He had found Oldring's retreat; he had killed a rustler; he had shot an unfortunate girl, then had saved her from this unwitting act, and he meant to save her from the consequent wasting of blood, from fever and weakness.

Starvation he had to fight for her and for himself.
Where he had been sick at the letting of blood, now he remembered it in grim, cold calm.

And as he lost that softness of nature, so he lost his fear of men.

He would watch for Oldring, biding his time, and he would kill this great black-bearded rustler who had held a girl in bondage, who had used her to his infamous ends.
Venters surmised this much of the change in him--idleness had passed; keen, fierce vigor flooded his mind and body; all that had happened to him at Cottonwoods seemed remote and hard to recall; the difficulties and perils of the present absorbed him, held him in a kind of spell.
First, then, he fitted up the little cave adjoining the girl's room for his own comfort and use.

His next work was to build a fireplace of stones and to gather a store of wood.