Carefully, as one striving to follow a thread of thought in a bewildering tangle of events, he went over the hours just past.  “I was up on that peak where you and I ate lunch the day you tried to make me see the Golden State Limited coming down from the pass.  Brian Oakley sent me there to watch for buzzards.”  For a moment he turned away his face, then continued, “I saw flashes of light in Fairlands and on Granite Peak.  I left a note for Brian and came over the range.  I spent one night on the way.  I found tracks on the peak.  There were two, a man and a woman.  I followed them to a ledge of rock at the head of a canyon,” he paused.  Thus far the thread of his thought was clear.  “Did some one stop me?  Was there—­was there a fight?  Or is that part of my dream?”

“No,” she said softly, “that is not part of your dream.”

“And it was James Rutlidge who stopped me, as I was going to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then where—­” with quick energy he sat up and grasped her arm—­“My God!  Sibyl—­Miss Andres, did I, did I—­” He could not finish the sentence, but sank back, overcome with emotion.

The girl spoke quickly, with a clear, insistent voice that rallied his mind and forced him to command himself.

“Think, Mr. King, think!  Do you remember nothing more?  You were struggling—­your strength was going—­can’t you remember?  You must, you must!”

Lifting his face he looked at her.  “Was there a rifle-shot?” he asked slowly.  “It seems to me that something in my brain snapped, and everything went black.  Was there a rifle-shot?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“And I did not—­I did not—?”

“No.  You did not kill James Rutlidge.  He would have killed you, but for the shot that you heard.”

“And Rutlidge is—?”

“He is dead,” she answered simply.

“But who—?”

Briefly, she told him the story, from the time that she had met Mrs. Taine in the studio until the convict had left her, a few minutes before.  “And now,” she finished, rising quickly, “we must go down to the cabin.  There is food there.  You must be nearly starved.  I will cook supper for you, and when you have had a night’s sleep, we will start home.”

“But first,” he said, as he rose to his feet and stood before her, “I must tell you something.  I should have told you before, but I was waiting until I thought you were ready to hear.  I wonder if you know.  I wonder if you are ready to hear, now.”

She looked him frankly in the eyes as she answered, “Yes, I know what you want to tell me.  But don’t, don’t tell me here.”  She shuddered, and the man remembering the dead body that lay at the foot of the cliff, understood.  “Wait,” she said, “until we are home.”

“And you will come to me when you are ready?  When you want me to tell you?” he said.

“Yes,” she answered softly, “I will go to you when I am ready.”

* * * * *