide as she looked
for some sign that would confirm her fears. And then she saw a moist red
patch on his shirt on the right side just below the shoulder blade, and it
seemed that a band of steel had been suddenly pressed down over her
forehead. Something had happened to Doubler!

The world reeled, objects around her danced fantastically, the trees in
the grove near her seemed to dip toward her in derision, her knees sagged
and she held tightly to the corner of the cabin for support in her
weakness.

She saw it all in a flash. Dakota had been to visit Doubler and had shot
him. She had heard the shot. Duncan had been right, and Dakota--how she
despised him now!--was probably even now picturing in his imagination the
scene of her discovering the nester lying on his own threshold, murdered.
An anger against him, which arose at the thought, did much to help her
regain control of herself.

She must be brave now, for there might still be life in Doubler's body,
and she went slowly toward him, cringing and shrinking, along the wall of
the cabin.

She touched him first, lightly with the tips of her fingers, calling
softly to him in a quavering voice. Becoming more bold, she took hold of
him by the left shoulder and shook him slightly, and her heart seemed to
leap within her when a faint moan escaped his lips. Her fear fled
instantly as she realized that he was alive, that she had not to deal with
a dead man.

Stifling a quivering sob she took hold of him again, tugging and pulling
at him, trying to turn him over so that she might see his face. She
observed that the red patch on his shoulder grew larger with the effort,
and her face grew paler with apprehension, but convinced that she must
persist she shut her eyes and tugged desperately at him, finally
succeeding in pulling him over on his back.

He moaned again, though his face was ashen and lifeless, and with hope
filling her heart she redoubled her efforts and finally succeeded in
dragging him inside the cabin, out of the sun, where he lay inert, with
wide-stretched arms, a gruesome figure to the girl.

Panting and exhausted, some stray wisps of hair sweeping her temples, the
rest of it threatening to come tumbling down around her shoulders, she
leaned against one of the door jambs, thinking rapidly. She ought to have
help, of course, and her thoughts went to Dakota, riding unconcernedly
away on the river trail. She could not go to him