The little man suffered at once an agony of embarrassment in which the thought of his errand was lost. It was recalled to him by the girl.
“There you are,” she whispered, showing him the open window.
“Thank you,” he stammered painfully. “I assure you—I wish—”
The girl laughed under her breath.
“That’s all right,” she said, heartily, “I owe you that for calling old whiskers off his bronc,” and she kissed him.
The messenger, trembling with self-consciousness, climbed hastily through the window, ran the broad loop of the satchel up his arm, and instead of dropping to the ground, as the girl had expected, swung himself lightly into the branches of a rather large scrub-oak that grew near. She listened to the rustle of the leaves for a moment as he neared the trunk, and then, unable to restrain her curiosity in regard to the doings below, turned to the stairway.
As she did so, two men mounted. They examined the three rooms of the upper story hastily but carefully, paying scant attention to her, and departed swearing. In a few moments they returned for the stranger’s trunk. Nell followed them down the stairs as far as the doorway. There she heard and saw things, and fled in bitter dismay to the back of the house when Billy Knapp was overpowered.
At the window she knelt, clasping her hands and sinking her head between her arms. Women in the West, at least women like Nell, do not weep. But she came near it. Suddenly she raised her head. A voice next her ear had addressed her.
She looked here and there and around, but could discover nothing.
“Here, outside,” came the low, guarded voice, “in the tree.”