A grizzly bear hidden among the haystacks back of the corral would have given Nan much less anxiety than de Spain secreted in the heart of the Morgan stronghold. But as she hurried home, fearful of encountering an early rider who should ask questions, it seemed as if she might, indeed, find some way of getting rid of the troublesome foe without having it on her conscience that she had starved a wounded man to death, or that he had shot some one of her people in getting away.

Her troubled speculations were reduced now almost to wondering when de Spain would leave, and, disinclined though she felt to further parley, she believed he would go the sooner if she were to consent to see him again. Everything he had said to her seemed to unsettle her mind and to imperil impressions concerning him that she felt it dangerous, or at least treasonable, to part with. To believe anything but the worst of a man whom she heard cursed and abused continually by her 193 uncles, cousins, and their associates and retainers, seemed a monstrous thing––and every effort de Spain made to dislodge her prejudices called for fresh distrust on her part. What had most shaken her convictions––and it would come back to her in spite of everything she could do to keep it out of her mind––was the recollection of the murder of his father, the tragic death of his mother. As for the facts of his story, somehow she never thought of questioning them. The seal of its dreadful truth he carried on his face.

That day Nan washed her hair. On the second day––because there were no good reasons for it––she found herself deciding conscientiously to see de Spain for the last time, and toward sunset. This was about the time he had suggested, but it really seemed, after long thought, the best time. She began dressing early for her trip, and with constantly recurring dissatisfaction with her wardrobe––picking the best of her limited stock of silk stockings, choosing the freshest of her few pairs of tan boots. All of her riding-skirts looked shabby as she fretfully inspected them; but Bonita pressed out the newest one for the hurried occasion, while Nan used the interval, with more than usual care, on her troublesome hair––never less tractable, it seemed, in her life. Nothing, in truth, in her appearance, satisfied her, and she 194 was obliged at last to turn from her glass with the hateful sigh that it made no difference anyway.

De Spain was sitting with his back against a rock, and his knees drawn up, leaning his head on his right hand and resting his elbow on the knee. His left arm hung down over his left knee, and the look on his face was one of reflection and irresolution rather than of action and decision. But he looked so restored after his brief period of nourishment that Nan, when she stepped up on the ledge at sunset, would not have known the wreck she had seen in the same place the week before.

His heart jumped at the sight of her young face, and her clear, courageous eyes surveyed him questioningly as he scrambled to his feet.

“I am going to tramp out of here to-morrow night,” he confided to her after his thanks. “It is Saturday; a lot of your men will be in Sleepy Cat––and they won’t all be very keen-sighted on their way back. I can get a good start outside before daylight.”

She heard him with relief. “What will you do then?” she asked.

“Hide. Watch every chance to crawl a mile nearer Calabasas. I can’t walk much, but I ought to make it by Sunday night or Monday 195 morning. I may see a friend––perhaps I may see the other fellow’s friend, and with my lone cartridge I may be able to bluff him out of a horse,” he suggested, gazing at the crimson tie that flowed from Nan’s open neck. “By the way,” he added, his glance resting on her right side as he noticed the absence of her holster, “where is your protector to-day?” She made no answer. “Fine form,” he said coldly, “to come unarmed on an errand of mercy to a desperado.”

Nan flushed with vexation. “I came away in such a hurry I forgot it,” she replied lamely.

“A forget might cost you your life.”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten you left a cartridge-belt behind once yourself,” she returned swiftly. The retort startled him. How could she know? But he would not, at first, ask a question, though her eyes told him she knew what she was talking about. They looked at each other a moment in silence.

De Spain, convicted, finally laid his fingers over the butt of his empty revolver. “How did you find that out?”

She tossed her head. They were standing only a few feet apart, de Spain supporting himself now with his left hand high up against the wall; Nan, with her shoulder lightly against it; both had become quizzical. “Other people forget, too, then,” 196 was all she said, fingering the loosened tie as the breeze from the west blew it toward her shoulder.

