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T was a very old man who held, or tried to hold, Andrew from falling to the floor. He was, in fact, the same man who had sat under the awning smoking the corncob pipe, some three days before. Now his old shoulders shook under the burden of the outlaw, and the burden, indeed, would have slumped brutally to the floor, had not the small ten-year-old boy, whom Andrew had seen on the bay mare, come running in under the arms of the old man. With his meager strength he assisted, and the two managed to lower the body gently. Andrew was struggling to the last, and there was a horror in his wide, blank eyes.

"Hold me," he kept saying. "Don't let me slip, or I'm done for. Hold me, and the girl will come and save me. Anne!"

The boy was frightened. He was white at the sight of the wounds, and the freckles stood out in copper patches from his pallor. Now he clung to the old man.

"What does he mean, granddad?" he whispered. "What girl is comin' to save him?"

"When you get a pile older, Jud," said granddad, "you'll know what he means. You might even know the girl, or a dead ringer for her. I knew her kind once."

"Who was she?"

"Your grandma, you little fool. Now don't ask questions."