“Suppose I might just as well drop out that way as any other,” he reflected, thoughtfully.  “It’s all in the game.”

Lying flat upon his stomach, both arms extended, he slowly forced himself beyond his bowlder into the open.  There was no great distance to be traversed, and a considerable portion of the way was somewhat protected by low bushes.  Hampton took few chances of those spying eyes above, never uplifting his head the smallest fraction of an inch, but reaching forward with blindly groping hands, caught hold upon any projecting root or stone which enabled him to drag his body an inch farther.  Twice they fired directly down at him from the opposite summit, and once a fleck of sharp rock, chipped by a glancing bullet, embedded itself in his cheek, dyeing the whole side of his face crimson.  But not once did he pause or glance aside; nor did the girl look up from the imploring face of her dead.  As he crept silently in, sheltering himself next to the body of the dead man, she perceived his presence for the first time, and shrank back as if in dread.

“What are you doing?  Why—­why did you come here?” she questioned, a falter in her voice; and he noticed that her eyes were dark and large, yielding a marked impress of beauty to her face.

“I was unwilling to leave you here alone,” he answered, quietly, “and hope to discover some means for getting you safely back beside the others.”

“But I didn’t want you,” and there was a look of positive dislike in her widely opened eyes.

“Did n’t want me?” He echoed these unexpected words in a tone of complete surprise.  “Surely you could not desire to be left here alone?  Why didn’t you want me?”

“Because I know who you are!” Her voice seemed to catch in her throat.  “He told me.  You’re the man who shot Jim Eberly.”

Mr. Hampton was never of a pronounced emotional nature, nor was he a person easily disconcerted, yet he flushed at the sound of these impulsive words, and the confident smile deserted his lips.  For a moment they sat thus, the dead body lying between, and looked at each other.  When the man finally broke the constrained silence a deeper intonation had crept into his voice.

“My girl,” he said gravely, and not without a suspicion of pleading, “this is no place for me to attempt any defence of a shooting affray in a gambling-house, although I might plead with some justice that Eberly enjoyed the honor of shooting first.  I was not aware of your personal feeling in the matter, or I might have permitted some one else to come here in my stead.  Now it is too late.  I have never spoken to you before, and do so at this time merely from a sincere desire to be of some assistance.”

There was that in his manner of grave courtesy which served to steady the girl.  Probably never before in all her rough frontier experience had she been addressed thus formally.  Her closely compressed lips twitched nervously, but her questioning eyes remained unlowered.