The Rider of Golden Bar

by William Patterson White

CHAPTER SEVEN

RAFE'S IDEA

"Tell you what, Jonesy," said Rafe, "this ranch needs a mistress."

Jonesy laughed as at a pleasantry and continued to talk of the mischance in the matter of young Dawson.

"I mean it," interrupted Rafe, wagging his head. "I'm tired of living single."

"Well," said Jonesy, "you can always get some petticoat to live with you for a while."

"I don't mean a floozie. I mean a sure-enough lady like."

"Oh, one of them, huh? I dunno, Rafe. I married a good woman once, and take it from me they sure cramp a feller's style."

"It depends on the woman. There are women and women. If a feller is careful who he picks, he don't run a bad chance. Me, I got my eye on young Hazel Walton."

Jonesy looked his astonishment. "Her?"

"Why not?"

"After this Dawson business?"

"Why not?"

"She wouldn't look at you."

"Don't you fool yourself. Why wouldn't she look at me, I'd like to know? I got money. She could wear good clothes and have help in the kitchen. What more could a woman want?"

Jonesy shook his head. "This Dawson business has queered you there, and you can bet on it."

"Oh, that's easy explained—to her."

"H-m-m-m, well, maybe so. I dunno, she looks to me like one girl who knows her own mind. And there's Tom Walton who don't like us, either. You gotta think of all these things."

"I have. The more I think of it, the more I think she'll do."

"Funny you never noticed it before. She's been around with her uncle several years now."

"I never even gave her more'n a short look till I seen her holding that Dawson man's head in her lap, and then stickin' up for him the way she did. I tell you, she looked mighty handsome."

"She's a lot younger than you."

"What's a few years between man and wife? Besides, I ain't so old. I ain't forty yet."

"You will be next year, and I'll bet she ain't twenty yet."

"She'll last all the longer."

It was mid-morning next day, when Hazel was making butter, that a rap sounded on the kitchen door.

"Come in," she called continuing to turn steadily the handle of her box churn.

It was Rafe Tuckleton who opened the door and walked in. Hazel's eyes narrowed at sight of the man. Rafe Tuckleton! What on earth did he want?

"Uncle's out," she said shortly.

"I didn't come to see him," explained Rafe, with a smile he strove to make ingratiating. "I came to see you."

"I don't know what you can want to see me about."

"I have my reasons," said Rafe vaguely.

Hat in hand, he started to sidle to a chair.

"Don't they have any doors where you live?" Hazel inquired sharply.

"Oh," Rafe wheeled hastily and closed the door. He set a trifle to the young lady's account. He was not accustomed to being talked to this way. The snip!

He gained the chair at last, sat down, crossed his legs and crowned a sharp and bony knee with his hat.

"Yeah," he intoned, pulling one horn of his crescent-shaped mustache. "I come to see you." It never occurred to him to offer to turn the churn-handle for her. In his estimation women were made for the especial comfort and delectation of men. Why put oneself out? Quite so.

Hazel continued to turn the handle in silence.

"Makin' butter?" was Rafe's next remark.

"Not at all," Hazel replied sweetly. "I'm washing blankets."

As humor it was not subtle. But neither was the man subtle. He laughed aloud and slapped his knee.

"Pretty good. Got a tongue in your head, ain't you?"

Again he pulled his mustache and favored her with what he conceived to be a most fetching leer. He succeeded in making her yearn to hurl the churn at him.

"You've seen me," she said suddenly, raising her dark eyes to his face. "Why not move right along?"

"That's all right," he said easily. "You're only mad at me account of that business the other day. Nothing at all, that wasn't. Just a li'l mistake. We all make them. You mustn't hold it against me."

"But I do hold it against you!" she cried vehemently. "You tried to murder him!"

Rafe raised a bland hand, palm outward. "Not a-tall. You've got it all wrong. I might have known you would. Women never do get things straight."

