"
"Thanks," Keith said cheerfully. "You'd better take Rex now and go
ahead, Miss Lansell. I'll take that gun and look after this fellow. Get
up, Kelly."
"What are you going to do with him?"
Kelly got unsteadily upon his feet. Beatrice looked at him, and then at
Keith. She asked a question.
"March him home, and send him in to the nearest sheriff." Keith was
businesslike, and his tone was crisp.
Beatrice's eyes turned again to Kelly. He did not whine, or beg, or even
curse. He stood looking straight before him, at something only his
memory could see, and in his face was weariness, and a deep loneliness,
and a certain, grim despair. There was an ugly bruise where the rock had
struck, but the rest of his face was drawn and white.
"If you do that," cried Beatrice, in a voice hardly more than a fierce
whisper, "I shall hate you always. You are not a man-hunter. Let him
stay here, and take his chance in the hills."
Keith was not a hard man to persuade into being merciful. "It's easy
enough to say yes, Miss Lansell. I always was chicken-hearted when a
fellow seemed down on his luck. You can stay here, Kelly--I don't want
you, anyway." He laughed boyishly and irresponsibly, for he felt that
Kelly had done him a service that day.
Beatrice flashed him a smile that went to his head and made him dizzy,
and took up Rex's bridle rein.
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