TIHE ROOF TREE



still holding the rope steadily enough to prevent its
sudden jerking in premature signal, she came close to
Bas Rowlett and ordered in clipped syllables of con-
tempt, "Turn round! I aims ter sot ye free."
  She handed the loose rope to the man, and knowing
full well the vital need of keeping it undisturbed, he
held it gingerly.
  The other end of that line still rested in the hands of
his executioners, who waited with no suspicion of any
confederacy between their victim and the woman.
  Dorothy loosened the noose and slipped it from his
neck, and her fingers busied themselves nervously with
his wrist-knots.
  She worked fast and anxiously, for she had promised
to set frugal limits on the duration of that interview and
the interval of clouded darkness was precious, but while
she freed the cords, she talked:
  "I hain't doin' this fer yore sake, Bas. Ye richly
merits ter die an' I misdoubts ef ye escapes fur-but
I hain't ergoin' ter suffer ye ter contam'nate this tree
an' I aims ter give ye a few minutes' start, ef I kin."
  Now she rose from the ankle fetters and the man took
a step, to find himself free.
  "Begone," ordered the woman, tensely. "Don't
tarry-an' don't nuver let me see ye ergin'!"
  She saw him cross the fence in the heavy shadow,
hardly discernible even to her straining eyes that had
grown accustomed to the dark. She heard the light
clatter of his feet and knew that he was running, with
the speed and desperation of a hounded deer, then she
straightened and lifted her eyes to the rustling masses of
cool serenity overhead.
  Across the ranges came a warm, damp scent that
promised rain, and the clouds once more parted bringing
the tranquil magic of a silver-toned nocturne. The tree
stood with its loftiest plumes moving lightly, as though



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