The girl looked at him with an expression of mingled admiration and pity.  “But the guards were placed there before he ever saw you,” said she impatiently.  “And whatever uncle Harry may want to do, he must do what the gang says.  And with the money once in their possession, or even in yours, if they knew it, I wouldn’t give much for its chances—­or yours either—­for gettin’ out o’ this hollow again.”

“But if they are treacherous, that is no reason why I should be so,” protested Brice stoutly.

“You’ve no right to say they were treacherous when they knew nothing of your plans,” said the girl sharply.  “Your company would have more call to say you were treacherous to it for making a plan without consultin’ them.”  Brice winced, for he had never thought of that before.  “You can offer that reward after you get away from here with the greenbacks.  But,” she added proudly, with a toss of her head, “go back if you want to!  Tell him all!  Tell him where you found it—­tell him I did not take you through the canyon, but was showin’ you a new trail I had never shown to them!  Tell him that I am a traitor, for I have given them and him away to you, a stranger, and that you consider yourself the only straight and honest one about here!”

Brice flushed with shame.  “Forgive me,” he said hurriedly; “you are right and I am wrong again.  I will do just what you say.  I will first place these greenbacks in a secure place—­and then”—­

“Get away first—­that’s your only holt,” she interrupted him quickly, her eyes still flashing through indignant tears.  “Come quick, for I must put you on the trail before they miss me.”

She darted forward; he followed, but she kept the lead, as much, he fancied, to evade his observation as to expedite his going.  Presently they stopped before the sloping trunk of a huge pine that had long since fallen from the height above, but, although splintered where it had broken ground, had preserved some fifty feet of its straight trunk erect and leaning like a ladder against the mountain wall.  “There,” she said, hurriedly pointing to its decaying but still projecting lateral branches, “you climb it—­I have.  At the top you’ll find it’s stuck in a cleft among the brush.  There’s a little hollow and an old waterway from a spring above which makes a trail through the brush.  It’s as good as the trail you took from the stage road this mornin’, but it’s not as safe comin’ down.  Keep along it to the spring, and it will land ye jest the other side of uncle Hiram’s cabin.  Go quick!  I’ll wait here until ye’ve reached the cleft.”

“But you,” he said, turning toward her, “how can I ever thank you?”

As if anticipating a leave-taking, the girl had already withdrawn herself a few yards away, and simply made an upward gesture with her hand.  “Quick!  Up with you!  Every minute now is a risk to me.”