Suddenly Walling heard a step outside. He had heard no horse coming. He looked out cautiously and saw four men with rifles. Walling cocked his revolver, took down the boy’s rifle from the wall and loaded it. He could account for some—and those who were left might depart. It would be a battle, anyway. There was no use being taken alive. Better be shot than hanged.
The leader made a signal. Walling raised his gun. And then—Mary stirred. Her battle, like his, was still undecided. If she slept on, and woke refreshed, she would get well. If not....
Walling laid down his rifle and stepped outside. The men covered him. As he was taken down the road to the waiting horses, the doctor and the girl’s brother drove up.
“She’s asleep,” said Walling.
The boy showed no surprise—he had heard the story from the doctor—but his voice was pitiful:
“Why didn’t you?... I didn’t know.... Oh, my God! ... and you stayed ... when you could have got away!” He turned to the men with a hopeless look. “It’s my fault!” he cried. “He stayed with my sister. I thought she was dying. He didn’t tell me he couldn’t stay! He’d be safe in the mountains by now.... Oh, my God!”
The leader glanced at his companions. They were stern men, but they were moving uneasily. The situation was unbearable.
“How long have you been here?”
“Since about midnight,” answered Walling, though he couldn’t see what difference it made. The leader took out his watch.
“Twelve minutes past five now. Say, we’ve been twelve minutes getting you, that leaves five hours. We’ll stay here and rest our horses. At twelve minutes past ten we’ll start again. That suit you, boys?”