"I've come to get my kiss," said Doug, laughing boisterously. He was what he called "full"; not drunk, but "comfortable," which meant uncomfortable for those who happened to be near him. "I've come for my kiss," he cried again.
"You'll not get it," answered Rita, who was brave when Dic was between her and her foe. Dic, wishing to avoid trouble, simply said, "I guess not."
"Oh, you guess not?" said Doug, apparently much amused. "You guess not? Well, we'll see, Mr. Fine-hair; we'll see." Thereupon, he rested his gun against a tree, stepped quickly past Dic, and seized Rita around the waist. He was drawing her head backward to help himself when Dic knocked him down. Patsy Clark then sprang upon Dic, and, in imitation of his chief, fell to the ground. Doug and Patsy at once rose to their feet and rushed toward Dic. Rita screamed, as of course any right-minded woman would have done, and, clasping her hands in terror, looked on fascinated and almost paralyzed. Patsy came first and again took a fall. This time, from necessity or inclination,—probably the latter,—he did not rise, but left the drunken Douglas to face Dic single-handed and alone. Though tall and strong, Dic was by no means the equal of Doug in the matter of bulk, and in a grappling match Doug could soon have killed him. Dic fully understood this, and, being more active than his huge foe, endeavored to keep him at arm's length. In this he was successful for a time; but at last the grapple came, and both men fell to the ground—Doug Hill on top. Poor Rita was in a frenzy of terror. She could not even scream. She could only press her hands to her heart and look. When Dic and Doug fell to the ground, Patsy Clark, believing himself safe, rose to a sitting posture, and Doug cried out to him:—
"Give me your knife, Patsy, give me your knife." Patsy at once responded by placing his hunting-knife in Doug's left hand. Dic saw his imminent danger and with his right hand clasped Doug's left wrist in a grasp that could not be loosened. After several futile attempts to free his wrist, Doug tossed the knife over to his right side. It fell a few inches beyond his reach, and he tried to grasp it. Rita saw that very soon he would reach the knife, and Dic's peril brought back her presence of mind. Doug put forth terrific efforts to reach the knife, and, despite Dic's resistance, soon had it in his grasp. In getting the knife, however, Doug gave Dic an opportunity to throw him off, and he did so, quickly springing to his feet. Doug was on his feet in a twinkling, and rushed upon Dic with uplifted knife. Dic knew that he could not withstand the rush, and thought his hour had come; but the sharp crack of a rifle broke the forest silence, and the knife fell from Doug's nerveless hand, his knees shook under him, his form quivered spasmodically for a moment, and he plunged forward on his face. Dic turned and saw Rita standing back of him, holding Doug's rifle to her shoulder, a tiny curl of blue smoke issuing from the barrel. The girl's face turned pale, the gun fell from her hands, her eyes closed, and she would have fallen had not Dic caught her in his arms. He did not so much as glance at Doug, but at once carried the unconscious Rita home with all the speed he could make.
"Now for goodness' sake, what has she been doing?" cried Mrs. Bays, as Dic entered the front door with his almost lifeless burden. "That girl will be the death of me yet."
"She has fainted," replied Dic, "and I fear she's dead."
With a wild scream Mrs. Bays snatched Rita from Dic's arms in a frenzy of grief that bore a touch of jealousy. In health and happiness Rita for her own good must bow beneath the rod; but in sickness or in death Rita was her child, and no strange hand should minister to her. A blessed philosopher's stone had for once transmuted her hard, barren sense of justice to glowing love. She carried the girl into the house and applied restoratives. After a little time Rita breathed a sigh and opened her eyes. Her first word was "Dic!"
"Here I am, Rita," he softly answered, stepping to her bedside and taking her hand. Mrs. Bays, after her first inquiry, had asked no questions, and Dic had given no information. After Rita's return to consciousness tears began to trickle down her mother's furrowed cheek, and, ashamed of her weakness, she left the room. Dic knelt by Rita's bed and kissed her hands, her eyes, her lips. His caresses were the best of all restoratives, and when Mrs. Bays returned, Rita was sitting on the edge of the bed, Dic's arm supporting her and her head resting on his shoulder. Mrs. Bays came slowly toward them. The girl's habitual fear of her mother returned, and lifting her head she tried to move away from Dic, but he held her. Mrs. Bays reached the bedside and stood facing them in silence. The court of love had adjourned. The court of justice was again in session. She snatched up Rita's hand and pointed to the ring.
"What is that?" she asked sternly.
"That is our engagement ring," answered Dic. "Rita has promised to be my wife."