Still it was not far to the tree, and surely there could be no danger at this hour.  If there had been Westcott would never have asked her to come.  The very recurrence of his name gave her strength and courage.  Her hands clenched with determination and she drew in a long breath, her body straightening.  Why, actually, she had been frightened of the dark; like a child she had been peopling the void with the demons of fancy.  It struck her as so ridiculous that she actually laughed to herself as she started straight toward the tree, which now seemed to beckon her.

It was a rough path, sandy, interspersed with small rocks, and led down into a gully.  The tree stood on the opposite bank, which was so steep she had to grasp its outcropping roots in order to pull herself up.  Even after gaining footing she saw nothing of Westcott, heard no sound indicating his presence.

A coyote howled mournfully in the distance, and a stray breath of air stirred one of the great leaves above into a startled rustling.  She crept about the gnarled trunk, every nerve aquiver, shaded her eyes with one hand, and peered anxiously around into the gloom.  Suddenly something moved to her right, and she shrank back against the tree, uncertain if the shapeless thing approaching was man or beast.  He was almost upon her before she was sure; then her lips gave utterance to a little sob of relief.

“Oh!  You frightened me so!”

The man stopped, scarcely a yard away, a burly figure, but with face indistinguishable.

“Sorry to do that,” he said, “but no noise, please.”

She shrank back to the edge of the bank, conscious of the grip of a great fear.

“You—­you are not Mr. Westcott?” she choked.  “Who are you?  What is it you want?”

The man laughed, but made no move.

“Hard luck to come out here to meet Jim, an’ run up against a totally different proposition—­hey, miss?” he said grimly.  “However, this ain’t goin’ ter be no love affair—­not yit, at least.  If I wuz you I wouldn’t try makin’ no run fer it; an’ if yer let out a screech, I’ll hav’ ter be a bit rough.”

“You—­you are after me?”

“Sure; you’ve been playin’ in a game what’s none o’ your business.  Now I reckon it’s the other party’s turn to throw some cards.  Thought yer was comin’ out yere ter meet up with Jim Westcott, didn’t yer?”

She made no answer, desperately seeking some means of escape, the full significance of her position clear before her.

“Got a nice little note from Jim,” the fellow went on, “an’ lost no time a gittin’ yere.  Well, Westcott is not liable to be sendin’ fer yer again very soon.  What ther hell——­”

She had dashed forward, seeking to place the trunk of the tree between them, the unexpected movement so sudden, she avoided his grasp.  But success was only for an instant.  Another hand gripped her, hurling her back helplessly.