"What are you doing? Why--why did you come here?" she questioned, a
falter in her voice; and he noticed that her eyes were dark and large,
yielding a marked impress of beauty to her face.

"I was unwilling to leave you here alone," he answered, quietly, "and
hope to discover some means for getting you safely back beside the
others."

"But I didn't want you," and there was a look of positive dislike in
her widely opened eyes.

"Did n't want me?" He echoed these unexpected words in a tone of
complete surprise. "Surely you could not desire to be left here alone?
Why didn't you want me?"

"Because I know who you are!" Her voice seemed to catch in her throat.
"He told me. You're the man who shot Jim Eberly."

Mr. Hampton was never of a pronounced emotional nature, nor was he a
person easily disconcerted, yet he flushed at the sound of these
impulsive words, and the confident smile deserted his lips. For a
moment they sat thus, the dead body lying between, and looked at each
other. When the man finally broke the constrained silence a deeper
intonation had crept into his voice.

"My girl," he said gravely, and not without a suspicion of pleading,
"this is no place for me to attempt any defence of a shooting affray in
a gambling-house, although I might plead with some justice that Eberly
enjoyed the honor of shooting first. I was not aware of your personal
feeling in the matter, or I might have permitted some one else to come