"May I see the license?" he asked after Kirby had introduced himself and Rose.
For a moment the cattleman was puzzled. His eye went to Rose, seeking information. A wave of color was sweeping into her soft cheeks. Then Lane knew why, and the hot blood mounted into his own. His gaze hurriedly and in embarrassment fled from Miss McLean's face.
"You don't quite understand," he explained to the Reverend Nicodemus Rankin. "We've come only to—to inquire about some one you married—or rather to find out if you did marry him. His name is Cunningham. We have reason to think he was married a month or two ago. But we're not sure."
The old man stroked his silken white hair. At times his mind was a little hazy. There were moments when a slight fog seemed to descend upon it. His memory in recent years had been quite treacherous. Not long since he had forgotten to attend a funeral at which he was to conduct the services.
"I dare say I did marry your friend. A good many young people come to me. The license clerk at the court is very kind. He sends them here."
"The man's name was Cunningham—James Cunningham," Kirby prompted.
"Cunningham—Cunningham! Seems to me I did marry a man by that name. Come to think of it I'm sure I did. To a beautiful young woman," the old preacher said.
"Do you recall her name? I mean her maiden name," Rose said, excitement drumming in her veins.
"No-o. I don't seem quite to remember it. But she was a charming young woman—very attractive, I might say. My wife and daughter mentioned it afterward."
"May I ask if Mrs. Rankin and your daughter are at present in the house?" asked Lane.