A faint, glad, terrified little cry startled them both. Phyllis was staring with dilated eyes at the man restored to her from the dead. He got up and walked across to her with outstretched hands.
"My little girl."
"Oh, Larry! I don't understand. I thought——"
He nodded. "I reckon God was good to us, sweetheart."
Her arms crept up and round his neck. "Oh, boy—boy—boy. I thought you were—I thought you were——"
She broke down, but he understood. "Well, I'm not," he laughed happily. Catching sight of Buck's grim, set face, Larrabie explained what scarce needed an explanation. "You'll have to excuse us, I reckon. It's my day for congratulations."
Phyllis freed herself and walked across to her other lover. "My friend, I know the answer now," she told him.
"I see you do."
"Don't—please don't be hurt," she begged. "I have to care for him."
The hard, leathery face softened. "I lose, girl. But who told you I was a bad loser? The best man wins. I've got no kick to register."