"'But,' says I, 'that ain't the whole case, Miss Nan. What he'll ask me, when he's borin' through me with _his_ eyes like the way you're borin' me through with yours, is: When will you see him--when will he see you?' "She looked worrit for a minit. Then she looks around, grabs up the cover of an empty 'bacco box and a fork and begins a-writing inside." Bull, with as much of a smile as he could call into life from his broken nerves, opened up his blanket, drew carefully from an inside coat pocket an oilskin package, unwrapped from it the flat, square top of a tin tobacco box on which Nan had scratched a message, and handed it triumphantly to de Spain. He read her words eagerly: "Wait; don't have trouble. I can stand anything better than bloodshed, Henry. Be patient." While de Spain, standing close to the lantern, deciphered the brief note, Bull, wrapping his blanket about him with the air of one whose responsibility is well ended, held out his hands toward the blazing stove. De Spain went over the words one by one, and the letters again and again. It was, after all their months of ardent meetings, the first written message he had ever had from Nan. He flamed angrily at the news that she was prisoner in her own home. But there was much to weigh in her etched words, much to think about concerning her feelings--not alone concerning his own. He dropped into his chair and, oblivious for a moment of his companion's presence, stared into the fire. When he started from his revery Bull was asleep. De Spain picked him up, carried him in his blanket over to a cot, cut the wet rags off him, and, rolling him in a second blanket, walked out into the barn and ordered up a team and light wagon for Sleepy Cat. The rain fell all night. CHAPTER XXIV AN OMINOUS MESSAGE Few men bear suspense well; de Spain took his turn at it very hard. For the first time in his life he found himself braved by men of a type whose defiance he despised--whose lawlessness he ordinarily warred on without compunction--but himself without the freedom that had always been his to act. Every impulse to take the bit in his teeth was met with the same insurmountable obstacle--Nan's feelings--and the unpleasant possibility that might involve him in bloodshed with her kinspeople. "Patience." He repeated the word to himself a thousand times to deaden his suspense and apprehension. Business affairs took much of his time, but Nan's situation took most of his thought. For the first time he told John Lefever the story of Nan's finding him on Music Mountain, of her aid in his escape, and the sequel of their friendship. Lefever gave it to Bob Scott in Jeffries's office. "What did I tell you, John?" demanded Bob mildly. "No matter what you told me," retorted Lefever. "The question is: What's he to do to get Nan away from there without shooting up the Morgans?"