o set frugal limits
on the duration of that interview and the interval of clouded darkness
was precious, but while she freed the cords, she talked:

"I hain't doin' this fer yore sake, Bas. Ye richly merits ter die--an' I
misdoubts ef ye escapes fur--but I hain't ergoin' ter suffer ye ter
contam'nate this tree--an' I aims ter give ye a few minutes' start, ef I
kin."

Now she rose from the ankle fetters and the man took a step, to find
himself free.

"Begone," ordered the woman, tensely. "Don't tarry--an' don't nuver let
me see ye ergin'!"

She saw him cross the fence in the heavy shadow, hardly discernible even
to her straining eyes that had grown accustomed to the dark. She heard
the light clatter of his feet and knew that he was running, with the
speed and desperation of a hounded deer, then she straightened and
lifted her eyes to the rustling masses of cool serenity overhead.

Across the ranges came a warm, damp scent that promised rain, and the
clouds once more parted bringing the tranquil magic of a silver-toned
nocturne. The tree stood with its loftiest plumes moving lightly, as
though brushing the heavens, where the clouds were flakes of opal
fleece. Then the breeze stiffened a little and the branches swayed with
an enhancement of movement and sound--and the murmur was that of a
benediction.

Dorothy waited as long as she dared, and her soul was quiet despite the
anger which she knew would shortly burst in an eruption over the
threshold of her house. When she had stretched her allotted interval to
its limit she gave the rope its designated signal of jerk, and saw the
door swing to disgorge its impatient humanity. She saw them coming with
lanterns held high, saw them halt halfway, and heard their outbursts of
angry dismay when the yellow light revealed to them the absence of the
victim they had left in her keeping.

But Dorothy turned and stood with her back against the great trunk and
her fingers clutching at its seamed bark, and there she felt the
confidence of sanctuary.

"I couldn't suffer hit--ter happen hyar," she told them in a steady
voice. "Us two was married under this old tree--hit's like a church ter
me--I couldn't let no man hang on hit--I turned him loose."

For an instant she thought that Sim Squires would leap upon her with all
the transferred rage that she had thwarted on the eve of its glutting.
The others, too, seemed to crouch, poised, waiting for their cue and
signal from Sim, but