Jimmie turned toward the door, fingering the key, his eyes blinking
rapidly, then he turned and faced Fremont.

"If Ned Nestor tells me it ain't no use," he said, slowly, reluctantly,
"I'll have to bring the police. I'll have to do it anyway, if he tells me to."

"You'll find me here, whoever you bring," Fremont replied. "I won't run
away. What would be the use of that? They'd find me and bring me back.
Go on out and bring in anyone you want to. I guess I'll never make the
trip to the Rio Grande we were planning to-night--just before I came here."

"The Black Bears?" asked Jimmie. "Were they planning a trip to the
Rio Grande?"

Fremont nodded and pointed toward the door.

"Anyway," he said, "you can get me out of this suspense. You can let me
know, if you want to, whether I am going to the Rio Grande or to the Tombs."

"Jere! What a trip that would be."

Without waiting for any further words, Jimmie darted out of the door
and then his steps were heard on the staircase. Fremont had never
in all his life had a key turned on him before. He threw himself
into a chair, then, realizing how selfish he was, he hastened to
the north room and again bent over the injured man.

There appeared to be little change in Mr. Cameron's condition. He
moved restlessly at intervals. Fremont brought water and used it