The girl leaned forward, eagerly; “And suppose—­suppose—­that after the convict had done his master’s bidding—­suppose that after he had taken the girl away from her friends—­suppose, then, the man would not marry her?”

For a moment there was no sound in the little room, save the crackling of the fire in the fire-place, and the sound of a stick that had burned in two, falling in the ashes.

“What would the convict do if the man would not marry the girl?” persisted Sibyl.

Her companion spoke with the solemnity of a judge passing sentence; “If the man violated his word—­if he lied to the convict—­if his purpose toward the girl was anything less than an honorable marriage—­if he refused to keep his promise after the convict had done his part—­he would die, Miss Andres.  The convict would kill his benefactor—­as surely as there is a just God who, alone, can say what is right and what is wrong.”

The girl uttered a low cry.

The man did not seem to notice.  “But the man will do as he promised, Miss Andres.  He wishes to make the girl his wife.  He can give her all that women, these days, seem to desire in marriage.  In the eyes of the world, she would be envied by thousands.  And the convict would gain freedom and the right to live an honorable life—­the right to earn his bread by doing an honest man’s work.  Freedom and a life of honorable service, at the price; or hell, with only the memory of a good deed—­which should he choose, Miss Andres?  The convict is past deciding for himself.”

The troubled answer came out of the honesty of the girl’s heart; “Mr. Marston, I do not know.”

A moment, the man on the other side of the fireplace waited.  Then, rising, he quietly left the cabin.  The girl did not know that he was gone, until she heard the door close.

* * * * *

In that log hut, hidden in the deep gorge, in the wild Cold Water country, Sibyl Andres sat before the dying fire, waiting for the dawn.  On a high, wind-swept ledge in the Galena mountains, Aaron King grimly walked his weary beat.  In Clear Creek Canyon, Myra Willard and Conrad Lagrange waited, and Brian Oakley planned for the morrow.  Over in the Galena Valley, an automobile from Fairlands stopped at the mouth of a canyon leading toward Granite Peak.  Somewhere, in the darkness of the night, a man strove to know right from wrong.

Chapter XXXVII

The Man Was Insane

Neither Sibyl Andres nor her companion, the next morning, reopened their conversation of the night before.  Each was preoccupied and silent, with troubled thoughts that might not be spoken.

Often, as the forenoon passed, Sibyl saw the man listening, as though for a step on the mountainside above.  She knew, without being told, that the convict was expecting his master.  It was, perhaps, ten o’clock, when they heard a sound that told them some one was approaching.