"I got this straight all right, and you might as well know I haven't a bit of use for you, and I don't want you in my kitchen. So there!"

"Now listen, li'l girl," he said persuasively. "You don't understand me a-tall, I tell you. I may look hard—a rough diamond but I'm the pure quill underneath, and I like you."

Hazel was so surprised that she stopped churning. She stared at him, saucer-eyed, her mouth open.

Rafe nodded his head at her. "Yeah, I like you. I have liked you a-uh-long time. And I've got a proposition to make you. How'd you like to marry me?"

Hazel's expression registered immediate distaste. "I wouldn't like. Not for a minute. No."

Rafe considered it necessary to explain matters more fully. "I mean marry me all regular and go to live at my ranch. You wouldn't have to work hard. You could have the washin' done and have help in the kitchen. I'm a mighty easy feller to get along with too, once you get to know me."

"I don't want to get to know you!" Hazel had resumed her churning, but her negation was no less decisive.

"I'd be good to you. Give you all the dresses and fixings you want—in reason. Say, I'd even have one of these cabinet organs packed in for you. New furniture, too—in reason. I'll be generous. I've got money, and I'd sure be willing to spend it on a girl like you."

"You needn't bother."

He removed his, hat from his knee, uncrossed his legs and dropped the hat on the floor. He propped his hands on his knees and surveyed her, his head on one side.

"You don't know what you're refusing," he told her. "Marry me and you won't have to work like this. Nawsir. I'm a rich man, I am. Here, let's talk it over."

He rose to his feet and came toward her. She promptly reached behind her and possessed herself of the singing kettle.

"If you touch me," she said hysterically, "I'll douse you with boiling water!"

"There, there," he said, with a light laugh, "I didn't mean to scare you. Set the kettle down, there's a good girl."

But the good girl had other ideas. "You get out of here. I don't want you around."

Her show of temper caused his own to flare up. "There's no use for you to get mad. None a-tall. You act like I'd insulted you instead of doing you a honor."

At which her sense of humor came to her rescue and she laughed in his face. He picked up his hat and faced her, scowling.

"I ain't mad," he told her. "Not a bit. It don't pay to get mad with a woman. But I want you to know I'm comin' back for another answer. I ain't satisfied you mean 'no.' And, anyway, I want you, and I'm gonna have you. That's all there is to it. You think it over."

He nodded stiffly, still scowling, and started toward the door, but paused with his hand on the latch. When he turned and came back to the table, she instantly retreated to the stove and laid her hand on the kettle.

"You needn't go to pick up that thing," he said, both fists clenched on the tabletop. "I ain't gonna hurt you. I want to know something. Billy Wingo comes here, doesn't he?"

"He comes—yes. Why not?"

"You like him?"

"What's that to you?"

"Do you like him?"

"He's a friend of mine."

"A girl don't flush up that way over a friend. I know. And I've heard, too. They say you like Bill Wingo a lot. They say you were going with Nate Samson till you met Bill. Is that right?"

"It's none of your business."

"Lemme tell you something, young lady. Don't you think for a minute that Bill Wingo feller can give you one tenth what I can. Just because he was elected sheriff last week don't signify. Yours truly is the dog with the brass collar around here, and don't you forget it. You marry Bill, and you'll regret it."

"If I marry you, I'll regret it,—that's sure."

"Not a bit of it. I'm ace-high in the county now, and I'll go higher in the territory. You can't keep me down. I'll make money, more'n you can shake a stick at. You needn't think you'll have to live on a ranch all your life. Within three years after you marry me I'll take you—yes, I'll take you to Hillsville to live where you can see folks all you want. You know Hillsville has almost three thousand people. You wouldn't be lonesome there. I——"

"It's no use talking," she interrupted, taking care not to remove her fingers from the kettle. "I wouldn't marry you or anybody else of your crowd, not if he was the last man on earth."

"'My crowd!' What's the matter with my crowd?"

