He looked up at her. "What do you want?" he asked, doggedly, after gazing up at her steadily for a moment.
"Get away as fast as you can," she replied. "His wound has broke again. He's bleeding to death!"
"Well, that's certainly good news!" Wambush did not move.
"You'd better go," she urged. "It will be wilful murder. You made the attack. He was unarmed, and you used a pistol and a knife. Do you want to be hung?"
He sat on his horse silent and motionless, his face upraised in the full moonlight. There was no sound except the champing of bits, the creaking of saddles.
"Come on, Toot," urged the leader in a low tone. "You've settled yore man's hash; what more do you want? We've got you out o' jail, now let us put you whar you'll be safe from the law."
Wambush had not taken his eyes from the girl. He now spoke as if his words were meant for her only.
"If I go," he said, "will you come? Will you follow me? You know I'm not a-goin' to leave 'thout you, Harriet."
It seemed to Westerfelt that she hesitated before speaking, and at that moment a realization of what she had become to him and what she doubtless was to Wambush came upon him with such stunning force that he forgot even his peril in contemplating what seemed almost as bad as death.
"This is no time nor place to speak of such things," he heard the girl say, finally. "Go this minute and save yourself while you can."