"Fighting blood," he muttered admiringly to himself. "Might fail to

develop into very much of a society belle, but likely to prove valuable

out here."

She was rather a slender slip of a thing, a trifle too tall for her

years, perhaps, yet with no lack of development apparent in the slim,

rounded figure. Her coarse home-made dress of dark calico fitted her

sadly, while her rumpled hair, from which the broad-brimmed hat had

fallen, possessed a reddish copper tinge where it was touched by the

sun. Mr. Hampton's survey did not increase his desire for more

intimate acquaintanceship, yet he recognized anew her undoubted claim

upon him.

"Suppose I might just as well drop out that way as any other," he

reflected, thoughtfully. "It's all in the game."

Lying flat upon his stomach, both arms extended, he slowly forced

himself beyond his bowlder into the open. There was no great distance

to be traversed, and a considerable portion of the way was somewhat

protected by low bushes. Hampton took few chances of those spying eyes

above, never uplifting his head the smallest fraction of an inch, but

reaching forward with blindly groping hands, caught hold upon any

projecting root or stone which enabled him to drag his body an inch

farther. Twice they fired directly down at him from the opposite

summit, and once a fleck of sharp rock, chipped by a glancing bullet,

embedded itself in his cheek, dyeing the whole side of his face

crimson. But not once did he pause or glance aside; nor did the girl

look up from the imploring face of her dead. As he crept silently in,

sheltering himself next to the body of the dead man, she perceived his

presence for the first time, and shrank back as if in dread.

"What are you doing? Why--why did you come here?" she questioned, a

falter in her voice; and he noticed that her eyes were dark and large,

yielding a marked impress of beauty to her face.

"I was unwilling to leave you here alone," he answered, quietly, "and

hope to discover some means for getting you safely back beside the

others."

"But I didn't want you," and there was a look of positive dislike in

her widely opened eyes.

"Did n't want me?" He echoed these unexpected words in a tone of

complete surprise. "Surely you could not desire to be left here alone?

Why didn't you want me?"

"Because I know who you are!" Her voice seemed to catch in her throat.

"He told me. You're the man who shot Jim Eberly."




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