Melissy stood before him in the unconscious attitude of distinction she often fell into when she was moved, head thrown back so as to bare the rounded throat column, brown little hands folded in front of her, erectly graceful in all her slender lines. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked. His stone-cold eyes met hers steadily. "It ain't my say-so. I'm going to put it up to Bellamy. I don't know what he'll do." But, cold as his manner was, the heart of the man leaped to her courage. He saw her worn out, pathetically fearful, but she could face him with that still little smile of hers. He longed to take her in his arms, to tell her it would be all right--all right. "There's one thing that troubles me. I don't know how father will take this. You know how quick-tempered he is. I'm afraid he'll shoot somebody or do something rash when he finds out. You must let me be alone with him when I tell him." He nodded. "I been thinking of that myself. It ain't going to do him any good to make a gun-play. I have a notion mebbe this thing will unravel itself if we give it time. It will only make things worse for him to go off half-cocked." "How do you mean it may unravel itself?" she asked. "Bellamy is a whole lot better man than folks give him credit for being. I expect he won't be hard on you when he knows why you did it." "And why did I do it?" she asked quietly. "Sho! I know why you did it. Jim Budd told you what he had heard, and you figured you could save your father from doing it. You meant to give the money back, didn't you?" "Yes, but I can't prove that either in court or to Mr. Bellamy." "You don't need to prove it to me. If you say so, that's enough," he said in his unenthusiastic voice. "But you're not judge and jury, and you're certainly not Mr. Bellamy." "Scrape Arizona with a fine-tooth comb and you couldn't get a jury to convict when it's up against the facts in this case." At this she brightened. "Thank you, Mr. Flatray." And naively she added with a little laugh: "Are you ready to put the handcuffs on me yet?" He looked with a smile at her outstretched hands. "They wouldn't stay on." "Don't you carry them in sizes to fit all criminals?" "I'll have to put you on parole." "I'll break it and climb out the window. Then I'll run off with this." She indicated the box of treasure. "I need that wash-stand in my room. I'm going to take it up there to-night," he said. "This _isn't_ a very good safety deposit vault," she answered, and, nodding a careless good-night, she walked away in her slow-limbed, graceful Southern fashion.