“It’s beyond me — that you’re alive. Oh, I’m thankful...But what’ll we do?”

  Jim felt the lump over his breast where the lower pad had been bound. It was right under his shirt pocket over his heart. His finger located the bullet hole in his shirt and at the same instant his watch.

  “See here, Molly,” he said, curiously. “Take my watch out.”

  She complied. The watch was of heavy silver and had been long in the Traft family. Evidence was not wanting that it had served its day. The bullet had struck the case, making a heavy dent and then had glanced upward.

  “That accounts,” whispered Molly. “I wondered aboot it. Slinger doesn’t often miss what he shoots at.”

  “Saved my life! — Well, I’ll be jiggered!” exclaimed Jim, fondling the watch. “And I came awful close not fetching it!”

  “Oh, such luck! Thank Heaven!...But, Mister Trait, what’ll we do?”

  “Do? I haven’t the slightest idea. I couldn’t get on a horse...I’ll probably be laid out. My, but it throbs and burns!”

  “You’ll have fever. An’ maybe blood-poisonin’. We got to have medicine,” she rejoined, tragically.

  “It won’t do to send you up to my camp.”

  “Why not? My horse is heah, tied over there.”

  “The boys would know your brother shot me. I don’t want that.”

  “Shore they’ll find it out, anyhow.”

  “Well, I suppose. But if I’m on my feet I could keep them from—”

  “Mister Jim, you needn’t let Slinger off on my account.” she interrupted.

  “I’ll have something to say to him when I’m all right again.” declared Jim, grimly. “What’d the — Why did he shoot me? On account of this drift fence?”

  “No. Reckon it was aboot me.”

  “You!”

  “Shore. It’s gone all over the country — what you did — what we did — that night of the dance...out on the porch.”

  “Bud Chalfack — the devil!” ejaculated Jim, stirringly aware of Molly’s scarlet blush. “He told it!...Oh, I’m sorry, Molly! That was such a — a crazy thing for me to do.”

  “Reckon I was just aboot as crazy,” she replied, generously, and smiled just a little wistfully. “But Slinger didn’t heah what I did...an’ he shore wouldn’t believe me. I was scared he’d choke it out of me.”

  “What does he think, Molly?”

  “It couldn’t be no worse, Mister Jim.”

  “The damn blockhead! Some of these Arizona fellows make me see red...I’ll make it my business to hunt Mister Slinger up.

  “Oh, don’t do that! I beg you!” she implored.

  “Suppose I busted in on him somewhere. At your home or in the saloon at West Fork — before other people. He wouldn’t murder me outright, would he?”

  “No. But he’d make you draw. Arch is the most awfullest man when he’s mad.”

  “I didn’t know whether he was mad or not, but he sure looked awful,” replied Jim, forcing a laugh. “Molly Dunn, how’d you happen to come along here and find me?”

  “Slinger just the same as told me he’d kill you,” she replied, grave, dark eyes on him. “I waited this mawnin’ till he was gone. Then I trailed him. My plan was to keep behind him till we were up on top, then I’d ride off the trail an’ go round to your camp.”

  “Well! What for?”

  “I wanted to warn you aboot Slinger. An’ that you was in ‘most as much danger from the Cibeque outfit.”

  “Molly Dunn!” he cried, incredulously. “Then it wasn’t an accident? You actually came to save me?”

  The distance to the little brown hand on her knee was not far, and his quickly bridged it. She seemed neither shy nor cold. “It shore wasn’t no accident, Mister Jim,” she said.

  “You must have risked a good deal, Molly.”

  “I didn’t think aboot it. But if they find it out down in the brakes — well, the Cibeque wouldn’t be no place for me. An’ Slinger will aboot kill me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry! And grateful! Molly Dunn, I’ve got to think up some way to prove it...But you must not let Slinger or anyone see you. How far is it to your home?”

  “Reckon aboot five miles, down through the woods. I can keep off the trail.”

  “How’d you happen to find me?”

