That was done, pinkish; and a second time, clearer. "You're all right." Jenks apparently was ministering to me. "Swaller this." The odor of whiskey fumed into my nostrils. I obediently swallowed, and gasped and choked. Jenks wiped my face with a sopping cloth. Hands were rummaging at my left arm; a bandage being wound about. "Nothin' much," was the report. "Creased him, is all. Lucky he dodged. It was comin' straight for his heart." "He's all right," Jenks again asserted. Under the bidding of the liquor the faintness from the exertion and reaction was leaving me. The slight hemorrhage from the strain to my weak lungs had ceased. I would live, I would live. But he--Daniel? "Did I kill him?" I besought. "Not that! I didn't aim--I don't know how I shot--but I had to. Didn't I?" "You did. He'll not bother you ag'in. She's yourn." That hurt. "But it wasn't about her, it wasn't over Mrs. Montoyo. He bullied me--dared me. We were man to man, boys. He made me fight him." "Yes, shore," they agreed--and they were not believing. They still linked me with a woman, whereas she had figured only as a transient occasion. Then she herself, My Lady, appeared, running in breathless and appealing. "Is Mr. Beeson hurt? Badly? Where is he? Let me help." She knelt beside me, her hand grasped mine, she gazed wide-eyed and imploring. "No, he's all right, ma'am." "I'm all right, I assure you," I mumbled thickly, and helpless as a babe to the clinging of her cold fingers. "How's the other man?" they abruptly asked. "I don't know. He was carried away. But I think he's dead. I hope so--oh, I hope so. The coward, the beast!" "There, there," they quieted. "That's all over with. What he got is his own business now. He hankered for it and was bound to have it. You'd best stay right hyar a spell. It's the place for you at present." They grouped apart, on the edge of the flickering fire circle. The dusk had heightened apace (for nightfall this really was), the glow and flicker barely touched their blackly outlined forms, the murmur of their voices sounded ominous. In the circle we two sat, her hand upon mine, thrilling me comfortably yet abashing me. She surveyed me unwinkingly and grave--a triumph shining from her eyes albeit there were seamy shadows etched into her white face. It was as though she were welcoming me through the outposts of hell. "You killed him. I knew you would--I knew you'd have to." "I knew it, too," I miserably faltered. "But I didn't want to--I shot without thinking. I might have waited." "Waited! How could you wait? 'Twas either you or he." "Then I wish it had been I," I attempted. "What nonsense," she flashed. "We all know you did your best to avoid it. But tell me: Do you think I dragged you into it? Do you hate me for it?" "No. It happened when you were there. That's all. I'm sorry; only sorry. What's to be done next?"