She woke from her worries to discover that an emotional climax was imminent.  Jack was telling her, in awkward, broken phrases, of his love for her.  Polly had waited a long time for his confession, but coming at this hour it filled/her with shame and distress.  What an evil chance that he should be blurting out the story of his faith and trust in her while she was in the act of betraying him!

“Don’t, Jack, don’t!” she begged.

“It’s all right,” he said gently.  “I know you don’t care for me.  But I had to tell you.  Just had to do it.  Couldn’t keep still any longer.  It’s all right, Polly.  I can stand it.  I didn’t go for to worry you.”

She wept.

Her tears distressed him.  He urged her to forget his presumption.  She had been so good to him that he had spoken in spite of himself.

Pauline found she could not let him deceive himself.  If she let him go now, perhaps he might never come back.

“You goose!”

Though the words came smothered through her handkerchief, he gained incredible comfort from them.

“Polly!” he cried.

“Don’t you say a word, Jack,” she ordered.  “Let me do the talking.”

“If you’ll tell me that—­that—­you care anything for—­for—­”

“—­For a big stupid who is too modest ever to think enough of himself,” she completed.  “Well, I do.  I care a great deal for him.”

“You don’t mean—­”

“I do, too.  That’s just what I mean.  No, you keep back there till I’m through, Jack.  I want to find out if you love me as much as I do you.”

“Polly!” he cried a second time.

Her small face was very serious and white in the moonshine.

“Suppose we don’t agree about something.  Say I do a thing that seems right to me, but it doesn’t seem right to you.  What then?”

“It’ll seem right to me if you do it,” he answered.

“That’s just a compliment.”

“No, it’s the truth.  Whatever you do seems right to me.”

“But suppose I do something that you think is wrong.  Perhaps it may seem to you disloyal.”

“If you do it because you think you ought to I’ll not find it disloyal.”

“Sure, Jack?”

“Certain sure,” he answered.

“It’s a promise?”

“It’s a promise.”

Little imps of mischief bubbled into the brown eyes.  “Then why don’t you kiss me, goose?”

He caught her to him with a fierce rapture.

There came to them the sudden sound of drumming hoofs.  A shot rang out in the night.  Goodheart, with the first kiss of his sweetheart almost on his lips, flung Pauline aside and ran to the house.

The other guard met him at the front steps.  “By God, he’s gone!” the man cried.

“Clanton?”

“Yep.”

“Can’t be.  He was handcuffed, tied to the bed, and locked in.  I’ve got the key in my pocket.”

The deputy sheriff took the steps at one bound, flung himself across the parlor, and unlocked the door.  One glance showed him the empty bed, the displaced rug, and the trapdoor.  He stepped forward and picked up the bits of rope and the handcuffs.