About her there was a mystery which alarmed me; made me sit up, chilled, to eye her and accuse. "Where? We are free, you mean? What's the bargain?" "I go to them. You go where you choose--to the stage road, of course. I have his promise." This brought me to my feet, rigid; more than scandalized, for no word can express the shock. "You go to them? And then where?" She answered calmly, flushing a little, smiling a little, her eyes sincere. "It's the best way and the only way. We shall neither of us be harmed, now. The chief will provide for me and you yourself are free. No, no," she said, checking my first indignant cry. "Really I don't mind. The Indians are about the only persons left to me. I'll be safe with them." She laughed rather sadly, but brightened. "I don't know but that I prefer them to the whites. I told you I had no place. And this saves you also, you see. I got you into it--I've felt that you blamed me, almost hated me. Things have been breaking badly for me ever since we met again in Benton. So it's up to me to make good. You can go home, and I shall not be unhappy, I think. Please believe that. The wife of a great chief is quite a personage--he won't inquire into my past. But if we try to stay here you will certainly be killed, and I shall suffer, and we shall gain nothing. You must take my money. Please do. Then good-bye. I told him I would come out, under his promise." She and the rocks reeled together. That was my eyes, giddy with a rush of blood, surging and hot. "Never, never, never!" I was shouting, ignoring her hand. How she had misjudged me! What a shame she had put upon me! I could not credit. "You shall not--I tell you, you sha'n't. I won't have it--it's monstrous, preposterous. You sha'n't go, I sha'n't go. But wherever we go we'll go together. We'll stand them off. Then if they can take us, let 'em. You make a coward of me--a dastard. You've no right to. I'd rather die." "Listen," she chided, her hand grasping my sleeve. "They would take me anyway--don't you see? After they had killed you. It would be the worse for both of us. What can you do, with one arm, and a revolver, and an unlucky woman? No, Mr. Beeson (she was firm and strangely formal); the cards are faced up. I have closed a good bargain for both of us. When you are out, you need say nothing. Perhaps some day I may be ransomed, should I wish to be. But we can talk no further now. He is impatient. The money--you will need the money, and I shall not. Please turn your back and I'll get at my belt. Why," she laughed, "how well everything is coming. You are disposed of, I am disposed of----" "Money!" I roared. "God in Heaven! You disposed of? I disposed of? And my honor, madam! What of that?" "And what of mine, Mr. Beeson?" She stamped her foot, coloring. "Will you turn your back, or----? Oh, we've talked too long. But the belt you shall have. Here----" She fumbled within her gown. "And now, adios and good luck. You shall not despise me."