He sat on his horse silent and motionless, his face upraised in the
full moonlight. There was no sound except the champing of bits, the
creaking of saddles.

"Come on, Toot," urged the leader in a low tone. "You've settled yore
man's hash; what more do you want? We've got you out o' jail, now let
us put you whar you'll be safe from the law."

Wambush had not taken his eyes from the girl. He now spoke as if his
words were meant for her only.

"If I go," he said, "will you come? Will you follow me? You know I'm
not a-goin' to leave 'thout you, Harriet."

It seemed to Westerfelt that she hesitated before speaking, and at that
moment a realization of what she had become to him and what she
doubtless was to Wambush came upon him with such stunning force that he
forgot even his peril in contemplating what seemed almost as bad as
death.

"This is no time nor place to speak of such things," he heard the girl
say, finally. "Go this minute and save yourself while you can."

"Hold on, Harriet!" Wambush cried out, as she was moving away.
Westerfelt could no longer see her, and then he heard her close the
door and start down-stairs.

"Come on, Toot"--the leader whipped his horse up against that of
Wambush.