The Sheriff's Son
might hear the sound and investigate. The sun set early for her. She watched its rays climb the wall of her prison while she worked half-heartedly with the spur. After a time the light began to fade, darkness swept over the land, and she had to keep moving in order not to chill.
Never had she known such a night. It seemed to the tortured girl that morning would never come. She counted the stars above her. Sometimes there were more. Sometimes fewer. After an eternity they began to fade out in the sky. Day was at hand.
She fired the fifth shot from her revolver. Her voice was hoarse from shouting, but she called every few minutes. Then, when she was at the low ebb of hope, there came an answer to her call. She fired her last shot. She called and shouted again and again. The voice that came back to her was close at hand.
"I'm down in the prospect hole," she cried.
Another moment, and she was looking up into the face of a man, Dan Meldrum. In vacant astonishment he gazed down at her.
"Whad you doing here?" he asked roughly.
"I fell in. I 've been here all night." Her voice broke a little. "Oh, I'm so glad you 've come."
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