"Sorry that I'm seein' things different?" he said. "No?" at her quick, reproachful negative. "Well, then, sorry that this had to happen.

Well, I'm sorry, too. You see," he added, the color reaching his face, "it struck me while I was ridin' over here that I wasn't goin' to be exactly tickled over leavin'. It's been seemin' like home to me for--well, for a longer time than I would have admitted three days ago, when I had that talk with you. Or, rather," he corrected, with a smile, "when you had that talk with me. There's a difference, ain't there? Anyways, there's a lot of things that I wouldn't have admitted three days ago. But I've got sense now--I've got a new viewpoint. An'

somehow, what I'm goin' to tell you don't seem to come hard. Because it's the truth, I reckon. I've knowed it right along, but kept holdin'

it back.

"Dade had me sized up right. He said I was a false alarm; that I'd been thinkin' of myself too much; that I'd forgot that there was other people in the world. He was right; I'd forgot that other people had feelings. But if he hadn't told me that them was your views I'd have salivated him. But I couldn't blame him for repeatin' things you'd said, because about that time I'd begun to do some thinkin' myself.

"In the first place, I found that I wasn't a whole lot proud of myself for guzzlin' your grandad, but I'd made a mistake an' I wasn't goin' to give you a chance to crow over me. I expect there's a lot of people do that, but they're on the wrong trail--it don't bring no peace to a man's mind. Then, I thought you was like all the rest of the women I'd known, an' when I found out that you wasn't, I thought you had the swelled head an' I figgered to take you down a peg. When I couldn't do that it made me sore. It made me feel some cheap when you showed me you trusted me, with me treatin' you like I did; but if it's any satisfaction to you, I'm tellin' you that all the time I was treatin'

you mean I felt like kickin' myself.

"I reckon that's all. Don't get the idea that I'm doin' any mushin'.

It's just the plain truth, an' I've had to tell you. That's why I came over here--I wanted to square things with you before I leave. I reckon if I'd stay here you'd never know how I feel about it."

She was staring at the floor, her face crimson, an emotion of deep grat.i.tude and satisfaction filling her, though mingled with it was a queer sensation of regret. Her judgment of him had been vindicated; she had known all along that this moment would come, but, now that it had come, it was not as she had pictured it--there was discord where there should be harmony; something was lacking to make the situation perfect--he was going away.

She stood nervously tapping the floor with the toe of her shoe, hardly hearing his last words, almost forgetting that he was in the room until she saw his hand extended toward her. Then she looked up at him.

There was a grave smile on his face.

"I reckon you'll shake hands with me," he said, "just to show that you ain't holdin' much against me. Well, that right," he said when she hesitated; "I don't deserve it."

Her hand went out; he looked at it, with a start, and then seized it quickly in both of his, squeezed it hard, his eyes aflame. He dropped it as quickly, and turned to the door, saying: "You're a brave little girl."

She stood silent until his hands were on the fastenings of the door.

"Wait!" she said. She attempted to smile, but some emotion stiffened her lips, stifling it. "You haven't had your supper," she said; "won't you eat if I get it ready?"

"No time," he said. "The law don't advertise its movements, as a usual thing, an' Toban's liable to be here any minute. An'," he added, a glint of the old hardness in his eyes, "I ain't lettin' him take me.

It's only twenty miles to the line, an' the way I'm intendin' to travel I'll be over it before Toban can ketch me. I don't want him to ketch me--he was a friend of my dad's, an' puttin' him out of business wouldn't help me none."

"Will you be safe, then?" she asked fearfully.

"I reckon. But I won't be stoppin' at the line. I'm through here; there's nothin' here to hold me. I reckon I'll never come back this way. Shucks!" he added, leaving the door and coming back a little way into the room; "I expect I'm excited. I come near forgettin'. It's about the idol an' the money an' the ranch. I don't want any of them.

They're yours. You've earned them an' you deserve them. Go to Las Vegas an' pet.i.tion the court to turn the property over to you; tell the judge I flunked on the specifications."

"I don't want your property," she said in a strange voice.

"You've got to take it," he returned, with a quick look at her.

