The minutes were hours to her. Interminably they dragged. The fear rose in her that MacQueen might come in time to cut off her escape. At last, in her stocking feet, carrying her shoes in her hand, she stole into the hall, out to the porch, and from it to the shadows of the cottonwoods. It was a night of both moon and stars. She had to cross a space washed in silvery light, taking the chance that nobody would see her. But first she stooped in the shadows to slip the shoes upon her feet. Her heart beat against her side as she had once seen that of a frightened mouse do. It seemed impossible for her to cover all that moonlit open unseen. Every moment she expected an alarm to ring out in the silent night. But none came. Safely she reached the big rocks. A voice called to her softly. She answered, and came face to face with Boone. A drawn revolver was in his hand. "You made it," he panted, as a man might who had been running hard. "Yes," she whispered. "But they'll soon know. Let us get away." "If you hadn't come I was going in to kill him." She noticed the hard glitter in his eyes as he spoke, the crouched look of the padding tiger ready for its kill. The man was torn with hatred and jealousy. Already they were moving back through the rocks to a dry wash that ran through the valley. The bed of this they followed for nearly a mile. Deflecting from it they pushed across the valley toward what appeared to be a sheer rock wall. With a twist to the left they swung back of a face of rock, turned sharply to the right, and found themselves in a fissure Melissy had not at all expected. Here ran a little canyon known only to those few who rode up and down it on the nefarious business of their unwholesome lives. Boone spoke harshly, breaking for the first time in half an hour his moody silence. "Safe at last. By God, I've evened my score with Black MacQueen." And from the cliff above came the answer--a laugh full of mocking deviltry and malice. The Arkansan turned upon Melissy a startled face of agony, in which despair and hate stood out of a yellow pallor. "Trapped." It was his last word to her. He swept the girl back against the shelter of the wall and ran crouching toward the entrance. A bullet zipped--a second--a third. He stumbled, but did not fall. Turning, he came back, dodging like a hunted fox. As he passed her, Melissy saw that his face was ghastly. He ran with a limp. A second time she heard the cackle of laughter. Guns cracked. Still the doomed man pushed forward. He went down, struck in the body, but dragged himself to his feet and staggered on. All this time he had seen nobody at whom he could fire. Not a shot had come from his revolver. He sank behind a rock for shelter. The ping of a bullet on the shale beside him brought the tortured man to his feet. He looked wildly about him, the moon shining on his bare head, and plunged up the canyon.