The figure instantly turned.  He started.  It was Cissy Trixit!  There was no mistaking that charming, sensitive face, glowing with health and excitement, albeit showing here and there the mark of the pigment with which it had been stained, now hurriedly washed off.  A little of it had run into the corners of her eyelids, and enhanced the brilliancy of her eyes.

He found his tongue with an effort.  “What are you doing here?” he asked with a faint voice, and a fainter attempt to smile.

“That’s what I might ask about you,” she said pertly, but with a slight touch of scorn; “but I guess I know as well as I do about the others.  I came here to see my father,” she added defiantly.

“And you are the—­the—­one—­I chased?”

“Yes; and I’d have outrun you easily, even with your horse to help you,” she said proudly, “only I turned back when you went down into that prospector’s hole with your horse and his broken neck atop of you.”

He groaned slightly, but more from shame than pain.  The young girl took up a glass of whiskey ready on the table and brought it to him.  “Take that; it will fetch you all right in a moment.  Popper says no bones are broken.”

Masterton waived the proffered glass.  “Your father—­is he here?” he asked hurriedly, recalling his mission.

“Not now; he’s gone to the station—­to—­fetch—­my clothes,” she said, with a little laugh.

“To the station?” repeated Masterton, bewildered.

“Yes,” she replied, “to the station.  Of course you don’t know the news,” she added, with an air of girlish importance.  “They’ve stopped all proceedings against him, and he’s as free as you are.”

Masterton tried to rise, but another groan escaped him.  He was really in pain.  Cissy’s bright eyes softened.  She knelt beside him, her soft breath fanning his hair, and lifted him gently to a sitting position.

“Oh, I’ve done it before,” she laughed, as she read his wonder, with his gratitude, in his eyes.  “The horse was already stiff, and you were nearly so, by the time I came up to you and got”—­she laughed again—­“the other Chinaman to help me pull you out of that hole.”

“I know I owe you my life,” he said, his face flushing.

“It was lucky I was there,” she returned naively; “perhaps lucky you were chasing me.”

“I’m afraid that of the many who would run after you I should be the least lucky,” he said, with an attempt to laugh that did not, however, conceal his mortification; “but I assure you that I only wished to have an interview with your father,—­a business interview, perhaps as much in his interest as my own.”

The old look of audacity came back to her face.  “I guess that’s what they all came here for, except one, but it didn’t keep them from believing and saying he was a thief behind his back.  Yet they all wanted his—­confidence,” she added bitterly.

Masterton felt that his burning cheeks were confessing the truth of this.  “You excepted one,” he said hesitatingly.