eldon," he returned with a
smile.

"You'll let us doctor your wounds, won't you?" Moya asked shyly.

He laughed like a boy. "You're making me ashamed. I haven't any wounds.
I ought to have washed the blood off before I came in, but I didn't
have a chance. All I need is a basin of water and a towel."

The girl ran to get them for him. He protested, laughing, but was none
the less pleased while they hovered about him.

"Such a dirty towel. Don't you suppose there's a clean one somewhere,"
Joyce said with a little _moue_ of disgust as she handed it to him.

He shook his head. "It's like the one in 'The Virginian'--been too
popular."

Moya gave him the scarf that had been around her head while she was
riding. "Take this. No.... I want you to use it ... please."

After he had dried his face Jack explained their disposition for the
night.

"We'll stay in the tunnel. You'll be alone here--and quite safe. No need
to be in the least nervous. Make yourselves comfortable till morning if
you can."

"And you--do you mean that you're going back ... to those men?" Moya
asked.

"They're quite tame--ready to eat out of my hand. Don't worry about me."

"But I don't want you to go. I'm afraid to be alone. Stay here with us,
Mr. Kilmeny. I don't care about sleeping," Joyce begged.

"There's nothing to be afraid of--and you need your sleep. I'll not be
far away. You couldn't be safer in Goldbanks. I'll be on guard all
night, you know," he reassured.

It escaped him for the moment that Joyce was thinking about her own
safety, while Moya was anxious about his, but later he was to remember
it.

He had not been gone ten minutes before Joyce was sound asleep. She
trusted him and she trusted Moya, and for her that was enough. All her
life she had relied on somebody else to bear the brunt of her troubles.
But the girl with the powdered freckles beneath the dusky eyes carried
her own burdens. She too had implicit confidence in the champion who had
come out of the storm to help them and had taken his life in hand to do
it. Her heart went out to him with all the passionate ardor of generous
youth. She had never met such a man, so strong, so masterful, and yet so
boyish.

Her brain was far too active for slumber. She sat before the stove and
went over the adventures of the past two hours. How strange that they
had met him again in this dramatic fashion. Perhaps he lived at
Goldbanks now and they would see more of him. She hoped so