"Your crowd! Yes, I'd ask, I would! What do you suppose I mean? The gang that runs this county, that's what I mean! The gang that has a finger in every crooked land deal and cattle deal, the gang that cheats the Indians on the government contracts. Yes, and if it hadn't been for your gang and for what they've done to the morals of Crocker County, you wouldn't have dared to try and lynch young John Dawson the way you did! Let me tell you something: The new sheriff will show you a thing or two. He is honest!"

"Is that so? Honest, is he? You know who elected him, don't you? We did, and we own him, body and soul and roll. He'll sit up and talk when we tell him to, and he will lie down and go to sleep when we tell him to; and if he don't, he's mighty liable to run into a spell of bad health. Not that we'll want him to do anything he shouldn't. Not us." Thus Rafe Tuckleton, realizing his temper had carried him away and he had said too much by half, thinking it well to right matters if he could, continued hurriedly:

"Those cattle deals you spoke of and the government contracts weren't crooked a-tall. Just straight business, but of course the fellers we got 'em away from are riled up and bound to talk. Naturally, naturally. But don't you get the notion in your head that everything wasn't all right. Everything was perfectly straight and aboveboard, you bet. Shucks, of course it was. I could explain it to you mighty easy, but it would take a lot of time and whatsa use? Politics ain't for women, or business either, for that matter. You better forget what you've heard about our crowd. It's just a pack of jealous lies, that's all, and if you'll tell me the name of who told you anything out of the way about us, I'll make him hard to find."

"I know what I know," said the stubborn Miss Walton. "You can't fool me! Not for a minute! And I've listened to you long enough! You get out of here and don't you come back! Flit!"

She swung the kettle from the stove. Rafe Tuckleton sprang back two yards. His temper had again gained the ascendancy. He was so mad he could have beaten her to a frazzle. But there was not a club handy, and moreover the lady had, by way of reinforcing the kettle, slipped a butcher knife from the table drawer.

"All right," gritted Rafe, and turned around from the door to shake his fist at her. "I'll get you, you li'l devil! You needn't think for a minute you can get away from me by marrying some one else. I don't give a damn whether it's Bill Wingo or who it is! Within a week after you get married, you'll be a widow! A widow, y'understand! I'll show you!"

He went out, slamming the door. Hazel made haste to run around the table and drop the bar in place. Then she went to the window and watched the man cross to the cottonwoods where he had tied his horse.

She uttered a sharp "Oh!" of disgust as he jerked at the horse's mouth and made the animal rear. He brought it down by kicking it in the stomach.

"What a beast!" muttered she, with a shudder. "What a cruel beast that man is."

Not till Rafe rode away, quirting his mount into a wild gallop, did she return to her churning. She found the butter had come, and she removed the elmwood dasher and poured off the buttermilk. She put the butter into a long bowl full of water and began to wash and knead it, but not with her accustomed briskness. She was thinking of what Rafe Tuckleton had said. He would come again, the brute. She did not want him to. He had made her afraid.

She shivered a little as she poured off the water in the bowl and refilled it from the water bucket behind the door. She had no desire to marry anybody yet. She supposed she would some time, of course. All girls did eventually. But he would have to be some nice boy she loved. She guessed yes.

At that very moment a certain nice boy was riding up the draw toward the Walton ranch. He met Rafe Tuckleton riding away. Rafe gave him a nasty look. The nice boy smiled sweetly and pulled his horse across the trail. "Why all the hurry-scurry this bright and summer day?"

It was not a bright and summer day. It was late fall, the clouds were lowering darkly and there was more than a hint of winter in the air.

Rafe Tuckleton pulled up with a jerk and a slide. "What do you want?"

"I don't know yet," was the reply, delivered with still smiling lips but accompanied by a look as chilling as the day. "You been at Walton's?"

"Yep, I have. Not that it's any of your business."

"Maybe you're right. Let's go back and make sure."

