“You alone can do it, Ruth,” was the low response, and then, as though he dreaded trouble yet for himself, he said:
“What you say about Powell alarms me, and if it is found out that you are my sister, then your house will be searched, Ruth.”
“Let them search it, for they will never find you in the place where I can hide you, Arden.”
“All right, I am in your hands, my sister,” and, having slipped on the clothes she had brought him, he followed her on to the edge of Pocket City.
For half an hour he waited there in the shadow of the timber, and then came the cry of the night bird, when he walked briskly toward the stockade.
The gate was opened, and, unseen by any one, he entered and had reached a haven of refuge.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE SURGEON SCOUT’S WARNING.
Frank Powell’s wounds were painful, though not serious. He had been taken to one of the pleasantest rooms in the Frying Pan, and thither went Bonnie Belle and a Chinese servant, with water, arnica, and bandages.
“I have come to dress your wounds, Surgeon Powell, under your direction,” she said, with a smile.
“They amount to but little to one who has roughed it as I have, Miss Arden.”