Peter looked at him in questioning surprise. "Well, what?" He caught the meaning of his friend. "Try not to be an ass, Gordon. Of course she knows the charge is ridiculous." The chip dropped from the young man's shoulder. "Good old Diane. I might have known," he said with a new cheerfulness. "I think you might have," agreed Peter dryly. "By the way, have you had any breakfast?" "No. I'm hungry, come to think of it." "I'll have something sent in from the hotel." "How's Macdonald?" "He's alive--and while there's life there is hope." "Any news of the murderers?" asked Gordon. "Posses are combing the hills for them. They stole a packhorse from a truck gardener up the valley. It seems they bought an outfit for a month yesterday--said they were going prospecting." They talked for a few minutes longer, mainly on the question of a lawyer and the chances of getting out on bond. Peter left the prisoner in very much better spirits than he had found him. CHAPTER XVII "GOD SAVE YOU KINDLY" A nurse from the hospital had relieved Diane and Sheba at daybreak. They slept until the middle of the afternoon, then under orders from the doctor walked out to take the air. They were to divide the night watch between them and he said that he wanted them fit for service. The fever of the patient was subsiding. He slept a good deal, and in the intervals between had been once or twice quite rational. The thoughts of the cousins drew their steps toward the jail. Sheba looked at Diane. "Will they let us see him, do you think?" "Perhaps. We can try." Gopher Jones was not proof against the brisk confidence with which Mrs. Paget demanded admittance. He stroked his unshaven chin while he chewed his quid, then reluctantly got his keys. The prisoner was sitting on the bed. His heart jumped with gladness when he looked up. Diane shook hands cheerfully. "How is the criminal?" "Better for hearing your kind voice," he answered. His eyes strayed to the ebon-haired girl in the background. They met a troubled smile, grave and sweet. "Awfully good of you to come to see me," he told Sheba gratefully. "How is Macdonald?" "Better, we hope. He knew Diane this afternoon." Mrs. Paget did most of the talking, but Gordon contributed his share. Sheba did not say much, but it seemed to the young man that there was a new tenderness in her manner, the expression of a gentle kindness that went out to him because he needed it. The walk had whipped the color into her cheeks and she bloomed in that squalid cell like a desert rose. There was in the fluent grace of the slender, young body a naive, virginal sweetness that took him by the throat. He knew that she believed in him and the trouble rolled from his heart like a cold, heavy wave.