Boyle made no mention of the purpose of his visit. He made his supper with ambassadorial avoidance of the subject which lay so uneasily on her mind. When he had finished, he drew out his tobacco-sack and rolled a cigarette, and, as it dangled from his lip by a shred of its wrapping, he turned to her. "Well?" he asked. She was standing near the lantern, removing the few utensils--the bacon had been served to him in the pan--from her outdoor table. When she answered him she turned away until her face was hidden in the shadow. "I didn't carry your message to Dr. Slavens as you ordered, Jerry." "I know it," said he. "What next?" "I guess it's 'up to you,' as you put it. I'm not going to try to save myself at the expense of any of my friends." Boyle got up. He took a little turn away from the box whereon the lantern stood, as if struggling to maintain the fair front he had worn when he appeared. After a little he turned and faced her, walking back slowly until only the length of the little stove was between them. "Have you considered your own danger?" he asked. "It wouldn't help you a great deal here, among these rough, fair-minded people, to take an advantage like that of a woman, especially when her transgression is merely technical and not intentional," she rejoined. "I wouldn't have to appear in it," he assured her. "Well, set the United States marshal after me as soon as you want to; I'll be here," she said, speaking with the even tone of resignation which one commands when the mind has arrived at a determined stand to face the last and worst. "Agnes, I told you yesterday that I was all over the old feeling that I had for you." Boyle leaned forward as he spoke, his voice earnest and low. "But that was a bluff. I'm just as big a fool as I ever was about it. If you want to walk over me, go ahead; if you want to--oh, rats! But I'll tell you; if you'll come away with me I'll drop all of this. I'll leave that tin-horn doctor where he is, and let him make what he can out of his claim." "I couldn't marry you, Jerry; it's impossible to think of that," she told him gently. "Oh, well, that's a formality," he returned, far more in his voice than his words. "I'll say to you----" "You've said too much!" she stopped him, feeling her cheeks burn under the outrage which he had offered to her chaste heart. "There's no room for any more words between you and me--never! Go now--say no more!" She walked across the bright ring of light toward the tent, making a little detour around him, as if afraid that his violent words might be followed by violent deeds. Boyle turned where he stood, following her with his eyes. The light of the lantern struck him strongly up to the waist, leaving his head and shoulders in the gloom above its glare. His hands were in the pockets of his trousers, his shoulders drooping forward in that horseback stoop which years in the saddle had fastened on him.