her and she lay with some measure of comfort. In the absence of Hollister a measure of peace came to her. Over and over she revolved possible plans, rejecting them, fighting against despair. At last, from sheer exhaustion of mind and body, she relapsed into a coma that was half swoon, half sleep.
She awoke to the fragrance of coffee, of crisping bacon and the flicker of a fire. Wavering rays javelined up through the twilight of the cave towards a roof that she could not determine. She saw the entrance as a jagged line of orange light. Sunset had come.
The smell of the food tugged at her. Her mouth watered, her stomach clamored for sustenance. She had resolved already, nauseating as was the idea of accepting food prepared by Hollister, to share the meal he had mentioned. It would give her strength. He would have to unbind her. She might find some weapon, perhaps a loose stone, if she could not snatch his gun. She turned on her side, peering down.
Hollister was bending above a snapping fire set between stones. On it was a blackened coffee pot, bacon was frying in a pan. He held this by the handle and, as she gazed, drew back, rubbing his eyes, swearing at the smoke. Then he looked up and saw her by the glow of the fire.
"Supper's nigh ready, pretty," he said. "Kisses for dessert."
The smoke seemed to bother him again. He cursed it viciously and set down the pan, standing to empty his flask, throwing it into the back of the cave to
