Suddenly the grim stoicism with which he had been speaking departed. His face distorted and his voice broke, as he implored:
“Carmichael! Can’t I have that gun and settle it the easiest way? Is it necessary she should ever know? She’s going to marry that young Locke, and all day I’ve been checking him up, and he’s a regular man, just the kind I’d want her to marry, but if he and she knew that her father—— She’s never dreamed that I was alive. Is there any need for her to know? If you won’t give me a gun, can’t you slip me into Huntsville for the rest of my sentence without any of it ever getting into the papers, Cap’n? For those young folks’ sakes!”
And now there was huskiness in the Ranger’s throat, too, as he cried, harshly, to conceal his own emotion:
“Why, you darned old fool, you’ll be at the wedding to give her away! Jeff Rich ran again for governor and was elected, two years after you escaped. They never could get track of you to let you know, and finally, when it was in all the papers and you didn’t show up, everybody natchully supposed you were dead. One of the first things Jeff Rich did as governor was to sign your unconditional pardon.”
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the January 7, 1923 issue of The Popular Magazine.