"What do you think they will do?" she added in a spirit of contrition
that came at once upon her. "They must be terrible men!"

"They won't do much but take his money and clothes, and maybe beg for a
ride," said Van reassuringly. "They'll see he isn't fit to kill."

Beth glanced at him briefly, inquiringly. What a baffling light it was
that played in the depths of his eyes! What manner of being was he,
after all? She could not tell. And yet she felt she could trust
him--she certainly knew not why. Despite his ways of raillery she felt
he was serious, true as steel, and big in heart and nature.

"I mustn't forget to thank you," she murmured. "I mean for sparing
us--all that. I do thank you, most sincerely, for----"

"Never mind that," he interrupted. "We're going to be late to lunch."

He turned once more to the trail and started off, in his active manner,
together with a thorough indifference as to what became of Bostwick.

Beth, with a feeling that something ought yet to be done for Searle,
down in the valley with the convicts, cast one helpless glance at the
scene of the hold-up, then perforce urged her pony forward.

Van halted no more. He led the way doggedly onward, over the rises,
through great silent forests, past crystal springs, and down dark,
somber ravines. At a quarter of one he emerged from a gorge upon the
level acre of a tiny cove, still high in the mountains fastnesses.
Here he let out a whoop like an Indian, its echo filling all the place.