“No,” he protested, “I didn’t forget; not that time. I went over to the joint to get a cup of coffee and expected to be back within five minutes, never dreaming of walking into a bear trap.” He drew his revolver and, breaking it negligently, took out the single cartridge. “Take this.” He held the cartridge in his left hand and took two halting steps toward her––“since you are unarmed, I will be, too. Not that this puts us on an even footing. I don’t mean that. Nothing would. You would be too much for me in any kind of a contest, armed or unarmed.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded to hide her confusion. And she saw that each step he took cost pain, skilfully concealed.

“I mean,” he said, “you are to take this cartridge as a remembrance of my forgetfulness and your adventure.”

She drew back. “I don’t want it.”

“Take it.”

He was persistent. She allowed him to drop the loaded shell into her hand. “Now,” he continued, replacing his gun, “if I encounter any of your people in an attempt to break through a line, and somebody gets killed, you will know, 197 when you hear the story, that this time, at least, I didn’t ‘start it.’”

“All the same––” She hesitated. “I don’t think that’s exactly right. You need not shoot my people, even if you meet them. There are plenty of others you might meet–––”

He put her objections aside, enjoying being so near her and happy that she made no retreat. “My reputation,” he insisted, “has suffered a little in Morgan’s Gap. I mean that at least one who makes her home under Music Mountain shall know differently of me. What’s that?” He heard a sound. “Listen!”

The two, looking at each other, strained their ears to hear more through the rush of the falling water. “Some one is coming,” said de Spain. Nan ran lightly to where she could peep over the ledge. Hardly pausing as she glanced down, she stepped quickly back. “I’ll go right on up the mountain to the azalea fields,” she said hastily.

He nodded. “I’ll hide. Stop. If you are questioned, you don’t know I’m here. You must say so for your own sake, not for mine.”

She was gone before he had finished. De Spain drew quickly back to where he could secrete himself. In another moment he heard heavy footsteps where he had stood with his visitor. But the footsteps crossed the ledge, and their 198 sound died away up the path Nan had taken. De Spain could not see the intruder. It was impossible to conjecture who he was or what his errand, and de Spain could only await whatever should develop. He waited several minutes before he heard any sign of life above. Then snatches of two voices began to reach him. He could distinguish Nan’s voice and at intervals the heavier tones of a man. The two were descending. In a few moments they reached the ledge, and de Spain, near at hand, could hear every word.

“Hold on a minute,” said the man roughly. His voice was heavy and his utterance harsh.

“I must get home,” objected Nan.

“Hold on, I tell you,” returned her companion. De Spain could not see, but he began already to feel the scene. “I want to talk to you.”

“We can talk going down,” parried Nan.

De Spain heard her hurried footfalls. “No, you don’t,” retorted her companion, evidently cutting off her retreat.

“Gale Morgan!” There was a blaze in Nan’s sharp exclamation. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you and I are going to have this out right here, before we leave this ledge.”

“I tell you, I want to go home.”

“You’ll go home when I say so.”

“How dare you stop me!”

“I’ll show you what I dare, young lady. You’ve been backing and filling with me for two years. Now I want to know what you’re going to do.”

“Gale! Won’t you have a little sense? Come along home with me, like a good fellow, and I’ll talk things over with you just as long as you like.”

“You’ll talk things over with me right here, and as long as I like,” he retorted savagely. “Every time I ask you to marry me you’ve got some new excuse.”

“It’s shameful for you to act in this way, Gale.” She spoke low and rapidly to her enraged suitor. De Spain alone knew it was to keep her humiliation from his own ears, and he made no effort to follow her quick, pleading words. The moment was most embarrassing for two of the three involved. But nothing that Nan could say would win from her cousin any reprieve.

“When you came back from school I told Duke I was going to marry you. He said, all right,” persisted her cousin stubbornly.

“Gale Morgan, what Uncle Duke said, or didn’t say, has nothing whatever to do with my consent.”

“I told you I was going to marry you.”

“Does that bind me to get married, when I don’t want to?”

