He came back, palsied and shaken, and as he bent over the girl and cut away her bonds, his voice struggled through dry sobs.
"Blossom," he pleaded brokenly, "Blossom, tell me ye're only affrighted. Tell me thet ye didn't come ter no harm—fer my sake."
"I hain't hurt—Turney," she managed to whisper. "Ye came back—in time—jest barely in time."
She stood leaning weakly against the rock wall with her hands pressed tightly to her face.
The man stood, panting with excitement and exertion, but into his pupils came a sudden light of hope.
"Blossom," he whispered huskily, "Blossom—ye didn't ... come over ... hyar ... because ye ... because ye keered fer me, did ye?"
She took her hands away from her temples and looked at him with a white face, and in the unhappy honesty of her eyes the man read his answer. It was as if she had said, "My heart lies over there in his grave," and slowly, gravely Turner nodded his head. His face had gone gray, but through its misery it held a stamp of gentleness.
"I understands ye," he said simply. "I won't never pester ye no more." Then as some note of alarm came to his ears he wheeled, all alertness again and his hand was once more gripping his pistol.
"I've only got three ca'tridges left," he said to himself. "Hit's nip an' tuck now which git hyar fust."
As he reached the mouth of the cave a shout came out of the darkness. "Ratler, air ye in thar?" and out into the night went the defiant response. "No, Ratler hain't hyar, but Bear Cat Stacy's hyar. Come on an' git me ef ye wants me."