fronted her in the hall, where he had hesitated as if to listen, pistol in his hand.
Alma started back, her very life seeming to sink out of her in a cold and devastating fear. Desperation was lined deep in Findlay's gaunt, dark face; fear of the fate that waited him stood in his harried eyes.
"Who's here?" he whispered, his pistol thrust almost against her bosom.
"You've come in your proper character, like a housebreaker and sneaking thief!" she said, scorning him above her fear.
"Who's here?" he asked again, coming nearer, bending to whisper close to her ear.
"Two women and a dying man—fit subjects for your noble wrath, Mr. Findlay."
"Don't talk so loud!" he cautioned her. "Where's Nearing?"
"In his room. Have you come to kill him?"
Her scorn of him grew as her fear dissolved, although man nor woman ever had reason to fear Dale Findlay more than in that hour.
"You must hide me here till night," said Findlay, sharply. "Tell Manuel to put my horse away and hide my saddle."
"Do it yourself!" said she.
"You've got to hide me"
"I'll yell from the door you're here if anybody passes!"
"They'll never get me!" he declared.
"Is that the doctor, Alma?"
Mrs. Nearing appeared in the sufferer's door, speak-
