But the telltale odor of the charring meat struck his nostrils, and his
speech died away. He was panting with fear of consequences. Now a new
turn came to the fear of Cold Feet. It seemed that Riley Sinclair's
hand had frozen at the touch of the soft flesh of Jig's shoulder. He
remained for a long moment without stirring. When his hand moved it was
to take Jig under the chin with marvelous firmness and gentleness at
once and lift the face of the schoolteacher. He seemed to find much to
read there, much to study and know. Whatever it was, it set Jig
trembling until suddenly he shrank away, cowering against the rock
behind.

"You don't think--"

But the voice of Sinclair broke in with a note in it that Jig had never
heard before.

"Guns and glory--a woman!"

It came over him with a rush, that revelation which explained so many
things--everything in fact; all that strange cowardice, and all that
stranger grace; that unmanly shrinking, that more than manly contempt
for death. Now the firelight was too feeble to show more than one
thing--the haunted eyes of the girl, as she cowered away from him.

He saw her hand drop from her breast to her holster and close around
the butt of her revolver.

Sinclair grew cold and sick. After all, what reason had she to trust
him? He drew back and began to walk up and down with long, slow