“Come, we must seek shelter from these falling trees,” said the man, whose worn face was pale in the fury of the storm. Taking Mauchacho by the bit he turned into Rattlesnake Gulch and hastened toward the old cabin. “Stop! I am not afraid of the storm. You shall let me go on—alone,” cried the terrified girl, as she pulled in vain at the horse’s bridle. Seeing that her efforts were useless, she sprang from the saddle, half falling to the ground. By the time she had recovered her footing, Davis had also dismounted and had reached her side. As he did so his horse gave an alarmed bound and tore away at full speed. With an oath at his loss the man turned to secure Mauchacho, who was standing with trailing reins and dejected head near his mistress. Just then a great tree snapped and fell crashing to the ground. Taking Bess by the arm the determined man carried her into the cabin. How dark and gloomy was the place! A mountain rat scurried out of sight at the intrusion. Releasing his hold the man walked sullenly across the room and stood watching the fury of the storm from the open doorway. Bess half crouched against the logs of the wall, almost frenzied with fear. The howling, shrieking wind; the crashing trees, the awful lightning without. Within, a danger greater and more terrible than any storm could be! Her hand, which had clutched at her heart, fell slowly by her side. What was that her fingers touched that instantly filled her heart with hope and sent the blood throbbing through the congealed veins! She closed her hand firmly over the handle of her Smith and Wesson, the gun which had so long lain in its hidden pocket all unneeded. But now, now—! Could it be that even the shadow of love for this man had ever possessed her? Had she not long ago seen and felt the latent repulsion? Was this transformation made by just retribution or an avenging God? A feeling almost of pity swept over her at the horrible change which she beheld in the man. Tears of sadness at the sight of the wreck filled her eyes and made her lips tremble. The man slowly turned and looked at Bess before she realized that he had stirred, so deeply was she engrossed. “Ah—little girl, you are sorry for me; you do still care for me; I see it—I feel it, know it,” came in a voice at first soft and caressing in its tenderness, then swelling with a crescendo of hope till it fairly shouted in its intensity. He made a swift, decisive step toward her, but was checked as suddenly by her firm, hard outburst. “Stop—do not come one step nearer! You once saw me kill a rattlesnake! I can—do—it again!” Her teeth shut hard and her wondrous eyes narrowed to tiny slits, as with a steady, determined movement she drew the pistol from its pocket and rested her hand deliberately across her left arm. So she stood, fearlessly, confidently. No words were needed for the man to know how utterly lost was his recrudescent hope.