He picked up his draggled skirt and drew a bowie-knife from his boot.

From his bosom he took a revolver, turning the chambers noiselessly as he felt the caps.

He then crept toward the cabin softly and gained the shed.

It was quite dark but for a pencil of light piercing a crack of the rude, ill-fitting door that opened on the sitting-room.

A single voice not unfamiliar to him, raised in half-brutal triumph, greeted his ears.