For the second time the Indian ignored the interruption. "Last of all, he's a murderer, Bess. If he were free he'd kill the first animal weaker than himself he met. Have you thought of that?" The girl looked away into the infinite abstractedly. "Yes. But again that makes no difference. Neither you nor I made him as he is, nor Shaggy himself. He's as God meant him to be; and if he's bad, God alone is to blame." Her glance returned, met the other fair. "I wish you'd let him go, How." The man made no answer. "Won't you promise me you'll let him go?" "You really wish it, Bess?" "Yes, very much." Still for another moment the man made no move; then of a sudden he arose. "Come, Bess," he said. Wondering, the girl got to her feet; wondering still more, followed his lead down the path to the stable. At the door the Indian whistled. But there was no response, no shaggy grey answering shadow. A lantern hung from a nail near at hand. In silence the man lit it and again led the way within. The mouse-coloured broncho and its darker mate were asleep, but at the interruption they awoke and looked about curiously. Otherwise there was no move. Look where one would within the building, there was no sign of another live thing. Still in silence the Indian led the way outside, made the circuit of the stable, paused at the south end where a chain hung loose from a peg driven into the wall. A moment he stood there, holding the light so the girl could see; then, impassive as before, he extinguished the blaze and returned the lantern to its place. They were half way back to the house before the girl spoke; then, detainingly, she laid her hand upon his arm. "You mean you've let him go already, How?" she asked. "Yes. I didn't fasten him this evening." They walked on so. "You wanted him to go?" No answer. "Tell me, How, did you want him to leave?" "No, Bess." Again they advanced, until they reached the house door. "Why did you let him go, then?" asked the girl tensely. For the second time there was no answer. "Tell me, How," she repeated insistently. "I heard you get up last night, Bess," said a voice. "I thought I--understood." For long they stood there, the girl's hand on the man's arm, but neither stirring; then with a sound perilously near a sob, the hand dropped. "I think I'll go to bed now, How," she said. Deliberately, instinctively, the man's arms folded across his chest. That was all. The girl mounted the single step, paused in the doorway. "Aren't you coming, too, How?" she queried. "No, Bess." A sudden suspicion came to the girl, a sudden terror. "You aren't angry with me, are you?" she trembled. "No, Bess," repeated. "But still you're not coming?" "No." Swift as a lightning flash suspicion became certainty. "You mean you're not going to come with me to-night?" She scarcely recognised her own voice. "You're never going to be with me again?"