“How long have you been here?”

“About two minutes.  When I didn’t see you at the bank I thought something was up, so I galloped on to her house.  No one there!  So I came on here.  A good shot, eh?”

The fall had done it.  But for that we should have been safe.

“Well?” he said.

In the bitterness of my heart I could hardly speak.  But I was not going to play either the cur or the fool, so I said: 

“Your trick, sir, and therefore your lead!  I must do what you tell me.”

“Honor bright, Martin?”

“Yes,” said I; “I give you my word.  Take the revolver if you like,” and I nodded my head to the pocket where it lay.

“No,” he said, “I trust you.”

“I bar a rescue,” said I.

“There will be no rescue,” said he grimly.

“If the colonel comes—­”

“The colonel won’t come,” he said.  “Whose house is that?”

It was my boatman’s.

“Bring her there.  Poor child, she suffers!”

We knocked up the boatman, who thus did not get his night’s rest after all.  His astonishment may be imagined.

“Have you a bed?” said the President.

“Yes,” he stammered, recognizing his interlocutor.

“Then carry her up, Martin; and you, send your wife to her.”

I took her up, and laid her gently on the bed.  The President followed me.  Then we went downstairs again into the little parlor.

“Let us have a talk,” he said; and he added to the man, “Give us some brandy, quick, and then go.”

He was obeyed, and we were left alone with the dim light of a single candle.

The President sat down and began to smoke.  He offered me a cigar and I took it, but he said nothing.  I was surprised at his leisurely, abstracted air.  Apparently he had nothing in the world to do but sit and keep me company.

“If your Excellency,” said I, instinctively giving him his old title, “has business elsewhere you can leave me safely.  I shall not break my word.”

“I know that—­I know that,” he answered.  “But I’d rather stay here; I want to have a talk.”

“But aren’t there some things to settle up in the town?”

“The doctor’s doing all that,” he said.  “You see, there’s no danger now.  There’s no one left to lead them against me.”

“Then the colonel is—­”

“Yes,” he said gravely, “he is dead.  I shot him.”

“In the attack?”

“Not exactly; the fighting was over.  A very short affair, Martin.  They never had a chance; and as soon as two or three had fallen and the rest saw me, they threw up the sponge.”

“And the colonel?”

“He fought well.  He killed two of my fellows; then a lot of them flung themselves on him and disarmed him.”

“And you killed him in cold blood?”

The President smiled slightly.

“Six men fell in that affair—­five besides the colonel.  Does it strike you that you, in fact, killed the five to enable you to run away with the girl you loved?”