That still left Dingus five hundred dollars shy of the original ten thousand about which he and Hoke had spoken. “But he can go and manage the last of it hisself,” Hoke decided, burying the mail sacks and sundry other evidence. “Meantimes this’ll teach the critter to promise Hoke Birdsill a train and then not rob one, I reckon!”

But that had only been desperation. And anyway, it was over now. Now even the crowning public indignity of Turkey Doolan did not matter, especially since the loafers who had seen Hoke dragging the unconscious Dingus from Miss Pfeffer’s to the jail had quickly spread word of the new capture. (It had occurred essentially as Dingus himself suspected, of course. After escorting Miss Pfeffer to the doctor’s, Hoke had lurked beneath her rear window for some moments first, to make certain that the snoring was authentic. What he’d hit Dingus with had not been a pistol, however, but a handy fty pan.) Hoke had explained the episode with modesty, if with a certain vagueness becoming characteristic in such situations, and then had arranged for his letter about the reward to depart with the morning stage. Now, still exultant, enthroned in his office he brushed the dust from a mail-order catalog, ready to consider the first possible additions to his wardrobe in the six long months since Dingus had been his prisoner before.

“Yep,” he speculated aloud, “might even git me some Colts with gutta percha handles this time, like I seen that feller Bat Masterson wearing once, up to Dodge City.”

Dingus merely snarled. Hoke had removed his handcuffs, but he continued to pace the cell like an abused animal, kicking at the spittoon one moment, at the slopbucket the next. The welt behind his ear was reddening also, which did not fail to compound Hoke’s sense of gratification.

Much as he savored the moment, however, it occurred to him that he ought to look in briefly on Miss Pfeffer. “You reckon you won’t start to weep for lonesomeness,” he asked Dingus, “if’n I leave you in there by yourself fer a spell?”

“Go pee down a rattlesnake hole, you pistol-whipping mule-sniffer,” Dingus told him.

“Poor old Dingus,” Hoke chuckled. “You jest ain’t got no sporting attitude, is all.”

Nor could a confrontation with Miss Pfeffer’s continued indisposition dampen his spirits either. When he had led her to the doctor’s earlier she had been speechless, and in reply to questions about Dingus she had only wailed piteously; now, with the sound of Hoke’s solicitous inquiry from her front door, she commenced to wail all over again.

The doctor was just emerging from her bedroom. “Sure does rend your heart, don’t it, Doc?” Hoke commented.

“Rends something, I reckon,” the doctor said ambiguously, whereupon Miss Pfeffer wailed anew.

“Hang it now, Agnes, it jest ain’t all that tragic,” the doctor called across his shoulder. “It’s happened a couple times in history before, you know.”

“Sure,” Hoke contributed expansively, speaking toward the bedroom. “Lots of ladies has been terrorized by desperadoes. How about all them fair damsels got carried off by wicked dukes and such, as we had in school, only they was rescued by knights in shiny armour? Or in Mister Fenimore Cooper’s writings, where—”

This time it was the doctor who seemed to moan, starting out.

“Well, say, you don’t jest aim to leave her here alone?” Hoke asked (it had just come to him, if obliquely, that he did owe Miss Pfeffer a certain debt of gratitude).

“I got a sick team of oxen to look after, up to Denny Cross’s place,” the doctor said. “Man’s got to make a serious living somewheres.”

“But supposing she gets a relapse or something, after all the…” Hoke edged closer to the bedroom, peering within to see Miss Pfeffer gazing bleakly at nothing from beneath her blankets. “Why, a helpless woman all alone after a experience like that — I’d be right honored to sit a spell, ma’am, if’n you’d rest easier? I could jest blow out that lamp there, and then make myself to home in the parlor—?”

Hoke again thought he heard the doctor moan, or perhaps it was only the closing door. Miss Pfeffer sighed once. Then, distantly, with infinite weariness, she said, “Yes. Thank you. I—”

Then Miss Pfeffer did turn toward him, staring somewhat oddly in fact, as if she had only now become aware of his presence. But Hoke had already started to blow into the chimney. The light died.

“Well, now,” he offered. Even in the new darkness he retained the impression that Miss Pfeffer continued to stare, though there was only silence. “I’ll mosey on out front then, I reckon,” he said finally.

“No. Wait. Mr. Birdsill, I—”

“Yes’m?”

Another moment passed. Miss Pfeffer’s voice was strained. “Mr. Birdsill, I know it will sound forward of me, but — well, after that terrible encounter, thinking he was just a young man in difficulty, and then learning that he was…”

“The most murderous outlaw in the untamed West, yes’m. But you can relax now, because I done bested him in mortal combat and—”

“Yes,” Miss Pfeffer cut in. “It was quite shocking. Mr. Birdsill, would you mind if—”

“What’s that, Miss Pfeffer?”

“It’s such a comfort to a girl to know that someone sympathetic is nearby. Would you remain here, Mr. Birdsill, in my room? On the chair? If you don’t think it would be too compromising for an unmarried gentleman, I’d feel far more secure—”

“Well — why, sure, ma’am, I’d be more than—”

“Thank you, Mr. Birdsill. You’re so understanding. You may use tobacco if you wish. As a matter of fact I’m partial to the odor.”

“Well, it jest does happen I got me a cigar here,” Hoke admitted.

He sat, smoking, holding his derby hat on his knee. They were quiet again. But still he had the sensation that Miss Pfeffer was considering him in that puzzling, thoughtful way.

Then Hoke suddenly believed he realized what it was. “Why, Miss Pfeffer,” he cried, “you’re truly ill from all you went through, ain’t you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Miss Pfeffer protested. “Nothing. Don’t trouble yourself about poor me…”

“But I can hear you from all the way over here. You’re—”

“No, I’m fine. It’s only—”

“But ain’t there something I can git you — more blankets or—”

“I’m afraid I’m using all of them already. Oh d-d-dear, it’s-it’s—”

“Well, we jest got to do something, or else you’ll—”

“Oh, dear, if I only had a sister here, or some kinfolk. Because there’s only one way to stop it. Oh, forgive me for even mentioning it, Mr. Birdsill, but — but—”

“Yes’m?”

“Oh, heavens, would you think me shameless if I—”

“Oh, ma’am, I couldn’t think badly of a well-bred lady like yourself, no matter what.”

“Well, it’s — the only cure for a chill like this, is — oh, forgive me, but I’m certain you’ll understand, in such emergency, if you c-c-could—”

“Miss Pfeffer! You want me to—?”

“It will be my death if you don’t, I truly fear it will—”

“Oh,” Hoke said. “Oh! You wait, then. I jest got to git out’n my—”

“Thank you, Mr. Birdsill. Oh, thank you. I feel warmer already, I truly do. But — dear heavens, this is so compromising, I hope you don’t think—”

“Oh, no ma’am, I wouldn’t never—”

“But—”

“Yes’m?”

“Isn’t this the way people would — I mean married folk, of course — somewhat in this same manner, although with a certain arrangement, like—”

“Miss Pfeffer, ma’am?”

“And then like—”

“Miss Pfeffer!”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Pfeffer said. “Oh, dear. And now the chill has come back, just dreadfully, dreadfully! Why, it’s so bad, I don’t believe I’ll be able to stop shivering for anything at all—”

“Married?” Hoke cried. “Married! But—”

“Because I’m ruined, ruined!” Miss Pfeffer was weeping hysterically. “Oh dear, dear, how could you do this to me? A poor, defenseless girl like myself, trusting you, looking to you for protection in my moment of need—”