“Don’t be afraid, Jeekum,” said Neil reassuringly.  “You forgot the door and we’ve been having a little fun with the jury.  That’s all!”

The nervous whiteness left Jeekum’s face at this cheerful report and he was about to close the door when Nathaniel exhibited a handful of gold pieces in the candle-light and frantically beckoned the man to come in.  The jailer’s eyes glittered understandingly and with a backward glance down the lighted corridor he thrust his head and shoulders inside.

“Five hundred dollars for that note!” he whispered.  “Five hundred beside the four you’ve got!”

“Jeekum’s a fool!” said Neil, as the door closed on them.  “I feel sorry for him.”

“Why?”

“Because he is accepting the money.  Don’t you suppose that you have been searched?  Of course you have—­probably before I came, while you were half dead on the floor.  Somebody knows that you have the gold.”

“Why hasn’t it been taken?”

For a full minute Neil made no answer.  And his answer, when it did come, first of all was a laugh.

“By George, that’s good!” he cried exultingly.  “Of course you were searched—­and by Jeekum!  He knows, but he hasn’t made a report of it to Strang because he believes that in some way he will get hold of the money.  He is taking a big risk—­but he’s winning!  I wonder what his first scheme was?”

“Thought I’d bury it, perhaps,” vouchsafed Nathaniel, throwing himself upon the straw.  “There’s room for two here, Neil.”

A long silence fell between them.  The action during the last few minutes had been too great an effort for Nathaniel and his wound troubled him again.  As the pain and his terrible thoughts of Marion’s fate returned to him he regretted that they had not ended it all in one last fight at the door.  There, at least, they might have died like men instead of waiting to be shot down like dogs, their hands bound behind them, their breasts naked to the Mormon rifles.  He did not fear death.  In more than one game he had played against its hand, more often for love of the sport than not, but there was a horror in being penned up and tortured by it.  He had come to look upon it as a fair enemy, filled of course with subterfuge and treachery, which were the laws of the game; but he had never dreamed of it as anything but merciful in its quickness.  It was as if his adversary had broken an inviolable pact with him and he sweated and tossed on his bed of straw while Neil sat cool and silent on the bench against the dungeon wall.  Sheer exhaustion brought him relief, and after a time he fell asleep.

He was awakened by Neil.  The white face of Marion’s brother was over him when he opened his eyes and he was shaking him roughly by the shoulder.

“Wake up, Nat!” he cried.  “For Heaven’s sake—­wake up!”

He drew back as Nathaniel sleepily roused himself.

“I couldn’t help it, Nat,” he apologized, laughing nervously.  “You’ve lain there like a dead man for hours.  My head is splitting with this damned silence.  Come—­smoke up!  I got some tobacco from our jailer and he loaned me his pipe.”