  “I trailed Slinger to where his tracks went off into the woods. Then I stopped. ‘Pretty soon I heahed a shot — then a cry — then a horse comin’ my way fast. I hid behind a spruce. An’ I seen Slinger ride by. I didn’t know what had happened. But I tied my horse an’ slipped up the trail. First I saw your horse. He was makin’ off, draggin’ his bridle. Then I found you lyin’ by a tree. You’d fallen off an’ hit your haid.”

  She released her hand from his and gently touched Jim’s head above his temple, where even a slight pressure caused him pain. “I’d better fetch your horse,” she added, rising.

  “Don’t go far or stay long,” said Jim.

  The slight buckskin-clad form vanished in the green. And only then did Jim take note of his surroundings. He lay in a sort of lean-to made of spruce boughs, dead and brown. He could see one small bit of blue sky; all the rest was green. He heard a low murmur of running water. The place was secluded, and redolent of dry sweet pine needles.

  But the effort to sit up caused him so much pain that he was glad indeed to lie back. He must not forget that he had been shot. What an adventure! His thoughts simply whirled, and he had to force them to a logical plan. He absolutely must send the girl home soon. Could he dare let her risk coming back the next day? The idea overcame him. Sooner or later the cowboys would find him, though the last place they would look would be down the trail from Tobe’s Well.

  Soft thuds on the ground made Jim aware that Molly was returning with his horse. They ceased. Then he heard a rustling sound, and then the soft flop of leather. Next she appeared with his saddle blankets and his coat.

  “Mister Jim, didn’t you have a gun?” she asked.

  “So I did. A rifle...I had it across the front of my saddle when Slinger stepped out from behind that tree.”

  She disappeared again. And he lay there, subject to renewed emotion. Presently she returned with the rifle, to deposit it by his side. How pretty, slim, and graceful she looked in buckskin! He told her so. She just gazed at him with great, reproachful, melancholy eyes.

  “Have you worn the lovely white dress since?” he added. “No...I’m savin’ that to be buried in.”

  “Molly!...You should have said married. How sweet—”

  “Mister Jim, you’re shore talkin’ too much — not to say too wild. Your face is hot. An’ time is flyin’. What’ll we do? I’ve hobbled your horse.”

  “You must go home at once. Don’t let anybody see you...Will you come back tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” she replied, with gravity, as if only she knew what that promise implied.

  “Thank you. Better fetch some medicine. I’m going to be pretty sick...And some clean linen to bandage my bullet holes.”

  “There’s a canteen on your saddle,” she said, and stepped outside the shack to procure it. Upon returning she placed it beside his rifle. Then on her knees she scraped up a soft pile of pine needles, and spread his saddle blankets upon them, and folded his coat for a pillow.

  “There’s a bed for you. I reckon you won’t get cold. If you do, use one of the blankets...An’ now I’ll go.”

  Jim gazed up at her as she knelt there.

  “Molly...kiss me,” he importuned, quite beside himself. “Mister Jim!”

  “I’ll be here alone, unable to move...Slinger might come back and kill me...Kiss me, Molly.”

  “No. He won’t come back.”

  “I might bleed to death or die of fever,” he went on, wildly. “You’re out of your haid.”

  “Of course I am. But I know what I’m asking. Please kiss me.”

  “You ask that of me — Molly Dunn?”

  “I don’t care who or what you are.”

  Twice he reached for her, but she was just a little too far away.

  “You mustn’t move,” she said, in alarm, edging close on her knees. Then he could reach her. How large and dark her eyes appeared in her pale face!

  “Kiss me, and go.”

  She bent over his forehead as if impelled, yet earnestly.

  “No!” he cried, seeing her intent, and moving impatiently.

  Then blushing duskily scarlet she bent lower, closing her eyes, laid cool sweet lips on his. Before Jim could catch his breath to speak again she had fled.

  “Low down of me to take advantage of her that way,” he muttered. “But, after all, was it?...Curly would say, ‘Thet shore aboot spills me.’”

  Whereupon Jim called Molly every adorable name that he had ever heard or could make up, and in some measure satisfied himself of sincerity. After which he lay for long in a dream, the pleasure of which made him almost unconscious of pain. From that he fell into a fitful slumber.

