Her Prairie Knight
looked at him, and then at Keith. She asked a question.
"March him home, and send him in to the nearest sheriff." Keith was businesslike, and his tone was crisp.
Beatrice's eyes turned again to Kelly. He did not whine, or beg, or even curse. He stood looking straight before him, at something only his memory could see, and in his face was weariness, and a deep loneliness, and a certain, grim despair. There was an ugly bruise where the rock had struck, but the rest of his face was drawn and white.
"If you do that," cried Beatrice, in a voice hardly more than a fierce whisper, "I shall hate you always. You are not a man-hunter. Let him stay here, and take his chance in the hills."
Keith was not a hard man to persuade into being merciful. "It's easy enough to say yes, Miss Lansell. I always was chicken-hearted when a fellow seemed down on his luck. You can stay here, Kelly—I don't want you, anyway." He laughed boyishly and irresponsibly, for he felt that Kelly had done him a service that day.
Beatrice flashed him a smile that went to his head and made him dizzy, and took up Rex's bridle
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