"Dad!"

"Well?"

"It's true, then?"

He smiled grimly.

"Yes--it's true. Get a move on you. Mr. Wells and I are going to have a little talk."

She walked slowly towards the hut; then suddenly she turned, flying back on nimble feet.

"Dad," she said quickly. "Mr. Wells will help us, if you ask him, if-- if _I_ ask him." She approached Jeff. "I told you that your duty was to the State," she continued, "but I take that back. Do you hear?

Save Dad! I don't care what he has done to others, he's always been so good to me. And if you will help us, I--I----"

"Sadie!"

Sillett's voice was very harsh.

"Yes, Dad."

"Leave us. Not a word, child. Go!"

She moved away, the tears trickling from her eyes. Nothing was said till the door had closed behind her; then Jeff broke the silence, in a voice with a strange rasp to it.

"I _will_ help you, Mr. Sillett."

Sillett thrust his weapon into his pocket, and came close to the speaker, eyeing him attentively. An impartial observer might have p.r.o.nounced the younger man to be the defaulter.

"You'll help me--eh? How?"

"I can get you safe into Mexico."

"Can you?"

"At a word from me the sheriff'll be huntin' somewheres else. See?"

"I see."

"Don't think you'll squeeze through without me. I reckon you've a springboard and a buckskin in the barn over there?"

"Maybe."

"The officers are looking for that buckskin in every little burg between Santa Cruz and San Diego. You can't pack your grub and blankets a-foot. I can supply everything. n.o.body'll suspect me."

"Why not?"

"Because--because o' my record."

"Oh. It's a clean one, is it?"

"It is that."

"Sadie cottoned to you right away. Because she sized you up as straight, I surmise."

The speaker smoked silently for a moment; Jeff held his tongue, but his cheeks were red and hot.

"Sadie may sour on me now," said the father heavily.

"Sour on you, Mr. Sillett! Not she."

Sillett frowned. Then he opened a knife and slashed the cord which bound Jeff. The fingers which held his pipe were trembling.

"You'll let me fix things?" said Jeff, in a low voice.

"And then--suppose--suppose Sadie soured on you?"

"I'll risk that," Jeff answered slowly. "She's more'n likely to."

"Um."

"You're going to give me a free hand?"

"No."

The monosyllable burst from his lips with a violence that indicated the rending asunder of strong barriers.

"No," he repeated. "One of us, Jefferson Wells, must be an honest man.

I ain't going to whine about the luck, but I stole--I stole--for her.

I wanted to give her what she'd always had from me: a pretty home, nice clothes, a good time. And what's the result?" He laughed hoa.r.s.ely. "This,--this hut, those overalls, beans and bacon to eat, and now--now--the knowledge that her dad is a thief. Well, she's cottoned to you. I read it in her face. Quick work, they'd say back East, but in this new country folks have to think quick and act quick.

I can think quick and act quick. You want her?"

"Worse than I ever wanted anything in my life."

"You can take care of her?"

"I am well fixed. A nest-egg in the bank, a good salary, and a pair of arms that can carry a heavier load than she'll ever be."

Sillett nodded; then he spoke very deliberately: "I'm going back to Santa Barbara to face the music. I shall give myself up. Hold on--let me finish! I know something of women, and Sadie is the daughter of a good mother. It's lucky she's dead, poor soul! Don't you ever dare to tell Sadie _that you weakened_. When she lies awake nights--and she will--it may comfort her some to think that her husband is an honest man. I'm going to hit the trail now. When Sadie comes out o'

there, tell her with my love, that I've left her in your charge."

XX

DENNIS