“Is it that you are afraid of what I’m goin’ to be?  Can’t you trust yore life with me?  I shouldn’t think you could.”

Her eyes lifted and met his bravely.  “I think that wouldn’t stop me if—­if I cared for you that way.”

“It’s Billie Prince, then, is it?”

“No, it isn’t Billie Prince.  Never mind who it is.  What I must decide is whether I can make you the kind of wife you need without being exactly—­”

“In love with me,” he finished for her.

“Yes.  I’ve always liked you very much.  You’ve been good to me.  I love you like a brother, I think.  Oh, I don’t know how to say it.”

“Let’s get this straight, Polly.  Is there some one else you love?”

A tide of color flooded her face to the roots of the hair.  She met his steady look reluctantly.

“We needn’t discuss that, Jim.”

“Needn’t we?” He laughed a little, but his voice was rough with feeling.  “You’re the blamedest little pilgrim ever I did see.  What kind of a fellow do you think I am?  I ain’t good enough for you—­not by a thousand miles.  Even if you felt about me the way I do about you, it would be a big risk for you to marry me.  But now—­Sho, little missionary, I ain’t so selfish as to let you sacrifice yore life for me.”

“If I marry you it will be because I want to, Jim.”

“You’ll want to because you’re such a good little Christian you think it’s up to you to save a brand from the burning.  But I won’t let you do any such foolishness.  You go marry that other man.  If he’s a good, square, decent fellow, you’ll be a whole lot better off than if you tied up with a ne’er-do-well like me.”

They heard a step on the porch.

“Don’t forget.  Three taps if you’re alone in the room,” she said in a whisper.

Goodheart came into the parlor with Pierre Roubideau.  “Expect we’d better turn in, Clanton.  We’ve got to make an early start to-morrow.”

The prisoner rose at once.  Pauline had drawn her father aside and was giving him some instructions.  The old Frenchman nodded, smiling.  He understood her little feminine devices and was a cheerful victim of them.

The young woman found a chance for a word alone with the deputy.

“I want to see you to-night, Jack, about—­something.”  Her eyes were very bright and the color in the soft cheeks high.  She spoke almost in a whisper.

The lank young sheriff had the soul of an inarticulate poet.  Beneath the tan of his leathery face the blood burned.  This was the first really kind word he had had from her since their arrival.  All her solicitation had been for the condemned youth in his care.  Perhaps all she wanted now was to ask some favor for Clanton, but hope leaped in his heart.

He made arrangements for the night in his usual careful way.  It was not pleasant to have to watch the prisoner as a cat does a mouse, but Goodheart was thorough in whatever he undertook.  Skillfully he tied Clanton in such a way as to allow him enough freedom of motion to change position without giving him enough to make it possible for him to untie himself.