Whatever Roxie’s relations with Allston were, then, they were only temporary. And she was not at fault. She did not know men. It was the old story of the summerer and his fine clothes, except that Roxie would never be fooled too far. Bud knew that. He had known it before, but the early part of this evening the girl had proven it. The little wildcat had taken a knife out of her bosom and started for him. And he--well, he was almost tempted to risk one cut for a kiss. Her eyes had stopped him. They had warned that the cut would be deep. Now she was in there with Allston. That was what made it hard to wait. It was this which moved him from his position once and urged him to one of those front windows. Cautiously he peered in. He could see only the dying fire lighting dimly the hearthstones. But this sight maddened him. It was cold outside, and here he was barred from his own fire. To the right was a black shadow. Upon the impulse of the moment he raised his rifle and fired into it. Then he moved back swiftly to his point of vantage by the spring-house. Nothing followed. The shadow evidently was only a shadow. It was expecting too much to hope it was anything else. Roxie was no fool. She would see to it that Allston kept out of range. For that matter Allston himself was no fool. Bud made up his mind that he could look forward to little action until morning, and the only consolation he could get out of that was that daylight would increase his chances. Daylight would make the result certain. In the dark a man, no matter how good a shot, might shoot wild. Once the sun was up Bud knew that not even a rat could move ten inches from either doorsill. With his rifle across his arm he sat down, his thin lips drawn taut, his blue eyes as hard and cold as steel. CHAPTER XXI Allston did not minimize the danger of his situation. He knew that the odds were against him and that those odds increased with every passing hour. After dawn his chances of getting out alive would be ten to one against him. But his only alternative was to make a dash for it with Roxie, and that would be to risk her life as well as his own. Bud would shoot at anything that moved from either door. He must wait until Bud could distinguish clearly between them. Allston accepted his lot like a gentleman. He even appreciated the grim irony of his plight--the sardonic humor of it. He had come up here to save Roxie and had succeeded in doing nothing but endanger her; she in her turn had come here to save him and had only placed his life in jeopardy. Both had been actuated by the highest motives, but these had worked only for their doom. There was something wrong about that. Though helpless, Allston was by no means resigned to any such outcome; neither for Roxie nor for himself. There was too much good in this girl to have any misfortune come to her. As for himself, life had never seemed sweeter. He did not mean to let go of it without a struggle.