In the belief that nothing could save her, the maiden had closed her eyes to shut out the low gate that seemed to grin at her like some hideous monster gloating over its victim. As she felt the strong arm clasp her waist, then lift her in the air, the relief was more than her overwrought nerves could bear and she had fainted. Kneeling beside her, the great outlaw wet his kerchief with brandy from his flask, moistened her lips and bathed her forehead. "Don't let them crowd round her," he said to his companions as, looking up, he caught sight of the excited crowd of men and women surging toward them. In obedience, Clell and Frank faced about, shouting: "Keep back! Keep back! The girl wants air!" But as well might they have commanded the sun to stand still for all the effect their words had. "_Make_ 'em stand back!" snapped the bandit-chief. The meaning of his tone was obvious and, whipping out their guns, the two desperadoes pointed them menacingly at the mob, crying: "The girl _must_ have air! Stop where you are!" Their respect for the business-like muzzles of the four guns, backed by men whose faces were so calm and determined, was greater than their curiosity and the crowd paused in their tracks. One man, stout of figure, well-groomed and well-fed, with every appearance of affluence, did not stop, however. Ominously, the hammers of the pistols clicked. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm her father, Forman A. Rozier, of Ste. Genevieve!" he gasped. Recognizing his right, Clell and Frank bade him approach. Arrived at the girl's side, the father dropped to his knees, seized her in his arms and clutched her to his breast. "Sally, my child, my darling! Are you hurt?" he asked, holding back her head and looking at her ashen cheeks. "I think she's only swooned," replied her rescuer. "If you'll force some of this brandy down her throat, I fancy it'll revive her," and he extended his flask. But as her parent reached out his hand to take it, the girl opened her eyes. "Daddy! Daddy!" she murmured as she beheld her father's face, then, turning her head, asked: "Where is the gentleman who saved my life?" Before he could reply, however, his daughter had freed herself from his embrace and, springing lightly to her feet, rushed to Jesse, taking both his hands in hers, impulsively, while she exclaimed: "How can I _ever_ thank you? If it hadn't been for you--ugh!" and she shuddered, turning her head away that she might not see the low lintelled gate that had come so near being her execution block. As the bandit-chieftain had felt the touch of her hands, a thrill ran through him and looking closely at her, he discovered that her face was of unusual beauty. Her skin was as the olive, the bloom of the rose glowed in her cheeks; deep and limpid, black bottomless wells of love-joy were her eyes; her lips seemed crimson Cupid's bows and in unruly ringlets, her wavy, raven black hair fell about her full throat and shell-like ears.