“Yes.”
“Have you no idea what it is?”
“Not the remotest.”
“I fear you will make a botch of it.”
“If I fail in one way I will try another, and, failing in that, I will make another effort.”
“And failing a third time?”
“I will aid you to escape if I have to come here by night disguised as Clarice Carr and drive my Mexican dagger to the hilt in the heart of the sentinel at your cabin door, and then give you the uniform of an officer to pass out of the fort in, for it can be done, but only as a last resort. Remember, I shall save you, for I will not let my wrecked girlhood be stained with dishonor.”
She drew her veil over her face, turned on her heel, and left the cabin, the man feeling convinced now that he had two chances of escape.
“If Ruth’s plot fails, that devil will surely save me, for she will not stand the fear of my reporting what I threatened to do,” mused the outlaw.
The woman meanwhile had passed the sentinel, walking leisurely along, calm outwardly but with heart and brain in a whirl.