Rafe's blazing rage was so augmented by this naïve suggestion that his native prudence was almost overcome by the sharp impulse to argue the matter. But almost is not quite. His coat was buttoned, and his six-shooter was under his coat. Bill Wingo's six-shooter was likewise under its owner's coat, but the coat was unbuttoned and—Rafe recalled another day, a day when he had held his hands above his head while the muzzle of Wingo's gun gaped at his abdomen. That had been a quick draw on the part of Billy Wingo. Uncommonly quick. What happened once may happen again. This is logic.

The logician spat upon the ground. "Because you're elected sheriff now, you needn't think that you can boss everybody in the county."

"But I ain't trying to boss anybody," denied Bill. "I'm only askin' a favor of you, only a li'l favor. And I'm hoping you'll see it that way. I don't want any trouble with you, Rafe," he added, "or with anybody else."

Rafe hesitated. He stared into Bill's eyes. Bill stared back. Rafe did his best to hold his eyes steady. But there was something about that gray gaze, something that seemed to bore deep down into that place where his sinful soul lived and had its being. The Tuckleton eyes wavered, veered, came back, clung an instant, then looked away over the landscape.

"Turn your horse, Rafe," said Billy Wingo in a soft voice.

Rafe Tuckleton turned his horse. They rode back to the Walton ranch in silent company. Dismounting at the door, Billy was careful to keep his horse between Rafe and himself.

Billy looked across the saddle at Rafe. "You better knock at the door, feller."

With extremely bad grace, Rafe obeyed. Following the knock, a window curtain was pulled aside and Hazel looked out. She nodded and smiled at Billy. The curtain dropped. Billy heard the grating of the bar as it was withdrawn from the iron staples. The door had been barred, then. Why? Was Rafe indeed the qualified polecat Billy had half-way suspected him of being when he meet him hurrying away from the Walton ranch? But Hazel's smile had been natural as ever. Bill took comfort in that fact.

The door opened. Hazel stood wiping her damp hands on her apron.

"'Lo, Hazel," said Bill. "Everything all right?"

Hazel smiled again. She did have beautiful teeth. There was the fetching dimple too.

"Why, of course everything's all right," she told him. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Bill noticed that she did not look at Rafe Tuckleton.

"Here's Mr. Tuckleton," said he.

"I see him," shortly.

"And—you're—sure—everything's—all—right?" Bill drawled in a lifeless voice.

"Of course I'm sure."

"And—you're—sure everything—has—been—all—right—all day?"

Hazel nodded. "Of course it has. Won't you come in, Billy—before the kitchen gets all cold?"

"I'll put the li'l horse under the shed first. He's kinda warm. Rafe, don't lemme detain you. You seemed all in a rush when I met you."

Rafe Tuckleton lingered not.

Billy Wingo led his mount under the shed and returned to the house. Hazel was pouring off the washing water when he entered the kitchen.

"What made you bring Tuckleton back?" she asked pouring fresh water over the butter.

"I met him coming away from here, and I didn't like the way he looked. I thought maybe—" He let it go at that.

"He was here for a while," said Hazel, bringing her bowl to the table and beginning again to knead the yellow mass of butter. "I don't like that man."

Billy was at the table instantly. "Look here, Hazel——"

"Look here, Billy," she mimicked, lifting calm black eyes to his face. "Don't you go fussbudgeting. I'm quite capable of managing my admirers."

"Admirers! Him!" gasped Wingo.

"He proposed to me. I turned him down."

"Shows your good sense," said Billy, going over to the chair lately vacated by Rafe Tuckleton and sitting down. "But I'd like to know what he's thinking of, the old jake."

Her amused eyes sought his. "Am I such a poor match as that?"

"You know what I mean," he grumbled. "He's got no right proposing to you, no right a-tall. Why, he's old enough to be your father."

"So he is. Do you know, I never thought of that?"

