“Don’t be afraid,” the man was saying. “You ain’t goin’ to be hurt. I’m goin’ to let you go in plenty of time. In the first place, I’ve got to get out the same way myself.” She could believe this, at least. She saw that he kept close watch of the fire as it crept down toward the floor of the canyon. Her eyes looked straight into his. Yet the fear crept at her heart—for if indeed he intended to let her go, none but the most dreadful reason occurred to her why she should be tied. And in truth, the spirit of Landy Fargo was far distant now. José knew perfectly that before she could reach a ’phone and men be secured to battle at this last stand against the fire, the hungry little tongues would have already encompassed the canyon. He only knew that he was shivering strangely, and that he was not yet ready to let her go. “Untie my hands,” she commanded. “I will—quick enough. I just thought we’d talk a while first. It ain’t often I get to talk to a pretty girl like you——” There in the path of the advancing flame the words were ineffably strange and terrible to the girl,—like some demoniac torture of a shadow world. “And you’re not going to have a chance now,” she told him clearly. “If you want to leave me here in the track of the fire, it’s in your power to do it—but it won’t make me bend to you, or plead with you, or treat you any different than I’ve ever treated you.” The man stiffened. She saw the gleam of his teeth through his thin lips. “Don’t be too sure. I was told to let you go, but nothin’s goin’ to happen to me if I don’t. Your position ain’t what it used to be, Alice, and maybe I’m a different kind of man than you’re used to. I come from a different race. And maybe you’d better try to be a little more polite.” “And I can only tell you this,” she went on as if she had not heard. “If you do leave me here, if you put one indignity to me above what you’ve already put by tying me up and making me listen to your talk, you’ll pay for it. I’m just as sure of that as I am that I’m alive.” And the man might have listened in vain for any waver, any note of doubt in her tone. She spoke as if in infallible prophecy. “Who’s goin’ to do it?” the man demanded. “Who’s goin’ to find out?” “It will be found out. You’ll pay, whether I live or not. It seems—almost as if vengeance is coming to you soon—right away. I can’t tell you how I know. I only tell you to let me go. “You’re from the desert, José, and not the mountains, and maybe the desert lets debts go unpaid,” she went on, in a clear free tone of inspiration. “But I know these forests. It seems to me I know them now—better than I ever did before. One more insult—and I tell you you’ll pay.” But José laughed. Just a little, harsh note of scorn fell from his lips. He was a mountain man, but in his passion and frenzy his wilderness knowledge had deserted him. He did not heed her words. And he bent to press his lips to hers.