had looked upon him with partiality, and since, to his
own mind, possession was the essential thing and reciprocated affection
a minor consideration, he had until now been confident of success. Once
he had married Dorothy Harper, he meant to break her to his will, as one
breaks a spirited horse, and he had entertained no misgivings as to his
final mastery.

Once unmasked, Bas Rowlett could never regain his lost semblance of
virtue--and this battered creature in the bed was the only accuser who
could unmask him. If the newcomer's death had been desirable before, it
was now imperative.

The clock ticked on. The logs whitened, and small hissing tongues of
blue flame crept about them where there had been flares of vermilion.

Like overstrained cat-gut drawn tauter and tauter until the moment of
its snapping is imminent, the tension of that waiting grew more crucial
and tortured.

Bit by bit into Cal Maggard's gropings after a plan crept the beginnings
of an idea, though sometimes under the stupefying waves of drowsiness he
lost his thread of thought.

Old Caleb was not yet asleep, and as the room grew chill he shivered in
his chair, and rose slowly, complaining of the misery in his joints.

He threw fresh fuel on the fire and then, over-wearied with the night's
excitement, let his head fall forward on his breast and his breath
lengthen to a snore.

Then in a low but peremptory voice Maggard said:

"Rowlett, come hyar."

With cautious but willing footfall Rowlett approached, but before he
reached the bedside a curt undertone warned him, "Stop right thar ... ef
ye draws nigher I'll call out. Kin ye hear me?... I aims ter talk low."

"I'm hearkenin'."

"All right. Give me yore pledge, full-solemn an' in ther sight of God
Almighty ... thet ye'll hold yore hand till I gits well ... or else
dies."

"Whar'fore would I do thet?"

"I'll tell you fer why. Ef ye don't ... I'll wake old Caleb up an' sw'ar
ter a dyin' statement ... an' I'll tell ther full, total truth.... Does
ye agree?"

The other hesitated then evaded the question.

"S'posin' I does give ye my pledge ... what then?"

"Then ef I dies what I knows'll die with me.... But ef I lives ... me
an' you'll settle this matter betwixt ourselves so soon es I kin walk
abroad."

That Maggard would ever leave that bed save to be borne to his grave
seemed violently improbable, and if his silence could be assured while
he lay there, success for the plotter would