Meanwhile Bond Saxon was hurrying north on his work of redemption. At the bend in the river he found Tom Gresh sitting on the flat stone slab. The light was gleaming through the shrubbery of the little cottage, and the homey sounds of evening and the twitter of late-coming birds were in the air. “What are you here for, Gresh?” Bond asked, hoarsely. “I thought you had left for good.” The villainous-looking outlaw drew a flask from his pocket. “Have a drink, Saxon. Take the whole bottle,” and he thrust it into the old man's hands. Bond wavered a moment, then flung it far into the foamy floods of the Walnut. “Not any more. You shall not get me drunk again while you rob and kill.” “You did the killing for me once. Won't you do it again?” Gresh snarled. Bond clinched his fists but did not strike. “What are you after now?” he asked. “You are through with the Burleighs; Vic settled you and you know it.” Even with the words the clutch of Vic's fingers on the outlaw's throat seemed to choke him now. “If my last Burleigh is gone,” he growled with an oath, “I'm not done yet. There's Elinor Wream. Don't forget that her mother was my adopted sister. Don't forget that my old foster father cut me off without a cent and gave her all his money. That's why Nathan Wream married her. He wanted her money for colleges.” The sneer on the man's face was diabolical. “I can hit the old man through Elinor, and I'll do it some time, and that's not the only blow that I can strike here, and I am going to finish this thing now.” He pointed toward the cottage where the unprotected woman sat alone. “Twice I've nerved myself to do it and been fooled each time. One October day you were here drunk. I could have laid it on you easy, and maybe fixed Fenneben too, if a little child's voice hadn't scared me stiff. And the day of the big football game you wouldn't get drunk and she must go down to that game just to look once at Lloyd Fenneben. I meant to finish her that day. This is the third and last time now. There is not even a dog to protect her.” Bond Saxon had been a huge fellow in his best days, and now he summoned all the powers nature had left to him. “Tom Gresh,” he cried, “in my infernal weakness you made me a drunken beast, who took the life of an innocent man you wanted out of your way. You thought, you fool, that she might care for you then. I've carried the curse of that deed on my soul night and day. I'll wipe it partly away now by saving her life from you. So surely as tonight, tomorrow, or ever you try to harm her, I'll not show you the mercy Vic Burleigh showed you once.” Strange forms the guardian angel takes! Hence we entertain it unawares.