Up on the hill, high above the twinkling lights of the busy little ranching town of Vernock, at the open dining-room window of a pretty, leafy-bowered, six-roomed bungalow, a girl, just blossoming into womanhood, stood in her night robes and dressing gown, braiding her dark hair. She was slight of form, but health glowed from her expressive face.

She was dreamily contemplating the beauties of the night.

Below her, stretching like a fan, was the Valley upon which was built the merry, happy-go-lucky, scattered little town she loved. Everywhere around were the eternal, undulating hills, enclosing the Valley in a world by itself. The night had just lately closed in. The sky was clear and presented a wall and a dome of almost inky blue. Away due south, right over the peak of a hill, on the wall of blue hung a great star, bright and scintillating like a floating soap bubble, while a handspan straight above that again a thin, crescent moon lay coldly 12 on its back sending up a reflection of its own streaky, ghostly light from the distant lake which was no more than visible through a rift in the hills.

As the girl drank in the delights of the peaceful panorama spreading away right from her very feet, she was aroused sharply from her meditation. She heard, or fancied she heard, a distant shot, followed by the sound of excited voices and the barking of dogs. She went to the door, threw it open fearlessly and peered down the hill; but all was silent again save for this barking which travelled farther and farther away all the time, being caught up and carried along in a desultory fashion by the dogs of all the neighbouring houses and ranches.

She stood for a moment, looking about her, then, shivering slightly with the cold, she threw a kiss to the Valley, closed the door again and turned slowly toward her bedroom.

Her fingers were upon the lamp to turn down the light, when three short peremptory raps at the back door caused her to start nervously. She took up the lamp and tiptoed into the kitchen.

“Who’s there?” she called.

The rapping was repeated; this time with a much greater insistence.

“Quick,––quick! For God’s sake let me in!” came a hoarse, muffled voice which sounded strangely tired.

The girl set the lamp on the kitchen table and went cautiously forward to the door.

“Who’s there?” she repeated, her hand on the door fastenings.

“Let me in!” came the voice in desperation. “If you have a heart, please open.”

“I cannot until I know who you are. I am a girl. I am alone.”

A groan escaped the man on the outside, and the anguish 13 of it struck into the bosom of Eileen Pederstone. Once more the voice came pleadingly:––

“And I am a man! I am hunted,––I need help.”

The girl shot back the bolt, threw wide the door and stood back with bated breath.

A masculine figure, panting and dishevelled, staggered in, blinking in the lamplight.

Eileen slowly pushed the door shut, keeping her frightened eyes upon the incomer who tottered weakly to the wall and leaned against it for support.

Dirty from head to heel, he was dressed only in a pair of ragged trousers and a torn, mud-stained shirt. His stockingless feet were partly hidden in a pair of broken boots. Several days’ growth of beard made it hard to guess him young or old. But his blue eyes, despite their tired and bloodshot appearance, betrayed, as they gazed in wonder at the girl, many characteristics of a youthfulness not yet really past.

While the two stood thus, the far-away sound of voices floated up the hill from below.

The fugitive’s eyes roved like those of a hunted animal. He braced himself as if ashamed of his momentary show of fear. He tried hard to smile, but the smile was a dismal failure.

“Sorry,” he panted, “but––but–––” His voice sounded harsh and hoarse from exposure. “Is there anywhere––any place where you could hide me till they pass. They were only––only a little behind me. Guess––I––shouldn’t––shouldn’t have got you mixed up in this. They are coming this way. They want to take me back––but I can’t––I won’t go back there. Ah!”

He clung with his fingers against the wall to prevent him from collapsing.

In a moment, anxious and all alert, Eileen searched the kitchen for a place of safe hiding. She thought of 14 the cupboards, the clothes-closets in her own bedroom, even her bed of spotless linen; but none of these afforded security. At last, her ready eyes found what her nimble mind was seeking.

“Quick––here!” she cried, turning to the huge box in the corner which she used for holding the short firewood for her stove. “Help me unload this wood. The box is good and big. You can get inside; I’ll pile the wood on top of you. They’ll never guess.”

The girl, although slight in appearance, set to with a vigour and an agility that carried a swift contagion. The man was by her side at once. He gave a little crackle of a laugh in his throat, and shot a glance of admiration at her. In sixty seconds more, the box was emptied of its contents. The man clambered inside and crouched in the bottom of it.

It was only then that the girl noticed his very great physical weakness.

“Oh, what shall I do?” she cried in sudden alarm. “I can’t leave you this way. You have been hurt. There is blood on your shirt. The cowards!––they’ve shot you.”

“Never mind me––hurry! It is nothing at all––only a scratch! Quick!” he gasped.

“Wait a moment then!” she whispered.