  When he awoke the light low down had shaded and rays gold slanted through the forest. He was uncomfortably hot and thirsty, but the pain had somewhat dulled. It hurt him, however, to move over on to the bed of boughs, and he was glad to stretch out. Common sense told him that his situation was pretty serious, if his condition was not, but he could hardly dwell on anything else save Molly Dunn’s return the next day. What endless hours to wait! Suppose she did not come? But that girl would come. Jim knew it positively. Nevertheless, he tried to consider his predicament.

  The boys would scarcely be apt to search for him until next day. He had often been absent from camp until late. Then they would ride north to Sycamore, and the chances were favourable that they would not find him until the following day. Jim hoped they would not. Slinger Dunn, though, might come back to see his victim. After pondering this, however, Jim inclined to Molly’s conviction that Slinger would not come. There was nothing else to speculate upon then but the girl. Jim suddenly felt glad for the solitude of the forest and the long night hours that he must pass wakefully.

  He watched the gold fade from the tips of the spruces. The sky turned gray. Twilight enveloped the green surroundings in obscurity. Soon all was black except a small space of sky overhead where pale stars blinked, and grew clear and white. The stillness was something that Jim soon felt he could not endure. But it did not last. A sigh breathed through the tree-tops. The night wind had begun its dominance of the forest. Soon from all around came rustlings and stealthy sounds.

  From time to time Jim had to take a swallow of water from the canteen. These movements caused him acute pain, but when it subsided he suffered only the dull throbbing ache in head and breast. He could stand it. He did not mind only when it interfered with the pondering of his problem. Some late hour in the night relief from his mental struggle came, if not for the physical distress under which he laboured. He had made up his mind about Molly Dunn, and a sweetness, a gladness, pervaded his soul. Then he fell asleep.

  Jim awoke at what he imagined must be the dark hour before dawn. He lay flat on his back, and it took a moment or more for him to realize he was not in camp, but alone in the deep forest, wounded, and parched by thirst. This he satisfied, and had begun to mill over his predicament again when his heavy eyelids closed as if weighted with sleep.

  When again they unclosed not only had dawn come, but the sun had arisen, and squirrels and jays were holding forth noisily.

  Jim’s throbbing headache had departed, and aside from the painful itching and contracting of his wounds he seemed to be doing pretty well indeed. At any rate, he told himself so. He sat up, finding that only the use of his left arm and shoulder hurt him severely. About this hour, he reflected, and with considerable gratification, there would be consternation in the Diamond camp. Curly and Bud, on the rampage, would scatter those cowboys like a bunch of quail; and lonesome riders encountered in the woods were going to give strict account of their presence.

  Sooner or later someone would find him, and if no one did he might be able in a couple of days to reach camp. Perhaps he was not very practical this morning, for he almost felt grateful to Slinger Dunn. Young Jim Traft, head of the Diamond outfit, shot by a fence-cutter in the Cibeque — how that would fly over the range! And how would his uncle take it? And Ring Locke? Jim realized that he would have risen in their estimation. All the same, he did not intend to betray Molly Dunn’s brother. Jim had the nucleus of a plan hazily forming in his mind.

  Waiting for Molly Dunn was not in the least wearisome, though the moments multiplied into hours. Jim had too much to thrill over — to conjecture about. How would she take him? He tried to imagine the expression of her face — of her wonderful eyes at the critical moment.

  Thus dreamily engaged, he was not prepared for a low clatter of hoofs down the trail. He sat up with such a start that he wrenched his shoulder and had to pay a severe penalty. The forest was very still, except for birds and squirrels. The rhythmic beat of hoofs subsided, and likewise Jim’s mounting heart. Then the sound came clear again. The hoofbeats were soft, and the horse that made them was neither heavy nor shod. They swelled clearer for a little, slowed down, and then ceased.

  “It’s Molly,” said Jim softly, and yet he endeavoured to fortify himself against mistake. The moments dragged, and he was becoming nervous and discouraged when a rustle of brush and soft footfalls just behind the lean-to brought him up transfixed and thrilling.

  Suddenly the slight gray form he had in his mind’s eye appeared before him. She was bareheaded and the sunlight glinted from her dishevelled hair. She carried a bundle.

  “Oh, there you — are! I was — shore scared!” she panted. Her eyes appeared unnaturally large and black in her small pale face.

