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A flash of humor shot into her eyes at his last words, then they filled with tears, through which the smile shone. To pretend to “a Pioneer”–the splendid vanity and egotism of the West!

“He didn’t pretend to me, Tim. People don’t usually have to pretend to like me.”

“You know what I’m driving at.”

“Oh yes, I know. And whatever he is, you’ve said that you will save him. I’m straight, you know that. Somehow, what I felt from his preaching–well, everything got sort of mixed up with him, and he was–was different. It was like the long dream of Walt and the baby, and he a part of it. I don’t know what I felt, or what I might have felt for him. I’m a woman–I can’t understand. But I know what I feel now. I never want to see him again on earth–or in heaven. It needn’t be necessary even in heaven; but what happened between God and me through him stays, Tim; and so you must help him get away safe. It’s in your hands–you say they left it to you.”

“I don’t trust that too much.”

Suddenly he pointed out of the window toward the town. “See, I’m right; there they are, a dozen of ’em mounted. They’re off, to run him down.”

Her face paled; she glanced toward the Hill of Healing. “He’s got an hour’s start,” she said; “he’ll get into the mountains and be safe.”

“If they don’t catch him ‘fore that.”

“Or if you don’t get to him first,” she said, with nervous insistence.

He turned to her with a hard look; then, as he met her soft, fearless, beautiful eyes, his own grew gentle.

“It takes a lot of doing. Yet I’ll do it for you, Laura,” he said. “But it’s hard on the Pioneers.”

Once more her humor flashed, and it seemed to him that “getting religion” was not so depressing after all–wouldn’t be, anyhow, when this nasty job was over.

“The Pioneers will get over it, Tim,” she rejoined. “They’ve swallowed a lot in their time. Heaven’s gate will have to be pretty wide to let in a real Pioneer,” she added. “He takes up so much room–ah, Timothy Denton!” she added, with an outburst of whimsical merriment.

“It hasn’t spoiled you–being converted–has it?” he said, and gave a quick little laugh, which somehow did more for his ancient cause with her than all he had ever said or done. Then he stepped outside and swung into his saddle.

* * * * *

It had been a hard and anxious ride, but Tim had won, and was keeping his promise. The night had fallen before he got to the mountains, which he and the Pioneers had seen the Faith Healer enter. They had had four miles’ start of Tim, and had ridden fiercely, and they entered the gulch into which the refugee had disappeared still two miles ahead.

The invincibles had seen Tim coming, but they had determined to make a sure thing of it, and would themselves do what was necessary with the impostor, and take no chances. So they pressed their horses, and he saw them swallowed by the trees as darkness gathered. Changing his course, he entered the familiar hills, which he knew better than any Pioneer of Jansen, and rode a diagonal course over the trail they would take. But night fell suddenly, and there was nothing to do but to wait till morning. There was comfort in this–the others must also wait, and the refugee could not go far. In any case, he must make for settlement or perish, since he had left behind his sheep and his cow.

It fell out better than Tim hoped. The Pioneers were as good hunters as was he, their instinct was as sure, their scouts and trackers were many, and he was but one. They found the Faith Healer by a little stream, eating bread and honey, and, like an ancient woodlander, drinking from a horn–relic of his rank imposture. He made no resistance. They tried him, formally if perfunctorily; he admitted his imposture, and begged for his life. Then they stripped him naked, tied a bit of canvas round his waist, fastened him to a tree, and were about to complete his punishment when Tim Denton burst upon them.