CHAPTER VII.—THE TRAGEDY AT THE RANCH.
“That?” exclaimed Frank. “You must be mistaken! That man’s name is not Kilgore, it is Lawrence.”
He fancied the girl was crazy. He had wondered if her misfortune had affected her brain.
“This is the picture of Lawton Kilgore!” she repeated, in a dull tone.
“Do you think I would not know him anywhere—under any circumstances? This is the man who promised to marry me! This is the man my father hates as he hates a snake!”
“Well, that man is worthy of your father’s hatred,” said Merry, “for he is a thoroughbred villain. But I think you must be mistaken, for your father met him in Denver. This man had me arrested, and your father followed to the police station, and was instrumental in securing my release. If this man was Kilgore, your father would have found his opportunity to kill him.”
“You do not understand,” panted the girl. “Father has never seen him to know him—has never even seen his picture. If Lawton was known by another name, father would not have recognized him, even though they met in Denver.”
Frank began to realize that the girl was talking in a sensible manner, and something told him she spoke the truth. To his other crimes, Lawrence had added that of deceiving an innocent girl.
“And he is in Denver?” panted the rancher’s daughter. “He is so near! Oh, if he would come to me!”
Frank was sorry that he had permitted her to see the photographs, but it was too late now for regrets.