Satisfied that the bandit's widow withheld nothing worth while, Seymour was anxious to be off about the invitation which Ruth Duperow had "dotted" to him. He felt, however, that he owed Bart's widow something for the information which, once she started to impart it, had been given so frankly. He was minded to pay at once, even if the coin thereof was only good advice.
"For the present, you had best sit tight here and say nothing, Mrs. Caswell," he began. "I suppose it was easy come, easy go with Bart; that he leaves you practically nothing. From what I've seen of your trade this evening, you have a paying proposition in the restaurant. I don't see any reason why you can't go on with it."
"But when people know——"
"Maybe they need never know that Bart was anything but a boarder," Seymour interposed hopefully. "You seem to have guarded your secret well when even infatuated old Cato didn't suspect your man of being more than a suitor."
The little woman had been too distressed to give thought to her own future; naturally she seemed uncertain about it. Then suddenly the flame of that love which was beyond Seymour's comprehension, but within his appreciation, flared to decision.
"But they will have to know if I save Bart's reputation!" she cried. "I'll not have the world think he killed that double-crossing stage driver in anything but defense of his own life."
Here was complication which disturbed the plans that the Mountie, impelled by his rugged conviction that every person was entitled to a square deal, had been making for her. He had no time to argue with her, so went on to impress her with what was vital to his own operations.
He could work to a better advantage toward the capture of Bart's slayer if the double unmasking was delayed. Her promise to say nothing until he gave her leave was his for the asking. The town folks would probably arrange an appropriate funeral for the dead "sergeant"; she would need to attend as a sorrowing acquaintance, but she must keep a tight rein on her emotions if she wished to aid in the capture. In this, ordeal though it would be, Mrs. Caswell promised to do her best.
As he arose to leave, he offered her his big hand. She reached out her small one timidly.
"I never thought I'd be shaking hands with a Mountie," she confessed in a murmuring voice, "I'm afraid I've hated you wearers of the scarlet, you were so all-sure of getting the men you went after and I never knew when Bart would fall into your clutches. But now——"