"You're foolin' now," grunted Billy. "Tell you, Hazel, what you want is some young feller with property and all his teeth."

"I don't want anybody," she declared, "young or otherwise. Billy, you're sheriff now—" she continued, changing the subject.

"Not yet," he interrupted. "I don't take office till the first of the year."

She nodded. "I understand. And I want to ask you a question. It's—it's—you will say it's none of my business, I expect."

"Anything's your business you want to ask questions about. Fly at it."

"Who elected you sheriff, Billy?"

He regarded her in some surprise. "The voters."

"I know, but who manages the voters?"

"You mean the party machine?"

"That's it. Well now, Bill, suppose the machine put a man in office, would he have to do what the machine told him?"

"He would, if he was that kind of a man."

She straightened and gave him a level look. "Billy, they say the gang that runs this county elected you sheriff."

"Who's they—Rafe Tuckleton?"

"Never mind who. What I want to know is do you have to do what that gang tells you to do?"

"I don't have to. Has anybody been saying I'd have to?"

"I—you hear rumors sometimes, Billy. Will you have a free hand, then?"

"So far as my powers extend, I will," he said.

"And you'll use it?"

"I'll use it," curiously.

"Is—is that quite safe?"

"Safe?"

"Safe to antagonize the gang?"

"It may not be safe for the gang."

Hazel raised a great gob of butter in her two hands and squeezed it out slowly between her fingers. "Couldn't you give 'em their way, sort of? Not in everything. I don't mean that. But just enough to keep 'em good-natured?"

His curiosity changed to blank amazement. "You know what you're asking, I suppose," he said coldly. "I thought you didn't like Rafe Tuckleton?"

"I hate him," was her simple statement. "But I—I'm afraid."

"Afraid? How afraid?"

"Afraid for you."

"Why for me?"

"Because—oh, it's so hard to explain!" she almost wailed. "You misunderstand me so. You think I'm asking favors on their account!"

He believed he detected a sob in her voice. This would never do. Couldn't have Hazel crying.

"If you'd only explain," he suggested soothingly.

"Well," she said, her hands busy in the butter, "Sally Jane Prescott was over here yesterday, and she said what a darn good thing your election was for Crocker County; how you'd reform it and all that, and how you'd surely put out of business the gang that's running it now. I agreed with her, of course, but I never really realized till—till later what it might mean to you."

She paused. He awaited her pleasure. After a minute's silence she continued.

"You see, Billy, you've been pretty nice to me—uncle and me. And you've come to be sort of a—sort of a friend—kind of and—and I—we don't want to see you hurt," she finished with a rush.

"So that's the reason you think I'd better go easy on the gang."

"It will be safer. You don't have to be too open about it. You can arrest the people the gang doesn't care anything about."

"That would be hard on the people, I should say."

"It's better than running into danger all the time. I tell you, Billy, as true as I stand here this minute, if you try to fight the gang, you won't last out your term."

She clasped her hands and regarded him piteously. When a pretty girl clasps her hands and regards you piteously, what are you going to do? Right. You can't help yourself, can you? Neither could Billy.

But when he had kissed her three times on the mouth she pushed him away and cried distractedly. "You mustn't! You mustn't! You don't know what you're doing!"

"Oh, yes, I do," he assured her and seized her buttery hands. "We'll be married to-morrow!"

At which she whipped her hands from his grasp and put the table between them. "No! Go over there and sit down!"

"I won't! I love you! And you love me!"

"I don't," she stormed.

"What did you kiss me back for then?" he demanded triumphantly. "You did! You know you did! I felt you!"

This was true. But she continued to keep the table between them, despite his efforts to come around to her side.

"You go over there and sit down—please!" she begged. "Please, please, pretty please!"

He went slowly. He sat down. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and teetered his heels on the rowels of his spurs.

"Look here, Hazel," he complained, for he was feeling most ill-used, "I don't understand this a-tall. You lemme kiss you three times and then you shove me away, and when I ask you to marry me, you run behind the table. What did you let me kiss you for if you don't love me?"

