"No, ma'am," he replied in soft, reassuring tones, "or at least, ma'am, not to my knowledge. I am a stranger in these parts and----" "Where'd you come from?" she put in, and he hesitated a moment before he made an answer. "I am sorry," he said, "but I can't answer that question. I am just passing through and----" "Who is this man?" she demanded of Meshackatee; and as she repeated the question a swift look passed between them and the two men joined forces against her. "I don't know," returned Meshackatee, "but he's a stranger in this country--the boys picked him up at Cold Spring. Isham told me to bring him up here, but there's nothing against him. It was jest to protect him from the Bassetts." "Yes, the Bassetts!" she snapped. "He must be a weakling if he needs any protection from _them_." "Well, he's my prisoner, then," spoke up Meshackatee bluffly. "Anything else you'd like to know?" "Yes, I'd just like to know why you allowed him in that kitchen if Isham sent him over for a prisoner. He might have stepped out that farther door and been halfway over to the Bassetts." "He gave me his word of honor," answered Meshackatee defiantly. "I guess there's such a thing as a gentleman!" "A _gentleman_!" she shrilled. "He gave you his word of _honor_! Since when have you got these idees into your head? I'm going to report this to Isham." "Well, report and be blowed!" burst out Meshackatee rudely, and led his prisoner away. But, even in a world where honor is not dead and the word "gentleman" is more than a name, there is such a thing as a reasonable precaution and Meshackatee slept by his man that night. They threw down their saddle-blankets beneath the towering cottonwood that stood just north of the house, and he slept with his dog at his back. It was the way they always slept, back to back on the scant blanket, and if anything moved 'Pache would raise his head and give voice to a rumbling growl. The night was well along when there was a stir at his back and the vibrations of a noiseless growl. Meshackatee opened his eyes and moved gently in answer and a strange sight met his eyes. His prisoner had risen up without a sound and tiptoed back towards the house, and as he stood in the starlight a white form glided out and she met him in passionate embrace. Meshackatee moved again and his dog sank down obediently--there was a silence, and the prisoner came back--but far into the night the man who had turned casuist lay and speculated on the Ultimate Cause. CHAPTER VI THE ULTIMATE CAUSE