“I heard—and I saw,” she answered, “and my heart is heavy for the pretty one with the eagle’s eyes. She does not fear—but she does not know.” Rod Stone put out an arm and hugged the girl gently. “You’re a real woman, kid, if your skin is brown,” he said admiringly, “and after all, it’s heart that counts. Now tell me about this.” They stood close together in the shadows of the fir beside the corral and the girl talked swiftly, recounting with almost flawless accuracy what had taken place in the Inner Room. The boy was silent but his lips were tightly compressed and his blue eyes shone with wrath. “I came,” said Minnie frankly, “to you, because you are the only man at Sky Line. The rest are skunks. Josefa says you have the heart of a Pomo chief.” Stone stood for a long time considering. Then he drew a deep breath and flung up his head. The motion was full of portent, as if something in him which had long bowed down sprang aloft with vigor, like a young tree, bent to earth, released. “You’re right,” he said, “it’s devil’s work and something must be done. I am the one to do it, too.” He was silent for another space. Then he turned to the girl. “Kid,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about you lately—about making a get-a-way down the Pipe some night and striking across the desert for Marston—we could find a parson there and drop over the Line into Mexico. Arnold hasn’t much on me—perhaps less than on anyone at Sky Line—and we could make a new start——” There was the soft sound of an indrawn breath and Minnie Pine’s hand went to her shapely throat. Stone went on. “If I do this—if I hit down for Cordova tonight—you know, of course, that it is very likely to be the end of me one way or another, in the general stir-up that will follow. I want you to know any way before I start—that I’d like that new beginning—with you.” For a long moment there was no sound save the myriad voices of the conifers talking mysteriously with the winds of night. Then the Pomo girl put her hands on the white man’s shoulders. “A chief,” she said, “does what must be done—without fear—and a chief’s woman follows him—even to death. Saddle two horses.” * * * * * At Sheriff Price Selwood’s ranch an anxious circle watched the still form on the bed. The doctor from Bement had not left his station for seven hours. Outside cowboys, all armed, walked here and there, and on the deep veranda sat the prospector, Smith, smoking innumerable cigarettes and waiting on destiny. Though he was filled with inner excitement his dark face gave no sign. He sat tilted back against the wall, his booted feet on the round of his chair, his hat pulled low over his eyes, and his keen vision sweeping the stretch of meadow that lay before the ranch house. “It may be an hour—it may be ten—but something is going to happen soon,” the doctor had said at dusk, “he will either rally or sink. If he speaks he will be rational, I think.”