  “Morning, Molly! I reckoned you’d never come,” he said, gladly.

  “Are you — all right?”

  “I had an awful night. And I was bad until just now,” he replied.

  She sat down, and, depositing her bundle, she put a hand to her bosom as if to still its heaving. She averted her eyes. It was plain she could not look at him. She appeared worn and troubled, as if she had passed a harassed, sleepless night. She seemed such a wistful, pathetic little figure. Jim’s heart filled with tenderness and he could scarce contain his tremendous secret.

  “Molly, did you get home safe?” he asked, anxiously.

  “Yes. Slinger didn’t come, an’ ma never heahed me.”

  “That’s fine. I’m sure glad. I’ve worried a lot.” Then, noticing that she wore a blood-stained bandage around her left hand, he asked solicitously if she had not injured herself.

  “No. I just put this on to fool ma, so I could go to the store,” she explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “An’ I told Mr. Summers I’d cut myself an’ was scared of blood poison. I bought this medicine, an’ I’ve fetched some clean linen, a towel an’ soap, an’ somethin’ for you to eat.”

  “You’re just wonderful, Molly!” said Jim, and meant it in a multiplicity of ways.

  She gave him a fleeting flash of eyes. “I’ll fetch some water,” she returned.

  Jim noted, as she glided away with the canteen, how cautiously she peeped around the spruce tree before venturing farther. She was none some moments, that dragged for the eager Jim. Then presently she reappeared as noiseless as a shadow, to get the dripping canteen down beside him, and knelt to undo a buckskin thong around the bundle.

  “It’s goin’ to hurt right smart,” she said, practically.

  “Molly, I could stand to be carved into mincemeat by you.”

  Whereupon she laid a cool hand on his forehead and temples, and then slipped it inside his open shirt to feel the bandages.

  “Wal, you don’t ‘pear to have fever, but you shore look an’ talk flighty,” she said. “Will you hold still an’ keep quiet? This’s goin’ to hurt like sixty. I’ve done it more’n once for Arch.”

  Jim nodded his acquiescence, and thought it would be safer and facilitate the operation if he closed his eyes. She cut the strips of scarf that had served as a bandage and then she essayed to remove the pads. They had evidently crusted with blood and they stuck tight. She saturated them with water and pulled gently at them until it appeared that more force must be used. Jim made the mental reservation that it hurt twice times sixty. But once the pads had been removed, how soothing to his hot skin and the irritated wounds were the touch of her cool hand and the feel of water!

  “Mister Jim, from what little I know aboot gunshot wounds, I’d say you’re not so bad off this mawnin’,” she said.

  “I dare say my — my favourable condition can be laid to my beautiful and splendid nurse,” he replied, without opening his eyes. He thought he caught a suppressed titter, but could not be sure. Then he attended to her applying a stinging solution to his wounds and a deft and thorough bandaging of them.

  “There. I cain’t do no more foryou,” she said. “I reckon these bullet holes are healin’ clean, but it’d be sense to have your men get you to Flag, pronto...An’ then stay there, Mister Jim.”

  “Thanks, Molly. I’m very grateful to you,” he rejoined, opening, his eyes to smile up at her. “I’ll go to Flag, of course, if it’s necessary. But I’ll come back...Molly, is it safe for you to stay with me awhile?”

  “Safe? I reckon so, now I’m heah,” she replied, thoughtfully. “Ma won’t miss me...But all the same I ought to run!”

  “Run? From what?”

  “From you, Mister Jim.”

  “Please leave off the ‘Mister.’ We’ve known each other a long time, now. It’d be perfectly proper.”

  She laughed, and her mirth had just a touch of bitter mockery.

  “Why should you run from me?”

  “I’ve been with you only twice an’ you made a fool of me both times,” she replied, resentfully.

  “I never did,” he protested. If he could stir her, even to anger, he might overcome the aloofness he sensed in her this morning. But failing in this, he thought he knew a way.

  “You shore did. That night on the porch at Flag! You grabbed me just like Hack Jocelyn an’ other cowpunchers I know. An’ yesterday — that was worse. Your persuadin’ me!”