“You said you’d marry me.”

Nan exploded: “I never, never said so in this world.” Her voice shook with indignation. “You know that’s a downright falsehood.”

“You said you didn’t care for anybody else,” he fairly bellowed. “Now I want to know whether you’ll marry me if I take you over to Sleepy Cat to-morrow?”

“No!” Nan flung out her answer, reckless of consequence. “I’ll never marry you. Let me go home.”

“You’ll go home when I get through with you. You’ve fooled me long enough.”

Her blood froze at the look in his face. “How dare you!” she gasped. “Get out of my way!”

“You damned little vixen!” He sprang forward and caught her by the wrist. “I’ll take the kinks out of you. You wouldn’t marry me your way, now you’ll marry me mine.”

She fought like a tigress. He dragged her struggling into his arms. But above her half-stifled cries and his grunting laugh, Morgan heard a sharp voice: “Take your hands off that girl!”

Whirling, with Nan in his savage arms, the half-drunken mountaineer saw de Spain ten feet away, his right hand resting on the grip of his revolver. Stunned, but sobered by mortal danger, Morgan greeted his enemy with an oath. 202 “Stand away from that girl!” repeated de Spain harshly, backing the words with a step forward. Morgan’s grasp relaxed. Nan, jerking away, looked at de Spain and instantly stepped in front of her cousin, on whom de Spain seemed about to draw.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Morgan, with an enraged oath.

“I left some business with you the other day at Calabasas half finished,” said de Spain. “I’m here this afternoon to clean it up. Get away from that girl!”

His manner frightened even Nan. The quick step to the side and back––poising himself like a fencer––his revolver restrained a moment in its sheath by an eager right arm, as if at any instant it might leap into deadly play.

Shocked with new fear, Nan hesitated. If it was play, it was too realistic for the nerves even of a mountain girl. De Spain’s angry face and burning eyes photographed themselves on her memory from that moment. But whatever he meant, she had her part to do. She backed, with arms spread low at her sides, directly against her cousin. “You shan’t fight,” she cried at de Spain.

“Stand away from that man!” retorted de Spain sternly.

“You shan’t kill my cousin. What do you mean? What are you doing here? Leave us!”

“Get away, Nan, I tell you. I’ll finish him,” cried Morgan, puncturing every word with an oath.

She whirled and caught her cousin in her arms. “He will shoot us both if you fire. Take me away, Gale. You coward,” she exclaimed, whirling again with trembling tones on de Spain, “would you kill a woman?”

De Spain saw the danger was past. It needed hardly an instant to show him that Morgan had lost stomach for a fight. He talked wrathfully, but he made no motion to draw. “I see I’ve got to chase you into a fight,” said de Spain contemptuously, and starting gingerly to circle the hesitating cousin. Nan, in her excitement, ran directly toward the enemy, as if to cut off his movement.

“Don’t you dare put me in danger,” she cried, facing de Spain threateningly. “Don’t you dare fight my cousin here.”

“Stand away from me,” hammered de Spain, eying Morgan steadily.

“He is wounded now,” stormed Nan, so fast she could hardly frame the words. “You shan’t kill him. If you are a man, don’t shoot a wounded man and a woman. You shan’t shoot. Gale! protect yourself!” Whirling to face her cousin, 204 she took the chance to back directly against de Spain. Both hands were spread open and partly behind her, the palms up, as if to check him. In the instant that she and de Spain were in contact he realized, rather than saw––for his eyes never released Morgan’s eyes––what she was frantically slipping to him––the loaded cartridge. It was done in a flash, and she was running from him again. Her warm fingers had swept across his own. She had returned to him, voluntarily, his slender chance for life. But in doing it she had challenged him to a new and overwhelming interest in life itself. And again, in front of her cousin, she was crying out anew against the shedding of blood.

“I came up here to fight a man. I don’t fight women,” muttered de Spain, maintaining the deceit and regarding both with an unpromising visage. Then to Morgan. “I’ll talk to you later. But you’ve got to fight or get away from here, both of you, in ten seconds.”

