Gloria, aghast, was once more in fear for him. But he cried impatiently:
"Don't you worry about me. I'll be on my feet in a week. Now, listen: I've got to talk fast before somebody comes in. The doctor is apt to be here any minute, and he's a stiff-necked tyrant. You know the trail through the mountains to our place; you rode it twice with King."
"Yes."
"I want you to ride it again to-day. You can get a horse at the stable.
Don't let any one know where you are going. I want you to take a message
to King. And it's got to get to him and into nobody's hands but his.
Understand that, Gloria?"
Gloria did not answer promptly; she wanted to demur. She was tired; she was afraid of the mountains; she did not want to see Mark King. But she saw a terrible earnestness in her father's eyes and that while he awaited her answer quick fever spots glowed in his cheeks. She squeezed his hands and replied:
"Of course, papa. I'll do whatever you want."
"God bless you for that," he muttered. "This is sober, serious business, Gloria; you are the only one here I could trust. King will be at the house; at least I hope he will. I sent him word several days ago that—that something was in the wind, and to meet me there. And, Gloria, I want you to promise, by all that's good and holy, that you won't let a word or a sign or a hint slip to anybody else. Not to a soul on earth. Will you, Gloria?"
"Yes." She looked at him curiously; she had never known her father to be so tensely in earnest.
"Then," he said, "go turn the key in the lock. And hurry. Before any one comes."
She locked the door and returned to him.