At the other end of the bunk Lawler was bathing, with ineffable tenderness and care, a face that had been swathed in the scarf he had previously removed.  The long, glistening, black hair had been brushed back from its owner’s forehead by Lawler; and a corner of a blanket had been modestly folded over a patch of white breast, exposed when Lawler had ruthlessly torn away the flimsy, fluffy waist.

“It was the scarf that saved her face,” said Lawler, after he had worked over the unconscious form for a quarter of an hour.  The face was flushed, now—­which was a good sign; and the feet and ankles were beginning to show signs of restored circulation also—­though more reluctantly.

“How she ever got through it I’m not pretending to say,” declared Lawler, grimly.  “But she did it, and the frost didn’t get her, much.  She’ll be fresh as a daisy in a couple of hours.”

The tall man—­Link—­had ceased his labors with the woman, and was standing near Lawler.  He grinned at Lawler’s words.

His face was flushed, his eyes were glowing with passion as he watched the inert form on the bunk.

“She’s a peach,” he said, thickly.  Lawler was not looking at him; he was giving all his attention to the woman.

“Della Wharton,” continued Link.  “I’ve seen her at the Two Diamond—­runnin’ around with Warden.  Warden’s took a shine to her.  Don’t blame him.”  He muttered something else that Lawler did not hear, for Lawler was paying no attention to him.

Lawler held the flask to the woman’s half-open mouth, and smiled when several drops of the strong spirits trickled over her tongue.  Then he walked to the wood pile and replenished the fire.  Returning, he saw Link standing close to the bunk, smiling bestially at the upturned face.  When Lawler caught sight of him he was fingering the disordered hair, lifting it and letting it filter through his fingers.

Without a word, Lawler leaped and struck with bitter malignance.  Not a sound escaped Link as he fell.  Lawler lifted him bodily, threw him upon the pile of wood in the corner, where he lay huddled up, unconscious.

Wheeling swiftly, his eyes ablaze with the terrible passion that had seized him, Lawler faced the bunk.  The woman’s head was moving slowly from side to side, as though she were making an effort to lift it; her eyelids were fluttering, and her hands were straying over the bedclothing, the fingers closing and unclosing.

Lawler made a horrible grimace at Givens.

“Get out of here, damn you!” he said.  “Go out and take care of her horse—­anything!  If you are in here when she wakes up, I’ll kill you!  And take that other skunk out of here, too—­take him to the dugout, and don’t come back here for an hour!”

He watched impatiently while Givens seized his companion and dragged him outside.  Then Lawler fastened the door, and standing near it, watched the woman.

Her eyes were open.  He could see them, even though he stood slightly behind her.  She moved her head, lifted it and gazed around the room, seemingly bewildered at what she saw.  Then she twisted her body around; saw her bare feet, and quickly drew an end of the bunk blanket over them.