“Take me away, Gale,” cried Nan. “Leave him here––take me home! Take me home!”

She caught her cousin’s arm. “Stay right where you are,” shouted Morgan, pointing at de Spain, and following Nan as she pulled him along. “When I come back, I’ll give you what you’re looking for.”

“Bring your friends,” said de Spain tauntingly. “I’ll accommodate four more of you. Stop!” With one hand still on his revolver he pointed the way. “Go down that trail first, Morgan. Stay where you are, girl, till he gets down that hill. You won’t pot me over her shoulder for a while yet. Move!”

Morgan took the path sullenly, de Spain covering every step he took. Behind de Spain Nan stood waiting for her cousin to get beyond earshot. “What,” she whispered hurriedly to de Spain, “will you do?”

Covering Morgan, who could whirl on him at any turn in the descent, de Spain could not look at her in answering. “Looks pretty rocky, doesn’t it?”

“He will start the whole Gap as soon as he gets to his horse.”

He looked at the darkening sky. “They won’t be very active on the job before morning.”

Morgan was at a safe distance. De Spain turned to Nan. He tried to speak out to her, but she sternly smothered his every effort. Her cheeks were on fire, she breathed fast, her eyes burned.

“It looks,” muttered de Spain, “as if I should have to climb Music Mountain to make a get-away.”

“There is no good place to hide anywhere above here,” said Nan, regarding him intently.

“Why look so hard at me, then?” he asked. “If this is the last of it, I can take it here with our one lone cartridge.”

Her eyes were bent on him as if they would pierce him through. “If I save your life––” still breathing fast, she hesitated for words––“you won’t trick me––ever––will you?”

Steadily returning her appealing gaze, de Spain answered with deliberation. “Don’t ever give me a chance to trick you, Nan.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded, fear and distrust burning in her tone.

“My life,” he said slowly, “isn’t worth it.”

“You know––” He could see her resolute underlip, pink with fresh young blood, quiver with intensity of feeling as she faltered. “You know what every man says of every girl––foolish, trusting, easy to deceive––everything like that.”

“May God wither my tongue before ever it speaks to deceive you, Nan.”

“A while ago you frightened me so–––”

“Frightened you! Great God!” He stepped closer and looked straight down into her eyes. “If you had raised just one finger when I was bluffing that fellow, I’d have calmed down and eaten out of your little hand, by the hour!”

“There’s not a moment to lose,” she said swiftly. “Listen: a trail around this mountain leads out of the Gap, straight across the face of El Capitan.”

“I can make it.”

“Listen! It is terribly dangerous–––”

“Whatever it is it’s a concrete boulevard to a man in my fix.”

“It is half a mile––only inches wide in places––up and down––loose rock–––”

“Some trail!”

“If you slip it’s a thousand feet–––”

“A hundred would be more than plenty.”

“A good climber can do it––I have done it. I’d even go with you, if I could.”

“Why?”

She shook her head angrily at what he dared show in his eyes. “Oh, keep still, listen!”

“I know you’d go, Nan,” he declared unperturbed. “But believe me, I never would let you.”

“I can’t go, because to do any good I must meet you with a horse outside.”

He only looked silently at her, and she turned her eyes from his gaze. “See,” she said, taking him eagerly to the back of the ledge and pointing, “follow that trail, the one to the east––you can’t get lost; you can reach El Capitan before dark––it’s very close. Creep carefully across El Capitan 208 on that narrow trail, and on the other side there is a wide one clear down to the road––oh, do be careful on El Capitan.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“I must watch my chance to get away from the corral with a horse. If I fail it will be because I am locked up at home, and you must hide and do the best you can. How much they will surmise of this, I don’t know.”

“Go now, this minute,” he said, restraining his words. “If you don’t come, I shall know why.”

She turned without speaking and, fearless as a chamois, ran down the rocks. De Spain, losing not a moment, hobbled rapidly up along the granite-walled passage that led the way to his chance for life.