despair the Virginian turned back.

When he had found his way to the door of the cabin, it was closed; as
he entered and shut it behind him, a match flared and expired in the
middle of the room, and a man cursed brokenly.

"Rutton?" cried Amber in a flush of hope.

"Is that you, Mr. Amber? Thank Gawd! Wyte a minute."

A second match spluttered, its flame waxing in the pink cup of
Doggott's hands. The servant's head and shoulders stood out in dim
relief against the darkness.

"I've burnt me 'and somethin' 'orrid on this damn' 'ot chimney," he
complained nervously.

He succeeded in setting fire to the wick. The light showed him barefoot
and shivering in shirt and trousers. He lifted a bemused red face to
Amber, blinking and nursing his scorched hand. "For pity's syke, sir,
w'at's 'appened?"

"It's hard to say," replied Amber vaguely, preoccupied. He went
immediately to a window and stood there, looking out.

"But w'ere's Mr. Rutton, sir?"

"Gone--out there--I don't know just where." Amber moved back to the
table. "You see, he had a caller."