As Drudge departed the young girl leaned breathlessly forward with an anxious gaze for the person who replaced him in the doorway.
Behind Corkey Joe the screen fell, forming a dark background to set his figure off. The right-hand man of the gold seekers' leader had not modified his aspect or apparel, and yet there was a change which elicited an exclamation of surprise from the girl. His step was firm, his usually stern and spiteful face beaming with pity and frankness. The features that had originated invincible repulsion were still there, but, with the morose and mocking expression, had vanished all foundation for distrust and dread. He stepped forward and saluted her respectfully.
She glanced towards the sleeper.
"Let her repose," he observed, with even more sympathy in his eyes of cold steel blue; "she will need her strength restored for what we all may have to pass through."
"No doubt," she sighed. Fixing a clear gaze on the man, she smiled faintly, and promptly held out her hand, saying, "Heaven bless you, unsuspected friend, for being alone in this host of heartless men, to take some interest in a poor orphan!"
"Señorita," answered Joe, in Spanish-American, which tongue she had used, "I have only joined this bad set at the peril of my life, in pursuance of my duty, incidental to which comes in the rescue of you."
"Leon told me so."
"Then he spoke the truth."
The brief silence was broken by the prisoner.
"I am almost sorry, though, that you have ventured to speak to me," she said; "the captain is so jealous a tyrant, that anything makes me tremble. Still, your voice inspires a confidence of which I was very much in want, and, notwithstanding your not engaging appearance—" for the sunshine seemed to have left Lieutenant Joe's countenance again, so that he glowered unpleasantly as ever—"something within tells me that your heart is too good to deceive me, and that you really intend to do me a good service."