"Like? Why, she was the sweetest thing on earth. I'd as lief try to describe a day such as this----"

"Oh! I know what's coming. You fell in love with your friend's sweetheart. Poor Mr. Wells!"

Jeff ignored this interruption.

"I was saying that my friend met _his_ mate, n.o.body's else's, and though he'd never met her before, by Jing! he knew right off she was his mate."

"Love at first sight."

"That's right. Love at first sight."

Sadie's face and figure perceptibly relaxed. Her eyes softened delightfully. With parted lips she seemed to hang upon Jeff's next words.

"Unfortunately, she was the daughter of a thief."

"A thief!"

"That ain't the right word. Embezzler, I reckon, would fit better.

Leastwise, he'd made away with other folks' money, meanin' to put it back, no doubt, if he happened to strike the right lead. Luck was dead against him. Mind ye, he was a good citizen enough, as Westerners go.

I don't deny that he'd average up as well as most. I remember the case well, because I read about it in the papers. The dry years had bust him, and the most of his friends too. Some o' these friends he'd helped. He was on their notes of hand, ye understand?"

He glanced at her sharply. Would she understand? Would she guess? No.

In the pure, clear eyes upturned to his he read pity, sympathy interest--nothing more. She nodded.

"When times mended in Southern California he thought he saw his chance to get back all he'd lost: just one o' those dead sure shots which will miss fire. He'd not a cent of his own, so he borrowed, without askin' leave, a few hundreds, that was all, jest a few hundreds from somebody else."

"He was a--thief," said Sadie calmly.

"It's too hard a word that. Now then, I'm getting to the point. My friend, deputy-sheriff like me, found himself in this h.e.l.l of--I mean in this terrible tight place. He was sent to arrest the father of the girl he loved."

"Oh-h-h!"

This prolonged exclamation sadly puzzled Jeff, whose claim to consideration at the hands of many friends was a guileless transparency of purpose, a candour and simplicity unhappily too rare.

Now, his climax, so artfully introduced, provoked nothing more satisfactory than this "Oh-h-h!"

"Well," continued Jeff, gazing almost fiercely into Sadie's eyes, "my friend found the father, and he knew that he could arrest him, or he could earn the everlastin' grat.i.tude of the girl by letting him escape--and _helping_ him to escape."

"And what did your friend do?" Sadie asked quietly.

"What do you think he did, Miss Sadie?"

"Did the girl know that her father was a thief?"

"She was as innocent as Mary's little lamb."

"I don't know what your friend did," said Sadie, in a clear, emphatic voice, "but I do know what he ought to have done. His first duty was to his State."

Jeff stared, and then laughed.

"To his State. That's so. Yes, yes; and that's how my friend acted. He did arrest the father, and the daughter--why, o' course, she never spoke to him again."

"It's a sad story," said Sadie, after a pause. "I'm sorry you told it to me to-day, because----" her voice faltered.

"Yes," said Jeff, "because----"

"Because it has been so pleasant to-day-for me, I mean."

She looked down, blushing. Jeff seized her hand. Sadie tried, not very hard, to pull it away. Jeff felt the muscles relaxing, the slight form swayed towards him. Suddenly he released her.

"O, my G.o.d!" he exclaimed. "You are right, I feel in all my bones you're dead right. I ought to do my duty. I'm feeling and behaving like a madman."

Sadie stared at him in troubled silence. She believed that in losing his heart the poor fellow had lost his wits also. Yet she was sensible that love for her lay at the root of his distress. And his pain, for his suffering was pitiful to behold, puckered her brows, twisted her lips. With a soft cry she touched timidly his shoulder.

"If you think," she smiled faintly, "that because we've only known each other a few hours, I----"

Jeff laughed. The laugh hurt the girl, so that she shrank from him. So engrossed were the pair that neither marked Sillett as he opened the door of the hut. He advanced a couple of steps, smoking a pipe, and then paused, astonished, as Jeff's next words reached him.

"Look at here," he burst out. "That story----It's my own story. I left San Lorenzo yesterday afternoon to arrest your father. The sheriff an'

me knew he was somewhere in these foothills."

"You have come to arrest--Dad?"

"That's it."

She stared at him confusedly, trying to recall his story. Jeff waited.

"You called him a thief. Dad--a thief! How dare you? How dare you? It's a lie, or--or," she faltered, "or a mistake."

"No mistake," said Jeff wretchedly.

He had risen. Man and maid stared fiercely into each other's faces.

Behind them, Sillett stood quietly observant, but his right hand stole down to his pocket.

"Hold up your hands!" he said sharply.

Jeff and the girl sprang apart. Sillett had levelled a pistol at the deputy-sheriff, repeating his words with one addition: "_Quick!_"

Jeff raised his hands.

"He carries a 'gun,'" said Sillett to his daughter. "Take it from him."

She obeyed. Her face was white as milk, but not with fear. The man who held the pistol had ceased for the moment to bear any resemblance to her father, but a.s.suredly he was the defaulter whom Jeff Wells and the sheriff sought. The expression upon his face revealed that, if nothing else. Sadie removed the pistol and brought it to Sillett.

"In the hut, on a nail behind the door, is a piece of cord. Fetch it!"

She fetched it.

"Tie his hands behind his back. Tie 'em good and firm. Take your time.

Make a job of it. That's it. Now, then, hitch the loose ends round that scrub-oak. That's right. Now go into the house, and slip into your overalls. We'll be shifting camp in less than half-an-hour."