CHAPTER XVI
Helen Ervin rode past the ranch door just as the gray-haired man made his statement to Lowell.
"You are Edward Sargent, the man who was supposed to have been murdered?" repeated the Indian agent, in astonishment.
"Yes; but wait till Miss Ervin comes in. The situation may require a little clearing, and she can help."
Surprise and anxiety alternated in Helen's face as she looked in through the open doorway and saw the men seated at the table. She paused a moment, silhouetted in the door, the Greek letter on the panel standing out with almost startling distinctness beside her. As she stood poised on the threshold in her riding-suit, the ravages of her previous trip having been repaired, she made Lowell think of a modernized Diana—modernized as to clothes, but carrying, in her straight-limbed grace, all the world-old spell of the outdoors.
"Our young friend has just learned the truth, my dear," said the gray-haired man. "He knows that I am Sargent, and that our stepfather, Willis Morgan, is dead."
Helen stepped quickly to Sargent's side. There was something suggesting filial protection in her attitude. Sargent smiled up at her, reassuringly.
"Probably it is better," he said, "that the whole thing should be known."
"But in a few days we should have been gone," said Helen. "Why have all our hopes been destroyed in this way at the last moment? Is this some of your work," she added bitterly, addressing Lowell—"some of your work as a spy?"
Sargent spoke up quickly.