“Yes, he and Grace Darlington are engaged. And to them I give my heartiest blessing just as I have given it to you and Merle. For Grace, like her adopted sister, has been always very dear to me. I have loved them both very dearly indeed all through their young lives.”
“And both are devoted to you, as I happen to know,” affirmed Dick with warm conviction.
“I believe it,” replied Mr. Robles. His hand sought an inner pocket and drew forth a legal-looking document. “I came here not only to bid you good-bye, but more important still to place this in your possession.”
“My release?” exclaimed Dick eagerly, as his fingers closed on the paper.
“Well, not exactly—but it will lead to that, never fear. It is an affidavit which has been properly sworn to before a San Francisco notary public. It briefly sets out my confession. It was I, Don Manuel de Valencia, who killed Marshall Thurston, or at least was responsible for his killing.”
As he spoke the words, the outlaw drew himself proudly erect. Dick was too overwhelmed with amazement to reply.
“The young ruffian was shot partly because he deserved his fate for insulting Merle, partly because, as you cannot but know, Don Manuel, the White Wolf, had sworn a vendetta against the whole Thurston brood.”
“Then Ben Thurston—is he dead, too?” gasped the listener.
“Not yet,” was the grim reply. Then he paused and changed his tone.
“But I want to speak not another word about this. What happens to Ben Thurston is nothing of your concern—must be nothing of your concern. For this document here frees you from all legal entanglements, and I have no wish that you should by any chance become enmeshed again. So we dismiss Ben Thurston from our talk and from our minds. When you lodge this paper with the authorities at Bakersfield, it will be a matter only of a few formalities to secure dismissal of the charge against you. For I even put it on sworn record that your jail delivery that night was against your will.”