“This is no time nor place to speak of such things,” he heard the girl say, finally.  “Go this minute and save yourself while you can.”

“Hold on, Harriet!” Wambush cried out, as she was moving away.  Westerfelt could no longer see her, and then he heard her close the door and start down-stairs.

“Come on, Toot”—­the leader whipped his horse up against that of Wambush.

Some of the others had already started away.

Toot did not move.  He was still looking at the spot where Harriet Floyd had stood.

“It simply means the halter, you blamed fool!”

Wambush stared into the mask of the speaker, and then reluctantly rode away.

Chapter VIII

When Harriet returned she found Westerfelt lying face downward on the floor.  In his fall he had unconsciously clutched and torn down the curtain, and like a shroud it lay over him.  She was trying to raise him, when the door opened and her mother appeared.

“What’s the matter, Harriet?”

“He has fainted—­I don’t know, he may be dead.  Look, mother!”

Mrs. Floyd raised Westerfelt’s head and turned his face upward.

“No, he’s still breathing.”  She opened his shirt hastily.  “His wound has not broken; we must get him to bed again.  How did he happen to be here?”

“He got up as soon as the Whitecaps came; I couldn’t persuade him to go back.”

“We must carry him to the bed,” said Mrs. Floyd.  As they started to raise him, Westerfelt opened his eyes, took a long breath, and sat up.  Without a word he rose to his feet, and between them was supported back to his bed.

“His feet are like ice,” said Mrs. Floyd, as she tucked the blankets round him.  “Why did you let him stand there?”

“It wasn’t her fault, Mrs. Floyd,” explained Westerfelt, with chattering teeth.  “I knew they meant trouble, and thought I ought to be ready.”

“You ought to have stayed in bed.”  Her eyes followed Harriet to the fireplace.  “No, daughter,” she said, “go lie down; I’ll stay here.”

“I’d rather neither of you would sit up on my account,” protested Westerfelt; “I’m all right; I’ll sleep like a log till breakfast.  I don’t want to be such a bother.”

“You ain’t a bit of trouble,” replied Mrs. Floyd, in a tone that was almost tender.  “We are only glad to be able to help.  When I saw that cowardly scamp draw his pistol and knife on you, I could ‘a’ killed him.  I’ve often told Harriet—­”

“Mother, Mr. Westerfelt doesn’t care to hear anything about him.”  Harriet turned from the fire and abruptly left the room.  Mrs. Floyd did not finish what she had started to say.  Westerfelt looked at her questioningly and then closed his eyes.  She went to the fireplace and laid a stick of wood across the andirons, and then sat down and hooded her head with a shawl.