To the one who, more clearly than
any other, can best understand and
appreciate the motive for its writing,
this book is affectionately inscribed by
THE AUTHOR
CONTENTS
| CHAPTER | |
| I. | [THE HEATING OF THE IRON] |
| II. | [THE SEARING TOUCH] |
| III. | [IN THE NAME OF THE LAW] |
| IV. | [SCARS] |
| V. | [THE DOWNWARD PATH] |
| VI. | [A GOOD SAMARITAN] |
| VII. | [THE PLUNGE] |
| VIII. | [WESTWARD] |
| IX. | [THE CUP OF TREMBLING] |
| X. | [THE PLAIN-CLOTHES MAN] |
| XI. | [NUMBER 3126] |
| XII. | [A CAST FOR FORTUNE] |
| XIII. | [FOR THE SINEWS OF WAR] |
| XIV. | [PAPER WALLS] |
| XV. | [THE BROKEN WAGON] |
| XVI. | [IN THE OPEN] |
| XVII. | [ALADDIN'S LAMP] |
| XVIII. | ["THE WOMAN . . . WHOSE HANDS ARE AS BANDS"] |
| XIX. | [A RECKONING AND A HOLD-UP] |
| XX. | [BROKEN FAITH] |
| XXI. | [THE END OF A HONEYMOON] |
| XXII. | [A WOMAN'S LOVE] |
| XXIII. | [SKIES OF BRASS] |
| XXIV. | [RESTORATION] |
| XXV. | [THE MOUNTAIN'S TOP] |
BRANDED
I
The Heating of the Iron
It was not until the evening when old John Runnels, who had been the town marshal in my school days, and was now chief of police under the new city charter, came into the dingy little private banking room to arrest me that I began to realize, though only in a sort of dumb and dazed fashion, how much my promise to Agatha Geddis might be going to cost me.
But even if the full meaning of the promise had been grasped at the time when my word was given, it is an open question if the earlier recognition of the possible consequences would have made any difference. Before we go any farther, let it be clearly understood that there was no sentiment involved; at least, no sentimental sentiment. Years before, I, like most of the other town boys of my age, had taken my turn as Agatha's fetcher and carrier; but that was only a passing spasm—a gust of the calf-love which stirs up momentary whirlwinds in youthful hearts. The real reason for the promise-making lay deeper. Abel Geddis had been crabbedly kind to me, helping me through my final year in the High School after my father died, and taking me into his private bank the week after I was graduated. And Agatha was Abel Geddis's daughter.
Over and above the daughterhood, she was by far the prettiest girl in Glendale, with a beauty of the luscious type; eyes that could toll a man over the edge of a bluff and lips that had a trick of quivering like a hurt baby's when she was begging for something she was afraid she wasn't going to get. All through the school years she had been one of my classmates, and a majority of the town boys were foolish about her, partly because she had a way of twisting them around her fingers; partly, perhaps, because her father was the rich man of the community and the president of the Farmers' Bank.