“I don’t know what the cause of the quarrel was,” concluded the doctor. “Two days ago I relinquished this claim to your son. He came here immediately and took possession.”
“You–you relinquished!” exclaimed Agnes, disappointment in her voice, reproach in her eyes.
“I am sorry that you relinquished it,” said the Governor. “This brave young woman rode all the way to my ranch–almost a hundred miles–to save it to you. I was absent when she arrived, but I set out with her at the earliest possible moment upon my return. We rode all night last night, sir, changing horses in Comanche this morning.”
“I am grateful to you, both of you, for the trouble and fatigue you have undergone in my behalf. But the case, as your son urged it, sir, was beyond temporizing. Perhaps Miss Gates has told you?”
The Governor nodded curtly, a look of displeasure on his face.
“I can’t believe that Jerry meant it,” he protested. “It must have been one of his jokes.”
“I am sorry, then, that my idea of humor is so widely divergent from his!” said Dr. Slavens with deep feeling.
“Well, he’s paid for it. The poor boy has paid for his indiscretion,” said the old man sadly.
He turned away and went a little space, where he stood as if in meditation.
“You promised me that you’d do nothing until you 317 returned and saw me,” Agnes charged. “And I had saved it for you! I had saved it!”