that he was in earnest, and that it would be foolish to tamper with
him.

"Stand away from that table; sit down yonder."

Again she obeyed without a word. Her eyes, to be sure, flickered here
and there about the room, as though they sought some means of sending
a warning to her friends, or finding some escape for herself. Then her
glance returned to Ronicky Doone.

"Well," she said, as she settled in the chair. "Well?"

A world of meaning in those two small words--a world of dread
controlled. He merely stared at her thoughtfully.

"I hit the wrong trail, lady," he said quietly. "I was looking for
somebody else."

She started. "You were after--" She stopped.

"That's right, I guess," he admitted.

"How many of you are there?" she asked curiously, so curiously that
she seemed to be forgetting the danger. "Poor Carry Smith with a
mob--" She stopped suddenly again. "What did you do to Harry Morgan?"

"I left him safe and quiet," said Ronicky Doone.

The girl's face hardened strangely. "What you are, and what your game
is I don't know," she said. "But I'll tell you this: I'm letting you