"Here"--he drew a piece of paper and a short pencil from an inside pocket of his vest, and, walking to the table, wrote quickly, giving her the paper.

"I herewith renounce all claim to my father's property," it read; "I refuse the conditions of the will."

It was signed with his name. While he stood watching her, she tore the paper to small bits, scattering them on the floor.

"I think," she said, regarding him fixedly, "that you are not exactly chivalrous in leaving me this way; that you are more concerned over your own safety than over mine. What do you suppose will happen when the Taggarts discover that you have gone and that I am here alone?"

His eyes glinted with hatred. "The Taggarts," he laughed. "Did you think I was going to let them off so easy? I'm charged with one murder, ain't I? Well, after tonight there won't be any Taggarts to bother anybody."

"You mean to--" Her eyes widened with horror.

"I reckon," he said. "Did you think I was runnin' away without squarin' things with them?" There was a threat of death in his cold laugh.

While she stood with clenched hands, evidently moved by the threat in his manner and words, he said "So-long," shortly, and swung the door open.

She followed three or four steps, again calling upon him to "wait." He turned in the doorway and went slowly back to her. She was nervous, breathless, and he looked wonderingly at her.

"Wait just a minute," she said; "I have something to give you."

She darted into the sitting-room; he could hear her running up the stairs. She was gone a long time, so long a time that he grew impatient and paced the floor with long, hasty strides. He was certain that it was fully five minutes before she reappeared, and then her manner was more nervous than ever.

"You act," he said suspiciously, "as though you wanted to keep me here."

"No, no," she denied breathlessly, her eyes bright and her cheeks aflame. "How can you think that? I have brought you some money; you will need it." She had a leather bag in her hands, and she seized it by the bottom and turned out its contents--a score or more of twenty-dollar gold pieces.

"Take them," she said as he hesitated. And, not waiting for him to act, she began to gather them up. She was nervous, though, and dropped many of them several times, so that he felt that time would have been gained if she had not touched them. He returned them to the bag, with her help, and placed the bag in a pocket of his trousers. Then once more he said good-by to her.

This time, however, she stood between him and the door, and when he tried to step around her she changed her position so as to be always in front of him.

"Tell me where you are going?" she said.

"What do you want to know for?" he demanded.

"Just because," she said; "because I want to know."

His eyes lighted with a deep fire as he looked at her. She was very close to him; he felt her warm breath; saw her bosom heave rapidly, and a strange intoxication seized him.

"Shall I tell you?" he said, with sudden hoa.r.s.eness, as though asking himself the question. He grasped her by the shoulders and looked closely at her, his eyes boring, probing, as though searching for some evidence of duplicity in hers. For an instant his gaze held. Then he laughed, softly, self-accusingly.

"I thought you was stringin' me--just for a minute," he said. "But you're true blue, an' I'll tell you. I'm goin' first to the Arrow to hand the Taggarts their pa.s.s-out checks. Then I'm hittin' the breeze to Durango. If you ever want me, send for me there, an' I'll come back to you, sheriff or no sheriff."

She put out a hand to detain him, but he seized it and pressed it to her side, the other with it. Then his arms went around her shoulders, she was crushed against him, and his lips met hers.

Then she was suddenly released, and he was at the door.

"Good-by," he said as he stood in the opening, the glare of light from the lamp showing his face, pale, the eyes illumined with a fire that she had never seen in them; "I'm sorry it has to end this way--I was hopin' for somethin' different. You've made me almost a man."

Then the door closed and he was gone. She stood by the table for a few minutes, holding tightly to it for support, her eyes wide from excitement.

"Oh," she said, "if I could only have kept him here a few minutes longer!"

She walked to the door and stood in the opening, shading her eyes with her hands. He had not been gone long, but already he was riding the river trail; she saw him outlined in the moonlight, leaning a little forward in the saddle, the black running with a long, swift, sure stride. She watched them until a bend in the trail shut them from view, and then with a sob she bowed her head in her arms.

CHAPTER XXII

NEAL TAGGART VISITS

When a little later Betty heard hoof-beats in the ranchhouse yard--the sounds of a horseman making a leisurely approach--she left the door and went out upon the porch.