as they circled the room, she was constantly aware of him. Sitting
there, with a smile on his strong face, apparently unperturbed, he
gave no hint of the stern fact that he was circled by enemies, any one
of whom might carry his death in a hip pocket. His gaze was serene,
unabashed, even amused.

The young woman was irritably suspicious that he found her anger
amusing, just as he seemed to find the dangerous position in which he
was placed. Yet her resentment coexisted with a sympathy for him that
would not down. She believed he was marked for death by a coterie of
those present, chief of whom was the man smiling down into her face
from half-shut, smouldering eyes.

Her heart was a flame of protest against their decree, all the more so
because she held herself partly responsible for it. In a panic of
repentance, she had told Dick of her confession to the ranger of the
names of the Squaw Creek raiders, and France had warned his
confederates. He had done this, not because he distrusted Fraser, but
because he felt it was their due to get a chance to escape if they
wanted to do so.

Always a creature of impulse, Arlie had repented her repentance when
too late. Now she would have fought to save the Texan, but the horror
of it was that she could not guess how the blow would fall. She tried
to believe he was safe, at least until the week was up.

When Dick strolled across the floor, sat down beside Steve, and began
casually to chat with him, she could have thanked the boy with tears.
It was equivalent to a public declaration of his intentions. At least,
the ranger was not friendless. One of the raiders was going to stand