"From this moment I shall forget Christie Maclaire, and remember only Miss Hope.

All right, Neb; now turn over a chair, and sit your man up against it.

He will rest all the easier in that position until his gang arrive." He thrust his head out of the door, peering cautiously forth into the night, and listening.

A single horse, probably the one Hawley had been riding, was tied to a dwarfed cottonwood near the corner of the cabin.
Nothing else living was visible.
"I am going to round up our horses, and learn the condition of Hawley's outfit," he announced in a low voice.

"I may be gone for fifteen or twenty minutes, and, meanwhile, Miss Hope, get ready for a long ride.
Neb, stand here close beside the door, and if any one tries to come in brain him with your gun-stock.