"I couldn't help myself. You were so quick."

"You kissed me back, too. Don't forget that."

"It was a mistake, all a mistake. You don't love me."

"You don't know a thing about it. I do love you. And you love me, you know you do."

But by this time she had regained complete control of herself. "I don't know anything of the kind. Let's forget it."

As if he could forget the pressure of her soft lips! Why, for another such kiss he would cheerfully have fought a grizzly. For that's the kind of a kiss it was.

He shook his head. "I can't forget."

Her poor heart almost choked her at the words. She wanted him to kiss her again, and keep on kissing her till she told him to stop. How wonderful that would be! But she stifled the desire with an effort of will that turned her cheeks white.

"You must forget," she told him, her chin wobbling.

"Tell me you don't love me, and I'll do my best."

"I don't—" she began and paused. To save her life she could not tell this man the contrary of what every fiber of her being was proclaiming. She could not. She compromised. "I don't know," she said tightly. "I don't know."

"But I know," objected Billy. "You just give me a——"

"No," she interrupted, "don't plague me, Billy, please don't. Just—just don't ask me again, that's all."

"Is there anybody else?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "No one."

"Then I've got a chance."

But at this she took fright anew. "You mustn't think of it! You mustn't! I can't marry you now, Billy."

"Now? All right, some other time."

He stooped over as though to pick up something from the floor. Apparently he overbalanced himself, for he fell forward on his hands and knees. When he picked himself up he was within arm's length of Hazel. He reached out two triumphant arms and swept her against him. A bare instant she struggled desperately. Then with a sigh she relaxed and put up her mouth to be kissed.

"There, there," he said later, his lips pressed against her hair, "I knew it would be all right once you let yourself go."

She lifted her body slightly in his arms. "Tell me you love me, dearest."

Then when he told her, she asked, "How much? More than anything else in the world? Are you sure?"

What ridiculous questions. Of course he was sure.

"Then you'll do anything I ask, won't you? Promise?"

She raised her head from his shoulder. "Promise?" she repeated, her warm lips on his.

Even as her arms tightened about his neck, he felt a tightening at his heart. And the latter was not a pleasant tightening. What did she mean? He loved her. God, how he loved her dark loveliness, but—what was she driving at?

"I can't promise till you tell what you want me to do."

"No, say you promise. Say it, say it."

But he would not, and she tried a new angle. "If I tell you, will you promise?"

"After you've told me," he persisted.

She sat up straight at this and took his face between her two arm palms.

"Billy, you know I love you, don't you?"

Looking into her eyes how could he doubt it.

She resumed. "You know I wouldn't ask you to do anything that wasn't for your own good, yet you won't promise the first promise I ever asked you to make."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"All right, I'll have to tell you then, Billy. I've heard things—about your job. I've heard that if you don't do exactly as the gang says you'll be kuk-killed. Oh, not exactly in those words, but I know what was meant. No, I shan't tell you where I heard it. It doesn't matter anyway. It was bad enough when you—I thought you were just a friend, but now—now when you're just everything to me, I cuc-can't bear to have you run any risks. Suppose something happens to you, what would I do? I'd die, I think. I'd want to, anyway."

At which he tried to kiss away her fears, but these were too deep-rooted for any such old-fashioned remedy as that to be of any avail.

"No, no, don't!" she protested, holding his head away by main force. "Not now. I'm not through yet. Listen. You'll fight the gang, I know you will."

He nodded a slow head. "I've got to. That's why I took the job of sheriff."

"I knew it," she said sadly. "But you can resign, can't you?"

"I could, but I won't."

"Not if I ask you to?"

"I can't. It would be lying down without a fight, and I've never done that yet. They'd say I was afraid of 'em."

"What does it matter what they say? You'll have me. We'll be together."

