She had plenty of courage, and, after the first instant of shock, she had
herself in hand. She had quickly observed his condition, had marked the
candour of the eye and the decision and character of the face, and doubt
of him found no place in her mind. She had the keen observation of the
dweller in lonely places, where every traveller has the potentialities of
a foe, while the door of hospitality is opened to him after the custom of
the wilds. Year in, year out, since she was a little girl and came to
live here with her Uncle Sanger when her father died--her mother had gone
before she could speak--travellers had halted at this door, going North
or coming South, had had bite and sup, and bed, may be, and had passed
on, most of them never to be seen again. More than that, too, there had
been moments of peril, such as when, alone, she had faced two wood-
thieves with a revolver, as they were taking her mountain-pony with them,
and herself had made them "hands-up," and had marched them into a
prospector's camp five miles away.

She had no doubt about the man before her. Whatever he had done, it was
nothing dirty or mean--of that she was sure.

"Yes, I'm Jenny Long," she answered. "What have you done? What are they
after you for?"

"Oh! to-morrow," he answered, "to-morrow I got to git to Bindon.
It's life or death. I come from prospecting two hundred miles up North.
I done it in two days and a half. My horse dropped dead--I'm near dead
myself. I tried to borrow another horse up at Clancey's, and at
Scotton's Drive, but they didn't know me, and they bounced me.
So I borrowed a horse off Weigall's paddock, to make for here--to you.
I didn't mean to keep that horse. Hell, I'm no horse-stealer! But I
couldn't explain to them, except that I had to git to Bindon to save a