Hilliard came, smiling, to relieve the situation. “I've got a piece of good news for both of you. Two of the boys that were in that shooting scrap three miles from town came to my office the other day and admitted that they attacked you. It got noised around that there was a girl in it, and they were anxious to have the thing dropped. I don't think either of you need worry about it any more.”
Dillon gave a shout. “Glory, hallelujah!” He had been much troubled, and his relief shone on his face. “I say, gentlemen, that's the best news I've heard in twenty years. Let's go celebrate it with just one.”
Brandt and Hilliard joined him, but the Texan lingered.
“I reckon I'll join you later, gentlemen,” he said.
While their footsteps died away he looked steadily at Arlie. Her eyes met his and held fast. Beneath the olive of her cheeks, a color began to glow.
He held out both his hands. The light in his eyes softened, transfigured his hard face. “You can't help it, honey. It may not be what you would have chosen, but it has got to be. You're mine.”
Almost beneath her breath she spoke. “You forgot—the other girl.”
“What other girl? There is none—never was one.”
“The girl in the picture.”
His eyes opened wide. “Good gracious! She's been married three months to a friend of mine. Larry Neill his name is.”