“Yes, my gal. I’ve got a hard somethin’ to tell ye.” He drew her close to him. “It seems right mean that I’ve got such a thing to say on our weddin’ night, but, my gal, that there’s yer dad.” He looked down at the quiet figure, with face covered, lying there at their feet.
Louisa gave a startled scream and hid her head on his breast. Ira stroked her hair gently. “He was tryin’ to save my life, Lou. He kep’ Pike from shootin’ what he thought was me on Hero, Steve’s hoss, an’ Pike turned on him in a rage at bein’ interfered with. Your dad had time to say a few words to us. He thought about you an’ spoke your name at the very last. He knowed he was a-goin’ an’ he died with his hand in mine. Thar, gal, thar.” Louisa was shaking with sobs.
“Poor father, poor dad,” she murmured.
“Mebbe he wa’n’t a saint, Lou, but he died tryin’ to save another; I reckon the Marster up in heaven’ll understan’ thet. Thar’s somethin’ in the good book about a feller layin’ down his life fer a fren’, ain’t they? I reckin he’ll git leave to jine yer mother yit. Lou, my gal, my pore little gal.” And Louisa, with a sudden sense of a new and beautiful love enfolding and protecting her, received such comfort as never before had been hers.
The next day Cyrus was buried by those who strove to hide his faults from the world, and who turned from the lonely grave with reverence and sincere pity, but who sternly vowed vengeance against his slayer.
Those last words of Cyrus’ brought a gleam of hope to Christine, but there seemed little chance of there being more discovered, for, though the men scoured the country, there was no sign of either Pike or Hero.
Blythe improved slowly, but it was felt that he must not be moved for the present, therefore Mrs. Van Dorn was asked to take up her residence, for the time being, at the Rosses, that she might be near her boy. Louisa, too, at the urgent request of the girls remained till Ira should make his home more habitable; therefore it was a large household, and the days passed busily enough for all.
A certain question troubled Alison during these days, and at last she took it to her brother John. “Do you think all promises ought to be kept?” she asked. “If one makes a promise which seems right at the time, but which if broken might help justice, ought one to keep it a secret?”
“That’s a mighty tough problem,” returned John. “Can’t you give me a little more of a clue?”
Alison pondered upon the question. “It concerns Pike Smith,” she said. “I will tell you some things, John, for I half suspect you know about them. You know poor old Cyrus Sparks and Pike were the ones who tried to steal Hero that first time when you were away. Bud told me that Cyrus had confessed that.”