"We'll have to go slow with it."

It had an almost immediate effect. The twitching grew less, and a faint
color came into Dick's face. He stood up and stretched himself. "That's
better," he said. "I was all in. I must have been riding that infernal
horse for years."

He wandered about while the reporter made a fire and set the coffee pot
to boil. Bassett, glancing up once, saw him surveying the ruined lean-to
from the doorway, with an expression he could not understand. But he did
not say anything, nor did he speak again until Bassett called him to get
some food. Even then he was laconic, and he seemed to be listening and
waiting.

Once something startled the horses outside, and he sat up and listened.

"They're here!" he said.

"I don't think so," Bassett replied, and went to the doorway. "No," he
called back over his shoulder, "you go on and finish. I'll watch."

"Come back and eat," Dick said surlily.

He ate very little, but drank of the coffee. Bassett too ate almost
nothing. He was pulling himself together for the struggle that was to
come, marshaling his arguments for flight, and trying to fathom the
extent of the change in the man across the small table.

Dick put down his tin cup and got up. He was strong again, and the
nightmare confusion of the night had passed away. Instead of it
there was a desperate lucidity and a courage born of desperation. He
remembered it all distinctly; he had killed Howard Lucas the night
before. Before long Wilkins or some of his outfit would ride up to the
door, and take him back to Norada. He was not afraid of that. They would
always think he had run away because he was afraid of capture, but it
was not that. He had run away from Bev's face. Only he had not got away
from it. It had been with him all night, and it was with him now.

But he would have to go back. He couldn't be caught like a rat in a
trap. The Clarks didn't run away. They were fighters. Only the Clarks
didn't kill. They fought, but they didn't murder.

He picked up his hat and went to the door.

"Well, you've been mighty kind, old man," he said. "But I've got to go
back. I ran last night like a scared kid, but I'm through with that sort
of foolishness."

"I'd give a good bit," Bassett said, watching him, "to know what made
you run last night. You were safe where you were."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Dick said drearily. "I
didn't run from them. I ran to get away from something." He tu