Once outside she squeezed his hand and whispered, "How's Wilson ?" The hunter nodded his reply, and, pausing at the porch step, he pressed her hand to make his assurance stronger.

His reward was instant.

In the bright starlight she stood white and eloquent, staring down at him with dark, wide eyes.
Presently she whispered: "Oh, my friend! It wants only three days till October first!" "Lass, it might be a thousand years for all you need worry," he replied, his voice low and full.

Then it seemed, as she flung up her arms, that she was about to embrace him.

But her gesture was an appeal to the stars, to Heaven above, for something she did not speak.
Wade bade her good night and went his way.
* * * * * The cowboys and the rancher's son were about to engage in a game of poker when Wade entered the dimly lighted, smoke-hazed room.