A fragment of candle, stuck tightly into the neck of an empty bottle, appeared on a low shelf, and Keith lighted it, the girl returning the lamp to its former position on the front room table. Investigation revealed a dozen cartridges fitting the revolver, but no ammunition was discovered adapted to the sawed-off gun, which Neb had already appropriated, and was dragging about with him, peering into each black corner in anxious search. The two were still busily employed at this, when to their ears, through the stillness of the night, there came the unexpected noise of splashing in the water without, and then the sound of a horse stumbling as he struck the bank. Quick as a flash Keith closed the intervening door, extinguished the dim flame of the candle, and grasping the startled negro's arm, hushed him into silence.

Crouching close behind the door, through a crack of which the light streamed, yielding slight view of the interior, the plainsman anxiously awaited developments. These arrivals must certainly be some of those connected with the house; there could be little doubt as to that. Nevertheless, they might prove the posse following them, who had chanced to stumble accidentally on their retreat. In either case they could merely wait, and learn. Some one swore without, and was sharply rebuked by another voice, which added an order gruffly. Then the outer latch clicked, and a single man stepped within, immediately closing the door. Keith could not see the girl through the small aperture, but he heard her quick exclamation, startled, yet full of relief.

“Oh, is it you? I am so glad!”

The man laughed lightly.

“It is nice to be welcomed, although, perhaps, after your time of loneliness any arrival would prove a relief. Did you think I was never coming, Christie?”

“I could not understand,” she replied, evidently with much less enthusiasm, and to Keith's thinking, a shade resentful of the familiarity, “but naturally supposed you must be unexpectedly delayed.”

“Well, I was,” and he apparently flung both coat and hat on a bench, with the intention of remaining, “The marshal arrested a fellow for a murder committed out on the Santa FÉ Trail, and required me as a witness. But the man got away before we had any chance to try him, and I have been on his trail ever since.”

“A murder! Did you imagine he came this way?”

“Not very likely; fact of it is, the sand storm yesterday destroyed all traces, and, as a result, we've lost him. So I headed a few of the boys over in this direction, as I wanted to relieve you of anxiety.”

She was silent an instant, and the man crossed to the fireplace, where Keith could gain a glimpse of him. Already suspicious from the familiar sound of his voice, he was not surprised to recognize “Black Bart.” The plainsman's fingers gripped the negro's arm, his eyes burning. So this gambler and blackleg was the gentlemanly Mr. Hawley, was he; well, what could be his little game? Why had he inveigled the girl into this lonely spot? And what did he now propose doing with her? As he crouched there, peering through that convenient crack in the door, Keith completely forgot his own peril, intent only upon this new discovery. She came slowly around the end of the table, and stood leaning against it, her face clearly revealed in the light of the lamp. For the first time Keith really perceived its beauty, its fresh charm. Could such as she be singer and dancer in a frontier concert hall? And if so, what strange conditions ever drove her into that sort of life?

“Is—is Fred with you?” she questioned, doubtfully.

“No; he's with another party riding farther west,” the man's eyes surveying her with manifest approval. “You are certainly looking fine to-night, my girl. It's difficult to understand how I ever managed to keep away from you so long.”

She flushed to the hair, her lips trembling at the open boldness of his tone.

“I—I prefer you would not speak like that,” she protested.

“And why not?” with a light laugh. “Come, Christie, such fine airs are a trifle out of place. If I didn't know you were a concert hall artist, I might be more deeply impressed. As it is, I reckon you've heard love words before now.”

“Mr. Hawley, I have trusted you as a gentleman. I never came here except on your promise to bring me to my brother,” and she stood erect before him. “You have no right to even assume that I am Christie Maclaire.”

“Sure not; I don't assume. I have seen that lady too often to be mistaken. Don't try on that sort of thing with me—I don't take to it kindly. Perhaps a kiss might put you in better humor.”

He took a step forward, as though proposing to carry out his threat, but the girl stopped him, her eyes burning with indignation.

“How dare you!” she exclaimed passionately, all fear leaving her in sudden resentment. “You think me alone here and helpless; that you can insult me at your pleasure. Don't go too far, Mr. Hawley. I know what you are now, and it makes no difference what you may think of me, or call me; you 'll find me perfectly able to defend myself.”

“Oh, indeed!” sneeringly, “you are melodramatic; you should have been an actress instead of a singer. But you waste your talent out here on me. Do you imagine I fear either you, or your precious brother? Why, I could have him hung to-morrow.”

She was staring at him with wide open eyes, her face white.

“What—what do you mean? What has Fred done?”

He was cold and sarcastic.

“That makes no difference; it is what I could induce men to swear he had done. It's easy enough to convict in this country, if you only know how. I simply tell you this, so you won't press me too hard. Puritanism is out of place west of the Missouri, especially among ladies of your profession. Oh, come, now, Christie, don't try to put such airs on with me. I know who you are, all right, and can guess why you are hunting after Fred Willoughby. I pumped the boy, and got most of the truth out of him.”

“You—you have seen him, then, since you left me,” she faltered, bewildered, “and didn't bring him here with you?”

“Why should I?” and the man stepped forward, his eyes on her, his hands twitching with a desire to clasp her to him, yet restrained by some undefinable power. “While I believed your brother story, I could have played the good Samaritan most beautifully, but after I talked with Willoughby I prefer him at a distance.”

“My brother story! Do you mean to insinuate you doubt his being my brother? He told you that?”

“He gave up the whole trick. You can't trust a kid like that, Christie. A couple of drinks will loosen his tongue, and put you in wrong. Come, now, I know it all; be reasonable.”

Apparently the girl had lost her power of speech, staring blindly at the face of the man before her, as a bird meets the slow approach of a snake. Keith could see her lips move, but making no sound. Hawley evidently interpreted her silence as hesitation, doubt as to his real meaning.

“You see where you are at now, Christie,” he went on swiftly. “But you don't need to be afraid. I'm going to be a friend to you, and you can be mighty glad you got rid of Willoughby so easily. Why, I can buy you diamonds where he couldn't give you a calico dress. Come on, let's stop this foolishness. I took a liking to you back there in the stage, and the more I've thought about you since the crazier I've got. When I succeeded in pumping Willoughby dry, and discovered you wasn't his sister at all, why that settled the matter. I came down here after you. I love you, do you understand that? And, what's more, I intend to have you!”

He reached out, and actually grasped her, but, in some manner, she tore loose, and sprang back around the end of the table, her cheeks flushed, her eyes burning.

“Don't touch me! don't dare touch me!” she panted. “You lie; Fred Willoughby never told you that. If you come one step nearer, I'll scream; I'll call your men here; I'll tell them the kind of a cur you are.”

He laughed, leaning over toward her, yet hesitating, his eyes full of admiration. Her very fierceness appealed to him, urged him on.

“Oh, I wouldn't! In the first place they probably wouldn't hear, for they are camped down in the corral. I suspected you might be something of a tigress, and preferred to fight it out with you alone. Then, even if they did hear, there would be no interference—I've got those fellows trained too well for that. Come on, Christie; you're helpless here.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are.”

He took a step toward her, his hands flung out. With one quick movement she sprang aside and extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into instant darkness. A few red coals glowed dully in the fireplace, but all else was dense blackness. Keith heard the movements of Hawley, as he felt his way uncertainly along the table, swearing as he failed to find the girl. Then, like a shadow, he glided through the partly open door into the room.