Nathaniel staggered to his feet, the breath half gone out of his body, and in another instant Neil was at the opening. The great room into which he looked was empty.
"What was it?" he cried, leaping down. "What were they doing with Winnsome?"
"It was the king," said Nathaniel, struggling to master himself. "The king put his arms around Winnsome and—she struck him!"
"That was all?"
"He kissed her as she fought—and I yelled."
"She struck him!" Neil cried. "God bless little Winnsome, Nat! and—God bless her!"
Neil's breath came fast as he caught the other's hand.
"I'd give my life if I could help you—and Marion!"
"We'll give them together," said Nathaniel coolly, turning down the corridor. "Here's our chance. They'll come through that door to relock us in our cell. Shall we die fighting?"
He was groping about in the mud of the floor for some object.
"If we had a couple of stones—"
"It would be madness—worse than madness!" interposed Neil, steadying himself. "There will be a dozen rifles at that door when they open it. We must return to the cell. It is worth dying a harder death to hear from Marion and Winnsome. And we will hear from them before night!"
They retreated into the dungeon. A few minutes later the door opened cautiously at the head of the corridor. A light blazed through the blackness and after an interval of silence the jailer made his appearance in front of the cell, a pistol in his hand.
"Don't be afraid, Jeekum," said Neil reassuringly. "You forgot the door and we've been having a little fun with the jury. That's all!"
The nervous whiteness left Jeekum's face at this cheerful report and he was about to close the door when Nathaniel exhibited a handful of gold pieces in the candle-light and frantically beckoned the man to come in. The jailer's eyes glittered understandingly and with a backward glance down the lighted corridor he thrust his head and shoulders inside.
"Five hundred dollars for that note!" he whispered. "Five hundred beside the four you've got!"
"Jeekum's a fool!" said Neil, as the door closed on them. "I feel sorry for him."
"Why?"
"Because he is accepting the money. Don't you suppose that you have been searched? Of course you have—probably before I came, while you were half dead on the floor. Somebody knows that you have the gold."
"Why hasn't it been taken?"
For a full minute Neil made no answer. And his answer, when it did come, first of all was a laugh.
"By George, that's good!" he cried exultingly. "Of course you were searched—and by Jeekum! He knows, but he hasn't made a report of it to Strang because he believes that in some way he will get hold of the money. He is taking a big risk—but he's winning! I wonder what his first scheme was?"
"Thought I'd bury it, perhaps," vouchsafed Nathaniel, throwing himself upon the straw. "There's room for two here, Neil."
A long silence fell between them. The action during the last few minutes had been too great an effort for Nathaniel and his wound troubled him again. As the pain and his terrible thoughts of Marion's fate returned to him he regretted that they had not ended it all in one last fight at the door. There, at least, they might have died like men instead of waiting to be shot down like dogs, their hands bound behind them, their breasts naked to the Mormon rifles. He did not fear death. In more than one game he had played against its hand, more often for love of the sport than not, but there was a horror in being penned up and tortured by it. He had come to look upon it as a fair enemy, filled of course with subterfuge and treachery, which were the laws of the game; but he had never dreamed of it as anything but merciful in its quickness. It was as if his adversary had broken an inviolable pact with him and he sweated and tossed on his bed of straw while Neil sat cool and silent on the bench against the dungeon wall. Sheer exhaustion brought him relief, and after a time he fell asleep.
He was awakened by Neil. The white face of Marion's brother was over him when he opened his eyes and he was shaking him roughly by the shoulder.
"Wake up, Nat!" he cried. "For Heaven's sake—wake up!"
He drew back as Nathaniel sleepily roused himself.
"I couldn't help it, Nat," he apologized, laughing nervously. "You've lain there like a dead man for hours. My head is splitting with this damned silence. Come—smoke up! I got some tobacco from our jailer and he loaned me his pipe."
Nathaniel jumped to his feet. A fresh candle was burning on the table and in its light he saw that a startling change had come into Neil's face during the hours he had slept. It looked to him thinner and whiter, its lines had deepened, and the young man's eyes were filled with gloomy dejection.
"Why didn't you awaken me sooner?" he exclaimed. "I deserve a good drubbing for leaving you alone here!" He saw fresh food on the table. "It's late—" he began.
"That is our dinner and supper," interrupted Neil. He held his watch close to the candle. "Half past eight!"
"And no word—from—"
"No."
The two men looked deeply into each other's eyes.
"Jeekum delivered my note to her at noon when he was relieved," said Neil. "He did not carry it personally but swears that he saw her receive it. He sent her word that he would call at a certain place for a reply when he was relieved again at five. There was no reply for him—not a word from Winnsome."
Their silence was painful. It was Nathaniel who spoke first, hesitatingly, as though afraid to say what was passing in his mind.
"I killed Winnsome's father, Neil," he said, "and Winnsome has demanded my death. I know that I am condemned to die. But you—" His eyes flashed sudden fire. "How do you know that my fate is to be yours? I begin to see the truth. Winnsome has not answered your note because she knows that you are to live and that she will see you soon. Between Winnsome and—Marion you will be saved!"
Neil had taken a piece of meat and was eating it as though he had not heard his companion's words.
"Help yourself, Nat. It's our last opportunity."
"You don't believe—"
"No. Lord, man, do you suppose that Strang is going to let me live to kill him?"
Somebody was fumbling with the chain at the dungeon door.
The two men stared as it opened slowly and Jeekum appeared. The jailer was highly excited.
"I've got word—but no note!" he whispered hoarsely. "Quick! Is it worth—"
"Yes! Yes!"
Nathaniel dug the gold pieces out of his pockets and dropped them into the jailer's outstretched hand.
"I've had my boy watching Winnsome Croche's house," continued the sheriff, white with the knowledge of the risk he was
