tion behind it. She had heard that same quality in the voice of great actors—men who knew how to talk from the heart, or to seem to talk from the heart.
"When you came through the town you waked me up like a whiplash," he was saying. "When you left I kept thinking about you. Then along came a trouble. I killed a man. A posse started after me. It's on my heels. I rode like the wind, for I knew it was life or death if they caught me, but I had to see you again. Do you understand?"
A ghost of color was going up her throat, staining her cheeks.
"I had to see you," repeated. "It's my last chance. To-morrow they may get me. Two hours from now they may have me salted away with lead. But before I kick out I had to have one more look at you. So I swung out of my road and came straight to this house. I came up the stairs. I went into a room down the hall and made a man tell me where to find you."
There was a flash in the eyes of the girl like the wink of sun on a bit of quartz on a far-away hillside, but it cut into the speech of Andrew Lanning. "He told you where to find me?" she asked in a voice no louder than the swift, low voice of Andy. But what a world of meaning! What a rush and outpour of contempt and scorn!
"He had a gun shoved into the hollow of his throat," said Andy. "He had to tell—two doors down the hall"
"It was Charlie!" said the girl softly. She seemed to forget her fear. Her head raised as she looked at Andy.
It made him flush to see her like that. "I came in here," said Andy. "I lighted the lamp to look at you
