There was the frau, vigilant as ever, her needles flying and the ball dancing up and down the barrel and stock of the old pistol. “Py shinks,” thought the baron, “vat oof she shdays dere all nighdt?” The baron wasn’t afraid of the pistol--not for himself, but the lady would be endangered if he tried to take her away in spite of the watchful frau. No, it would be better to wait until Frau Dinkelmann was sound asleep. The baron returned to his place by the corral fence. Sitting down as before, he leaned back, and tried to beguile the tedious wait by wondering who the lady was, why she had been imprisoned in the house, and whether or not it was she who weighed so heavily on Fritz Dinkelmann’s mind. Then, being tired, and growing confused over his knotty reflections, quite naturally he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again, a dingy gray light tinged the sky in the east. For a moment he blinked; then, with a muttered exclamation, he jumped to his feet. “Himmelblitzen!” he gasped. “I haf shlept all der nighdt, und now it iss gedding tay! Dit I tream dot aboudt der laty vat vants to be resgued?” His troubled eyes wandered toward the cabin, and then back to a post by the corral. No, he had not dreamed about the lady. There, plainly before his eyes, was the boarded-up window, and here, hitched to the corral post, stood the weary horse and the mule. Softly the baron made his way to the living-room window, and peered through. The lamp, burning dimly, cast a sickly light over the room. In the chair in front of the door still sat the frau, but her knitting lay in her lap, and her head was bowed forward in slumber. Hastily the baron passed to the rear of the house, picked up the axe, and pried at the boards covering the window. The first one came away with such a crash that he felt sure Frau Dinkelmann must have heard the noise. But, no. There was no sound in the living room to bolster up his fears. He went to work at the second board, and got it off much more quietly than he had the first. It was not necessary to remove any more. A woman’s face appeared in the opening he had made, and a slender form forced itself through the breach and dropped to the ground at his side. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” said the woman, catching one of the baron’s hands in both her own. The baron’s heart fluttered. She was young and beautiful--and he had saved her from the Dinkelmanns! “Dot’s all righdt, lady,” said the baron, throwing out his chest, “making resgues like dose vas my long suit. I peen a bard oof Puffalo Pill’s, und I learned how to do dot mit him. You know Puffalo Pill, yes?” “I have heard of him,” the girl answered. For the first time the baron noticed that the girl’s face, though very pretty, was haggard and worn. “Ach,” he murmured sympathetically, “you haf hat some hardt times, I bed you! Vat iss your name?” “Hattie Perry.”