Patten here!  Had God sent him . . . or the devil?  His insult she passed over.  She was not thinking of herself right now, of convention, of wagging tongues.  She was just seeking to understand how this latest incident might simplify or make more complex her problem.

“I’ve had my suspicions all along,” he laughed evilly.  “To-night I followed and made sure.  And now, my fine little white dove, what have you to say for yourself?”

Might she use Patten?  She was but now on her way to Las Estrellas for aid.  She would operate herself, she would take that upon herself, with no more regard for ethics than for Patten’s gossiping tongue.  She believed that she could do it successfully; at the least she must make the attempt, though Norton died under her hand.  The right?  She had the right!  The right because she loved him, because he loved her, because his whole future was at stake.  But she must have assistance so that she submit him to no needless danger, so that she give him every chance under such circumstances as these.  She would have brought a man from Las Estrellas, she would have let him think what pleased him, just saying that Norton had met with an accident, that an operation was necessary.  And now Patten was here.

Could she use him?

“You followed us?” she said, gaining time for her thoughts.

“Yes; I followed you.  I saw you come here.  I watched while he unsaddled, how he came up to you.  What I could not see through the rock walls I could guess!  And now . . .”

“Well, now?” she repeated after him, so that Patten must have marvelled at her lack of emotion.  “Now what?”

“Now,” he spat at her venomously, “I think I have found the fact to shut Roderick Norton’s blabbing mouth for him!”

“I don’t understand . . .”

“You don’t?  You mean that he hasn’t done any talking to you about me?”

“Oh!” And now suddenly she did understand.  “You mean how you are not Caleb Patten at all but Charles?  How you are no physician but liable to prosecution for illegal practising?”

Could she use him or could she not?  That was what she was thinking, over and over.

“Where is he?” demanded Patten a little suspiciously.  “What is he doing?  What are you doing out here alone?”

“He is asleep,” she told him.

Patten laughed again.

“Your little parties are growing commonplace then!”

“Charles Patten,” she cut in coolly, “I have stood enough of your insult.  Be still a moment and let me think.”

He stared at her but for a little; his own mind busy, was silent.  Could she make use of this blind instrument which fate had thrust into her hand?  She began to believe that she could.

“Charles Patten,” she went on, a new vigor in her tone, “Mr. Norton knows enough concerning you to make you a deal of trouble.  Just how long a term in the State prison he can get for you I don’t know.  But . . .”