The man raised himself on his elbow and watched her as she ran to the tap in the pantry and filled a tumbler to the brim with water.

Greedy hands clutched the glass from her, and the contents were swallowed in great gulps. The man sighed like a tired child. He smiled slightly, showing teeth of delightful regularity.

“Water’s great––isn’t it?” he said childishly.

And as Eileen looked into his eyes she saw that they 15 were young eyes; eyes filled with tears, and eyes that were ever so blue.

“Quick! They’re pretty nearly here.”

Eileen commenced cautiously to pile the wood on top of him.

“Don’t mind me!” he whispered huskily. “Tumble it in. I’m––I’m only a runaway convict.”

She worked fast and furiously, and had just turned away from the innocent-looking, well-piled box of split wood in the corner, when she heard the excited voices of hurrying men at her front door.

They tapped sharply.

She took the lamp from the kitchen table, carried it with her to the door, shot the bolt back again and threw the door wide open.

Three men stepped into the semi-circle of light. All were tall and of agile build.

“Poor boy!” was Eileen’s first thought. “What chance has he against these?”

One of the men carried a rifle. She knew him. Everybody in Vernock knew him. She had known him ever since his coming to the Valley five years before.

She had marked with childlike wonder––as others had done––his meteoric progress in wealth and power. He was a man, disliked by some, feared by many, and obeyed by all; a land-owner; a cattle breeder; a grain dealer; a giant in body as well as will; and––the new Mayor of Vernock.

The other men were strangers to the girl.

All three walked straight through to the kitchen. The one nearest to Eileen addressed her.

“Sorry miss, for intrudin’ so late, ’specially as we hear your dad’s at Enderby and you’re all alone to-night. But we’re after a man––a convict––escaped from Ukalla 16 jail. Saw your light! Thought we saw your door open!”

He peered about suspiciously. “Didn’t see anything of him––did you?”

Eileen looked away from the ferrety eyes that searched hers.

“I was just going to bed,” she answered nervously. “I––I fancied I heard voices and a shot.”

“Wasn’t any fancy, miss!”

“I––I opened the door and looked out, but didn’t hear anything more, so I closed the door again.”

“Hum!” put in her interlocutor, rubbing his chin. “You didn’t see any signs of our man when you looked out?”

Eileen shivered, for she did not know how much these men knew or how much they had really seen.

“Yes or no, miss!” he snapped.

“No!––most certainly, no!” Eileen shot back at him in defiance. “How dare you talk to me in that way!”

Tears of vexation sprang to her eyes; vexation that she should have had to lie, although it was forced upon her unless she meant to betray the man who had trusted himself to her safe-keeping.

“Easy, officer;––easy! Miss Pederstone is all right,” put in the man with the rifle. “What she says you can bank on.”

“Oh, pshaw!––you don’t have to teach me my business,” retorted the detective.

“Maybe not; but you can stand some teaching in manners,” returned the other.

“See here, sir!” came the quick answer, “if you don’t like this, you had better get down the hill and home. You village mayors give me a pain.”

The man with the rifle bit his lip and remained silent.

“You don’t mind me having a look round, miss?” inquired 17 the officer a little bit less brusquely, but starting in to search without waiting for her permission.

He threw open the cupboards and the closets. He examined every room in the house. He even went into Eileen’s bedroom. She followed him there, carrying the lamp. He looked into her bed and searched under it. He examined her clothes chest.

At last both returned to the kitchen.

The moment she got there, Eileen’s heart stood still. She gave vent to a startled exclamation, which, however, she quickly covered up by stumbling slightly forward as if she had tripped on the rug and almost upset the lamp.

The second officer, who all along had remained silent and simply an onlooker, was seated on the top of the wood box, rapping his heels on the side of it and whistling softly to himself with a look on his face which might have been taken for one of blissful ignorance or secret knowledge, so bland was it.

“All through, Barney?” he asked.

“Ya!”

“Satisfied?”

“Ya!––come on!”

The second officer turned to the box upon which he had been sitting.

“Some box this!” he exclaimed, kicking it with his foot. “Guess we’d better see if there’s anyone under the wood pile.”

He got down and commenced to throw a few pieces off the top.

Eileen’s heart stopped beating.

The detective at the door came over with a look of supreme contempt on his face. He lifted the lid of the stove and spat some tobacco juice into the fire, then he went over to his companion.

“Say, Jim!––are you a detective or a country boob on his vacation?”

“Why? What’s the matter with you?”

“Aw, quit! Can’t you see the lady wants to get to bed! Why don’t you look inside the teapot?”

“Oh, all right!” replied the other, dusting off his hands. “This is your hunt:––if you are satisfied, so am I.”

Eileen’s heart thumped as if it would burst through her body, and she feared for the very noise of it.

Slowly the second detective followed the other two men out.