"And I guess a lot of the rest of us will before this scrape gets straightened out," muttered the high sheriff, bodingly. "Mr. Britt, you're going to be sorry for it if you drag that poor abused girl to prison," said Lane, with such fire of conviction that the timber baron, cautious in his methods, and always fearing the notoriety that would embroil the great secrets of the timber interests with public opinion, blinked at the oracular old warden and then at the still defiant face of the girl. Like most untrained natures in whom passion has unleashed natural high spirit, she seemed incapable of calm reconsideration. She had made such protest against the enormity of her persecution as opportunity had put into her heart as right and into her hands as feasible. "We were fools to bring her here and toss her into the old hyena's claws," muttered Wade in Christopher's ear. "We might have known that he and his crowd would make for Jerusalem." "I did know it," returned the old guide, quietly. "And I knew just as well what would happen to us in the runway of that fire to-morrow." "Lane," broke in the Honorable Pulaski, with decision, "two trials won't stir this thing any worse than one. You've arranged for one. Go ahead with MacLeod. I'll have the girl." Those who looked on Lane's face only knew that mighty passions were shaking him. His voice broke and quavered. "Mr. Britt, things have been mixed for me in this world till I don't hardly know what is right. I've tried to do my duty as it's been laid out for me. But in climbing up to it there's some things I haven't got the heart to step on. Perhaps in this thing we're mixed in now we've all been more or less wrong. I don't know. I haven't got the head to-night to figure it out. Perhaps it's best that what has happened on Jerusalem to-day don't get out. I don't know as that's right. But I'll say this: give me the girl; you can take MacLeod." The Honorable Pulaski hesitated, "hemmed" hoarsely in his throat, clutched at his beard, looked significantly at the high sheriff, and then called him apart by a nod of his head. When he returned to the group he said, crisply: "It's a trade! Under the circumstances, I don't suppose even such a little tin god as you will have anything to say about it outside," he sneered, running his red eye over Dwight Wade. The young man did not reply, but his face gave assent. Lane pried away the saplings, and MacLeod stepped out. "Give him a camp lantern," commanded Britt. "Get your men into that fire at daylight." "Tell me that they've all been lying about you, Colin," cried the girl, her cheeks crimson, her heart going out to him at sight of his face, "and I'll go with you! I'll work with you! I'm sorry for it if it's made you mad with me." All her sullen anger was gone. She leaned towards him as though she yearned to abase herself. With Britt's flaming eyes on him, MacLeod only moved his lips without words.