stretched the long, still figure of Graydon Bansemer. A surgeon
was standing near by, studying the grey face with thoughtful
eyes. Bray's first glance at the suffering face sent a thrill of
encouragement through his veins. The man was beyond all human help;
the grip of death was already upon his heart.

Then, the true manhood that had been his, through all generations,
revolted against the thought that was in his mind. The man should
not die if it was in his power to prevent; no matter what the cost
to him, he would give his aid to her and hers. He tried to put
aside the feeling that death was certain--and very soon, at that;
he sought honestly to justify himself in the hope that Bansemer's
life could be saved, after all.

"Leave me alone with the doctor, Miss Cable," he said. She was
kneeling beside the man on the cot. Without a word, but with a
dark appealing look into the Virginian's eyes, she arose and went
swiftly away. "What chance has this poor fellow, doctor?"

"None whatever, sir. He'll be dead in an hour. I'm sorry, on her
account. Strange case. I've heard she belongs to a fine family in
the East. Poor devil, he's got an awful hole in his side."

"Have you made a careful examination? Is it possible that no vital
spot has been touched?"

"We haven't had time for a thorough examination; it was better
not to waste the time on him when there were others whom we have
a chance to save."