me place to contemplate as a permanent abode. But the young
American knew that his stay here would be short, whether the termination
of it were liberty or the gallows.

Reaching the end of a narrow, crooked corridor that sloped downward, the
turnkey unlocked a ponderous iron door with a huge key, and one of the
guards following at Bucky's heels, pushed him forward. He fell down two
or three steps and came to a sprawling heap on the floor of the cell.

From the top of the steps came a derisive laugh as the door swung to and
left him in utter darkness.

Stiffly the ranger got to his knees and was about to rise when a sound
stopped him. Something was panting in deep breaths at the other side of
the cell. A shiver of terror went goose-quilling down O'Connor's back.
Had they locked him up with some wild beast, to be torn to pieces? Or
was this the ghost of some previous occupant? In such blackness of gloom
it was easy to believe, or, at least, to imagine impossible conceptions
that the light of day would have scattered in an instant. He was
afraid--afraid to the marrow.

And then out of the darkness came a small, trembling voice: "Are you a
prisoner, too, sir?"

Bucky wanted to shout aloud his relief--and his delight. The sheer
joy of his laughter told him how badly he had been frightened. That
voice--were he sunk in twice as deep and dark an inferno--he would know
it among a thousand. He groped his way forward toward it.

"Oh, little pardner, I'm plumb tickled to death you ain't a ghost," he
laughed.

"It is--Bucky?" The question joyfully answered itself.

"Right guess. Bucky it is."

He had hold of her hands by this time, was trying to peer down into the
happy-brown eyes he knew were scanning him. "I can't see you yet, Curly
Haid, but it's sure you, I reckon. I'll have to pass my hand over your
face the way a blind man does," he laughed, and, greatly daring, he
followed his own suggestion, and let his fingers wander across her
crisp, thick hair, down her soft, warm cheeks, and over the saucy nose
and laughing mouth he had often longed to kiss.

Presently she drew away shyly, but the lilt of happiness in her voice
told him she was not offended. "I can see you, Bucky." The last word
came as usual, with that sweet, hesitating, upward inflection that made
her familiarity wholly intoxicating, even while the comradeship of
it left room for an interpretation either of gay mockery or something
deeper. "Yes, I can see y