I felt her slip loose from my neck then. She'd kept tight hold of me all the time, so I couldn't do anything. I looked down at her, and she was all loose and white. I reckon she fainted, though I never seen anyone do that before. I laid her down on the boards, and I was so cold mad clean through now I couldn't of said a word. I've felt that way before. There ain't no law then. But he was white as she was. "Curly," says he, "what have we done to the poor child?" "She ain't your pore child," says I; and, with her in my arms and me helpless, I felt hot in my eyes. "She's our pore child. Shut up and go home!" He didn't go home, but went and got some water in his hat. "It's cruel, cruel--it's all been cruel for her, who deserves the best that life could give. Can't you believe me, man?" says he. She couldn't hear us now, and even the water I poured on her face didn't wake her up. I wouldn't let him touch her. "Lord help us all!" says I. "For now it's a hard thing to say what's best. Tell me," says I, "was there anything I didn't hear? Did she make any sort of promise to you?" "Not a word," says he--"not a word." "That's lucky," says I. "The Circle Arrow never went back on its word. I'm glad she didn't promise you nothing," says I. "There's nothing matters now," he says. He set back on his heels, looking at me in a way I couldn't stand--with us both bending over her, trying to bring her to. "I'm better than you think," says he, after a little while. "All this happened because things got criss-crossed." "You queered the game the way you played it," says I to him. "The Circle Arrow plays wide open, with all the cards on the table. It beats hell how the luck runs in a square game sometimes! The front door is the place for a man that talks to a girl--like Katherine Kimberly comes in, or her brother, Tom." "Does she know him?" says he, sudden. "That's our business," says I. I still was pouring water on Bonnie Bell. "Yes," says he, "that's true. He's not your enemy's servant." About then Bonnie Bell begun to move her hands and I raised her up against my knees. She set there looking him in the face. "Kid," says I, "you needn't rub your eyes and ast, 'Where am I?' I'll tell you. You're right in the middle of one hell of a muss!" XVII HIM AND THE FRONT DOOR I sent the kid up stairs to her room to think things over. Then I set down in our ranch room to think things over myself, because I didn't hardly know what to do. While I was setting there in come Old Man Wright hisself from down town, and he was so happy I was shore he'd thought out some new devilment for his neighbor Wisner. "Well, Curly," says he, "what do you know?" "I don't know nothing that's pleasant," says I. "Huh!" says he. "Don't you like the grub here no more, or what is it?"