The chilling sheets of rain that swept their faces did not hasten his utterance: "When you get home and tell your story, your men will know it was Abe Hawk you ran into whether you knew it or not. They'll ask you all about his hiding place and you'll tell them all you know--which won't be much. I don't complain of all that--it's war; and part of the game. All I'll ask you not to say is, that I brought Abe Hawk with you to my cabin. Abe won't be here when they come--it isn't that. We can take care of ourselves. I'm speaking only because I don't want my place burned. It isn't much but I think a good deal of it. Burning it won't help get rid of me. It will only make things in this country worse than they are now--and they're bad enough. I wouldn't have brought you here if there'd been any other place to take you. There wasn't; and for awhile you'll have to make partners with the two men your father and his friends are trying to get killed." She almost cried out a protest: "How can you say such a thing?" "Just the plain fact, that's all." "Is it fair because you are enemies to accuse my father in such a way?" "Have it as you want it but get my view of it with the one you get over at your place. And if you'll climb down we'll go under cover." "Now may I say something?" "No more than fair you should." She spoke low but fast and distinctly; nor was there any note of fear or apology in her words: "You must put a low estimate on a woman if you would expect her to go home with tales from the camp of an enemy that had put her again on her road. It may be that is the kind of woman you know best----" Laramie tried to interrupt. "I've not done," she protested instantly. "You said I might say something: It may be that is the kind of woman you understand best. But I won't be classed with such--not even by you. If you've saved me from great danger it doesn't give you the right to insult me by telling me you expect me to be a tale-bearer. It isn't manly or fair to treat me in that way." "You mustn't expect too much from a thief." "You shame yourself, not me, when you use a word I never in my life, not even in anger, ever used of you." "You shame your friends when you call me or think of me as anything else. I'm no match for you----" "I've not done----" "I'm no match for you, I know, in fine words--or in any other kind of a game--don't think I don't know that; but by----" he checked himself just in time, "thief or no thief, you've had a square deal from me every turn of the road." Bitter with anger, he blurted out the words with vehemence. If he looked for a quick retort, none came. Kate for an instant waited: "Should you wish me," she asked, "to look for anything else at your hands?" "Well, we're not holding up this rain any by talking," he returned gruffly. "Get down and we'll get inside. You can stay here till morning." "Oh, no!" "Why not?" "Just put me on the road for home and let me be going."