“Shut up, Lee,” cut in Buck. He sat forward in his chair, drinking up her story.
“Go on.”
“This morning we saw the same posse skirting through the valley and knew that they were on the old trail. Dan sent Gregg over the hills and rode Vic's horse down so that the posse would mistake him, and he could lead them out of the way. I was afraid, terribly, I was afraid that if the posse got close and began shooting Dan would—”
She stopped; her eyes begged them to understand.
“Go on,” said Lee Haines, shuddering slightly. “I know what you mean.”
“But I watched him ride down the slope,” she cried joyously, “and I saw the posse close on him—almost on top of him when he reached the valley. I saw the flash of their guns. I saw them shoot. I wasn't afraid that Dan would be hurt, for he seems to wear a charm against bullets—I wasn't much afraid of that, but I dreaded to see him turn and go back through that posse like a storm. But—” she caught both hands to her breast and her bright face tilted up—“even when the bullets must have been whistling around him he didn't look back. He rode straight on and on, out of view, and I knew”—her voice broke with emotion—“oh, Buck, I knew that he had won, and I had won; that he was safe forever; that there was no danger of him ever slipping back into that terrible other self; I knew that I'd never again have to dream of that whistling in the wind; I knew that he was ours—Joan's and mine.”
“By God,” broke out Buck, “I'm happier than if you'd found a gold mine, Kate. It don't seem no ways—but if you seen that with your own eyes, it's possible true. He's changed.”
“I've been almost afraid to be happy all these years,” she said, “but now I want to sing and cry at the same time. My heart is so full that it's overflowing, Buck.”
She brushed the tears away and smiled at them.
“Tell me all about yourselves. Everything. You first, Lee. You've been longer away.”