Moaning, swaying, dizzy and sick, she crouched in a far corner. Then she ran to the door and looked out. There was nothing moving to be seen anywhere. Just the white moonlight here, the black patches of shadow there, the sombre wall of the forest land a few yards away. Her nausea of dread, her uncertainty, had passed. With never a glance behind her she ran down toward the barn. She knew that she would be afraid to go into the black maw of the silent building for her horse and yet she knew that she must, that she must mount and ride.... She had never until now known the terror of being alone, utterly alone in the night and the wilderness. Suddenly she stopped to stare incredulously. About a corner of the barn, coming out into the bright moonlight, leading his own horse and her own, was Buck Thornton. She was so certain that he had gone! For the instant she could not move but stood powerless to lift a hand, rooted to the spot. She noted that his face was unhidden now, his black hat pushed far back on his head, while from his hip pocket trailed the end of a handkerchief which may and may not have had slits let in it for his eyes to peer through. "You ... here? Yet?" she found herself stammering at him. "Yes," he answered heavily. "I have been all this time looking for the horses. The corral was broken; they had gotten out into the pasture." "A likely tale!" she cried with a sudden heat of passionate fury at the man and his cold manner and his mad thought that she was fool enough to be beguiled from her knowledge of what he was. And then a fresh fear made her draw back and widened her eyes. She had not thought of madness but ... if the man were mad.... But he was not mad and she knew it. His were the clear eyes of perfect sanity. He was simply ... an unthinkable brute. "Look," she said as his horse moved nervously. "Your horse _does_ limp!" His answer came quickly. And there was a queer note in his voice, harsh and ugly, which sent a shiver through her shaken nerves: "A man did that while we were in the cabin. With a knife." The moon shone full in his face; she had never seen such a transformation, such a semblance of quiet, cold rage. If the man were just acting.... "I've just got the hunch," he said bluntly, "that I know who he is, too. And, for the last time, Winifred Waverly, I am interfering in your business and advising you the best way I know how to turn back right here and right now and forget that you've got an uncle named Pollard!" CHAPTER X IN THE MOONLIGHT