“Lord!” he said. “You shouldn’t be here, Wilmer. Childers may--may be in there. He may be in the woods.” He wanted to make his feet now. He tried and failed. “What’s the matter with my darned legs?” he stammered petulantly. “You’ve been hurt,” she explained gently. “Please--please to sit still.” “But that devil--it isn’t safe for you here, I tell you.” “You think he may be inside?” “He might be. Where’s Roxie?” “I--I haven’t seen any one but--but you.” “Then--can’t you help me stand up?” “It’s better for you not to move.” “I’ve got to get in there and--find out.” The girl’s face was very white and tense. She was kneeling by his side, but she suddenly rose. Then she took the gun from his weak fingers. “I’ll see!” she exclaimed. Before he could catch her skirts she was moving across the few yards of clear space to the door. He called after her. With every ounce of strength left in him he tried to follow, but apparently he had lost a good deal of blood. His legs were like limp straws. Helpless he saw her disappear through the door. She was not gone long, but it seemed an eternity before she came out again. “The house is empty,” she said. “Thank God. If it hadn’t been--” “But it is. And if--can you get across there, leaning on me?” The color was returning to his cheeks; the light to his eyes. “Leaning on you,” he repeated slowly, “I--I think I could get anywhere.” “Then--” She bent down and placed an arm beneath his shoulder. As he moved she lifted and so got him, tottering, to his feet. He stood so for a moment with his arm over her frail shoulder. He did not seem to wish to move farther. “I can build a fire,” she ran on. “It’s cold out here. You can walk a little?” Then he said, as though to himself: “You oughtn’t to be here.” He tried to keep his weight from her as much as possible, but actually he did lean heavily. Even so her shoulders did not sag. Frail they looked--fit only for the burden of lace shawls--but they did not sag. His left arm was over them and her right arm around his waist supporting him. He felt the tight, steady grip of it. Even when he paused, this did not relax. So he came back over that threshold which so brief a time ago he had crossed in the other direction; so he came back into that room where he had waited through the night. There was the corner where he had sat with Roxie. The tumbled blankets still lay on the floor. They cried out to him. They brought her name to his lips. “Where’s Roxie?” “Steady,” Wilmer answered. “Steady until we get to the chair.” She led him to a chair before the dead hearth. He slumped down wearily. “She’s gone,” he said. “Bud must have got her.” “She was here, then?” “Here with Bud Childers.” “But why--” “Because the brute bullied her into coming. He threatened to get me--if she didn’t come.” “Oh!” she cried. “And then?” “I got _him_. I had him fair--tied hand and foot. But the beggar squirmed loose.” “And then?” “Roxie wouldn’t leave for fear of him.”