Into his dark eyes slowly crept a hungry look, and she felt him begin to tremble the least bit.  He undertook to speak, paused, wet his lips, then carefully chose these words: 

“Do you mean—­that he did not—­that she is—­a good girl?”

“Absolutely.”

He sat down weakly and passed a shaking hand over his face, which had begun to twitch and jerk again as it had on that night when his vengeance was thwarted.

“I may as well tell you that I know she’s more than that.  She’s honest and high-principled.  I don’t know why I’m saying this, but it was on my mind and I was half distracted when you came.  She’s in danger to-night, though—­at this minute.  I don’t dare to think of what may have happened, for she’s risked everything to make reparation to Roy and his friends.”

“What?”

“She’s gone to the Sign of the Sled alone with Struve.”

“Struve!” shouted the gambler, leaping to his feet.  “Alone with Struve on a night like this?” He shook her fiercely, crying:  “What for?  Tell me quick!”

She recounted the reasons for Helen’s adventure, while the man’s face became terrible.

“Oh, Kid, I am to blame for letting her go.  Why did I do it?  I’m afraid—­afraid.”

“The Sign of the Sled belongs to Struve, and the fellow who runs it is a rogue.”  The Bronco looked at the clock, his eyes bloodshot and dull like those of a goaded, fly-maddened bull.  “It’s eight o’clock now—­ten miles—­two hours.  Too late!”

“What ails you?” she questioned, baffled by his strange demeanor.  “You called me the one woman just now, and yet—­”

He swung towards her heavily.  “She’s my sister.”

“Your—­sister?  Oh, I—­I’m glad.  I’m glad—­but don’t stand there like a wooden man, for you’ve work to do.  Wake up.  Can’t you hear?  She’s in peril!” Her words whipped him out of his stupor so that he drew himself somewhat under control.  “Get into your coat.  Hurry!  Hurry!  My pony will take you there.”  She snatched his garment from the chair and held it for him while the life ran back into his veins.  Together they dashed out into the storm as she and Roy had done, and as he flung the saddle on the buckskin, she said: 

“I understand it all now.  You heard the talk about her and Glenister; but it’s wrong.  I lied and schemed and intrigued against her, but it’s over now.  I guess there’s a little streak of good in me somewhere, after all.”

He spoke to her from the saddle.  “It’s more than a streak, Cherry, and you’re my kind of people.”  She smiled wanly back at him under the lantern-light.

“That’s left-handed, Kid.  I don’t want to be your kind.  I want to be his kind—­or your sister’s kind.”

Upon leaving the rendezvous, Glenister and his two friends slunk through the night, avoiding the life and lights of the town, while the wind surged out of the voids to seaward, driving its wet burden through their flapping slickers, pelting their faces as though enraged at its failure to wash away the purposes written there.  Their course brought them to a cabin at the western outskirts of the city, where they paused long enough to adjust something beneath the brims of their hats.