He put up a hand and stroked the tumbled waves of her black hair. "You wouldn't love me if I did a thing like that. You'd know I wasn't doing right."

She shook his face between her hands with gentle earnestness. "Yes, I would! I would! I know I would! Everything you do is just right! It would be right if you did it! Don't you see? What does anything matter so long as we have each other? Why do you have to risk your life? Oh, take me away, beloved, take me away and I'll marry you to-morrow!"

Because of what he did then, you'll say he did not love her. But he did, heart and soul and body, he loved her. Yet he put her resolutely from him and held her off at the full stretch of his arms. "There's more to this than you've told me," said he shrewdly. "You're scared. You're scared bad, but it isn't only the thought of the gang that scares you. There's something else. What is it?"

At first she would not tell him. He argued with her.

Finally she surrendered. "If you marry me and stay here, you'll be killed."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Is that all that's worrying you? We'll be married to-morrow, like I said."

"No, we won't—unless you take me away at once. No, don't kiss me. I mean it."

"Who told you I'd be killed?"

"I won't tell you."

"Tell me, and I'll make him come here and take back everything he said."

But the recollection of what Rafe Tuckleton and his outfit had almost succeeded in doing to John Dawson was too fresh in her mind. She did not dare tell Billy who had told her. She knew right well that if she did it would simply mean that her lover would be killed the sooner. The odds against him were great enough as it was.

She shook her head. Her eyes were bright with pure terror. "I can't tell you!" she whispered in agony of spirit. "I can't!"

"Was it Rafe?"

"I can't tell you!" twisting her head to escape his eyes.

"It was Rafe!"

"It wasn't Rafe!" she lied wearily. "It doesn't matter who it was. Oh, boy, boy, I don't dare marry you if you stay here. And I want to marry you, dear heart. I love you so! I love you! Oh, let's go away where we can be happy together! Why won't you be sensible and take the easiest way out?"

"God knows I would if I could, but I've got to play the hand out. I can't back down because there may be a li'l danger. You know I can't, and down deep you don't want me to. Listen. When you saw Jack Murray was out to bushwhack me, what did you do? Did you take the easiest way out and go on about your business, or did you jump right in and risk your life to save mine?"

"That was different," said she piteously, realizing that her cause was lost, but fighting to the last. "I did it for you. I'd be willing to die for you any time. Boy! I love you so hard, nothing else matters! Nothing! I'd lie, steal, cheat and fight for you! Oh, I'm shameless, shameless! But that's the way I love you! Why can't you give up everything for me the way I would for you and take me away and marry me?"

He was more than a little shaken. He had to summon all his resolution to withstand her pleadings. But he did more. He got upon his feet and thrust her down into his place in the chair and held her there with one hand for all she struggled might and main to wind her arms again around his neck.

"Listen to me," he said in a voice that trembled. "You don't know what you are asking me to do. If I did it, I'd be a dog, and I won't be a dog even for your sake. Marry me now and we'll see it through, you and I together."

She shook her head. "I—I can't," she whispered, and added with most human logic, "I don't believe you love me!"

At which he was moved to wrath. "It's you that don't love me! You listen here! I've asked you for the last time to marry me! You turned me down for some fool notion that isn't worth a hill of beans. All right, let it go at that. If ever you change your mind, you'll have to come to me and put your arms around my neck and tell me I was right to stick it out and you were wrong to want me not to. And if you don't do it, you're not the girl I took you for, and I wouldn't look at you with a telescope!"

She sat speechless. Without another word he stooped, swept his hat from the floor and went out. And, it must be said to his discredit, he slammed the door behind him.

A long five minutes Hazel was staring wide-eyed at the door. But he did not come back. She crept to the window. He was riding away down the draw. He did not look back. He passed out of sight around the bend. Hazel slid quietly to the floor and, her face buried in her hands, began to cry as if her heart would break.

For her little world had been shattered and she was left disconsolate among the fragments. Her man did not understand.