As soon as he had placed Berenice Morton on the ground, with Mrs. West administering to her, James rose to come to his sister’s aid. He was held spell-bound by her tragic attitude, until the storm of censure which she hurled at the passive man had spent its fury. Springing to the rock he placed a protecting arm about his sister. In a flash he had divined the reason of Henry West’s bitter enmity, and wondered how he had refrained from shooting the betrayer of girls. Dave Davis tried in vain again to speak, but at the first words he uttered he was silenced by James saying hotly: “You better go quickly—before I—before Henry West returns—or take the consequences!” “Tell that Indian for me, please,” Davis sneered, as he turned to leave, “that this is his doing; that the score shall not remain unsettled—long!” Without even glancing again at Bess, he strode forward and motioned to one of the perplexed Indians, who, after a few brief instructions, hastened toward the stables. Bess aided Mrs. West and James in resuscitating the unconscious girl, and by the time she could walk and was removed to the house, all sign of Dave Davis had vanished. Leaving James with her friend, Bess hurried up to her room, where no one might witness her uncontrollable passion. Not a tear came to moisten her burning eyes, not a sob to stifle the pounding blood at her temples. For several moments she paced rapidly back and forth, her hands shut tight, her nostrils wide with heavy breathing; then, falling upon her knees beside the bed, she buried her face in her arms. Mrs. West cautiously opened the door and was about to enter to comfort the girl, when she paused as the words of a prayer faintly reached her: “Oh! My God, I thank Thee for preserving me this day from danger worse than death! Grant peace to those tender souls who guarded me from a fate like their own. Keep me always near Thee; help me to solace those who suffer.” She did not enter the room, for she knew the Great Comforter was there before her. It was fully an hour when those in the living-room heard Bess descending the stairs. James hurried anxiously forward as she entered the room dressed for riding. “There—James, please do not look so. See! I—even I—am smiling! I do not need sympathy—I want congratulations. Think how much worse it might have been! Will you get Mauchacho for me, please? Do you mind, Bee, if I go for a ride? Please, little Mother, do not grow anxious, for I shall not return until I am feeling—feeling rested. No, I am not hungry—I could not eat,” she added, in response to Mrs. West’s request that she first partake of luncheon. Pressing her lips to the still pallid brow on the pillow, and holding Mrs. West in her arms as she kissed her, she hastened out of the house. Presently James brought her horse and watched her silently as she rode out of sight toward the north, and as he turned with a sigh to re-enter the house he thought: “I wish I had as much of the Fletcher grit as she has.”