"If I can."
"That money—the money for that stock. I want to leave it with you—to use or not to use as you think best. I've got a great deal of money—much more than is good for me."
Jeff shook his head.
"No, Rita, no. I can't do that. If I'm going to lose, I'll lose alone."
"But if you win?" she turned and gave him her hand. "You will. I've sworn you will. And here's luck on it." Instead of clasping her hand, as she intended he should, he raised it to his lips and kissed it gently—as under different conditions he might have kissed her lips. She looked down at the top of his head and closed her eyes a moment, but when he looked up she was smiling gaily.
"You're a good sport, Rita," he said.
"Yes," she said coolly, "I believe I am."
They rode into Mesa City slowly. The valley was already wrapped in shadow, but above them the upper half of Saguache Peak was afire with the sunset. The evening train was in and had puffed its way up to the yard. There was a crowd at the post-office waiting for mail, and scattered groups here and there were chatting with the arrivals. Wray and Mrs. Cheyne climbed the slope to the Kinney House, where a cowboy from the Home Ranch was waiting for their horses. They dismounted and went indoors to the office, where a solitary lady in a dark dress was signing her name to the hotel register. At the sound of their voices she turned and straightened, suddenly very pale and tense. And then, before Jeff could speak, turned again quickly to the clerk and said quietly:
"If you'll show me the way up at once, please, I'd like to go to my room."
CHAPTER XXII