What a voice! What a lighted face, as she turned to the prisoner. But,
instead of a flush of happiness, John Gaspar rose and shrank away from
the outstretched hands of the girl. And he was pale--pale with sorrow,
and even with pity, it seemed to Sinclair.

"No, no," said the soft voice of Gaspar. "Not that, Sally. Not that!"

Decidedly it would not do to let this scene progress. "Take away the
witness, Montana."

Montana drew her arm into his, and she went away as one stunned,
staring at John Gaspar as if she could not yet understand the extent of
the calamity which had befallen her. She had been worse than scorned.
She had been rejected with pity!

As she disappeared into the door of her house, Sinclair looked at the
bowed head of John Gaspar.

"Denver!" he called suddenly.

"Yes, your honor."

"The prisoner's hands are tied. Wipe the sweat off'n his face, will
you?"

"Sure!"

With a large and brilliant bandanna Montana obeyed. Then he paused in
the midst of his operation.