"They may suspect me of anything they like!" exclaimed the sheriff, "so
you love me and be--be your own best self and my good father. But this
bare hut--not a comfort that you need--no food--nothing--oh, if there
was only some one who had a heart, and could help us!"

"_There is_!" whispered Jim Williamson, with all his might. Both
occupants started, and the wounded man's eyes glared like a wolf's.

"Don't be frightened," whispered Jim; "I'm yours, body and soul--the
devil himself would be, if he'd been standin' at this hole the last five
minutes. I'm Jim Williamson. Let me help you miss--sheriff."

The sheriff blew out the light, opened the door, called softly to Jim,
led him into the hut, closed the door, relighted the candle
and--blushed. Jim looked at the sheriff out of the top of his eyes, and
then blushed himself--then he looked at the wounded man. There was for a
moment an awkward silence, which Jim broke by clearing his throat
violently, after which he said:

"Now, both of you make your minds easy. Nobody'll never find you
here--I've hunted through all these woods, but never saw _this_ cabin
before. Arm broke?"

"No," said the counterfeiter, "but--but it runs in the family to shoot
ugly."

Again the sheriff kissed the man repeatedly.

"Then you can move in two or three days," said Jim, "if you're taken
care of rightly. Nobody'll suspect anything wrong about the sheriff, ef