unpleasant Sheriff smiling cunningly as he did when I passed him talking
to Clavering, and the sense of expectancy. It's there. One could hear it
in their voices, even if one had not seen their faces, and when I met your
father at the head of the stairs he almost frightened me. Of course, he
was not theatrical--he never is--but I know that set of his lips and look
in his eyes, and have more than a fancy it means trouble for somebody. I
suppose he has not told you anything--in fact, he seems to have kept
curiously aloof from both of us lately."

Hetty turned towards her with a little spot of colour in her cheek and
apprehension in her eyes.

"So you have noticed it, too!" she said very slowly. "Of course, he has
been busy and often away, while I know how anxious he must be; but when he
is at home he scarcely speaks to me--and then, there is something in his
voice that hurts me. I'm 'most afraid he has found out that I have been
talking to Larry."

Miss Schuyler smiled. "Well," she said, "that--alone--would not be such a
very serious offence."

The crimson showed plainer in Hetty's cheek and there was a faint ring in
her voice. "Flo," she said, "don't make me angry--I can't bear it
to-night. Something is going to happen--I can feel it is--and you don't
know my father even yet. He is so horribly quiet, and I'm afraid of as
well as sorry for him. It is a long while ago, but he looked just as he
does now--only not quite so grim--during my mother's last illness. Oh, I
know there is something worrying him, and he will not tell me--though he
was always kind before, even when he was angry. Flo, this horrible trouble
can't go on for ever!"

Hetty had commenced bravely, but she faltered as she proceeded, and Miss
Schuyler, who saw her distress, had risen and was standing with one hand
on her shoulder when the maid came in. She cast a hasty glance at her
mistress, and appeared, Flora Schuyler fancied, embarrassed, and desirous
of concealing it.

"Mr. Torrance will excuse you coming down again," she said. "He may have
some of the Sheriff's men and one or two of the cow-boys in, and would
sooner you kept your room. Are you likely to want me in the next
half-hour?"

"No," said Hetty. "No doubt you are anxious to find out what is going
on."

The maid went out, and Miss Schuyler fixed anxious eyes on her companion.
"What is the matter with the girl, Hetty?" she asked.

"I don't know. Did you notice anything?"

"Yes. I think she had something on her mind. Any way, she was
unexplainably anxious to get away from you."

Hetty smiled somewhat bitterly. "Then she is only like the rest. Everybody
at Cedar is anxious about something now."

Flora Schuyler rose, and, flinging the curtains behind her, looked out at
the night. The moon was just showing through a rift in the driving cloud,
and she could see the bluff roll blackly down to the white frothing of the
river. She also saw a shadowy object slipping through the gloom of the
trees, and fancied it was a woman; but when another figure appeared for a
moment in the moonlight the first one came flitting back again.

"I believe the girl has gone out to meet somebody in the bluff," she
said.

Hetty made a little impatient gesture. "It doesn't concern us, any way."

Miss Schuyler sat down again and made no answer, though she had
misgivings, and five or ten minutes passed silently, until there was a
tapping at the door, and the maid came in, very white in the face. She
clutched at the nearest chair-back, and stood still, apparently incapable
of speech, until, with a visible effort, she said: "Somebody must go and
send him away. He is waiting in the bluff."

Hetty rose with a little scream, but Flora Schuyler was before her, and
laid her hand upon the maid's arm.

"Now, try to be sensible," she said sternly. "Who is in the bluff?"

The girl shivered. "It is not my fault--I didn't know what they wanted
until the Sheriff came. I tried to tell him, but Joe saw me. Go right now,
and send him away."

Hetty was very white and trembling, but Flora Schuyler nipped the maid's
arm.

"Keep quiet, and answer just what we ask you!" she said. "Who is in the
bluff?"

"Mr. Grant," said the girl, with a gasp. "But don't ask me anything. Send
him away. They'll kill him. Oh, you are hurting me!"

Flora Schuyler shook her. "How did he come there?"

"I took Miss Torrance's letter, and wrote the rest of it. I didn't know
they meant to do him any harm, but they made me write. I had to--he said
he would marry me."

The maid writhed in an agony of fear, but she stood still shivering when
Hetty turned towards her with a blanched face that emphasized the ominous
glow in her dark eyes.

"You wicked woman!" she said. "How dare you tell me that?"

"I mean Mr. Clavering. Oh----!"

The maid stopped abruptly, for Flora Schuyler drove her towards the door.
"Go and undo your work," she said. "Slip down at the back of the bluff."

"I daren't--I tried," and the girl quivered in Miss Schuyler's grasp. "If
I could have warned him I would not have told you; but Joe saw me, and I
was afraid. I told him to come at nine."

It was evident that she was capable of doing very little just then, and
Flora Schuyler drew her out into the corridor.

"Go straight to your room and stay there," she said, and closing the door,
glanced at Hetty. "It is quite simple. This woman has taken your
note-paper and written Larry. He is in the bluff now, and I think she is
right. Your friends mean to make him prisoner or shoot him."

"Stop, and go away," said Hetty hoarsely. "I am going to him."

Flora Schuyler placed her back to the door, and raised her hand. "No," she
said, very quietly. "It would be better if I went in place of you. Sit
down, and don't lose your head, Hetty!"

Hetty seized her arm. "You can't--how could I let you? Larry belongs to
me. Let me go. Every minute is worth ever so much."

"There are twenty of them yet. He has come too early," said Flora
Schuyler, with a glance at the clock. "Any way, you must understand what
you are going to do. It was Clavering arranged this, but your father knew
what he was doing and I think he knows everything. If you leave this house
to-night, Hetty, everybody will know you warned Larry, and it will make a
great difference to you. It will gain you the dislike of all your friends
and place a barrier between you and your father which, I think, will never
be taken away again!"

Hetty laughed a very bitter laugh, and then grew suddenly quiet.

"Stand aside, Flo," she said. "Nobody but Larry wants me now."

Miss Schuyler saw that she was determined, and drew aside. "Then," she
said, with a little quiver in her voice, "because I think he is in peril
you must go, my dear. But we must be very careful, and I am coming with
you as far as I dare."

She closed the door, and then her composure seemed to fail her as they
went out into the corridor; and it was Hetty who, treading very softly,
took the lead. Flitting like shadows, they reached the head of the
stairway, and stopped a moment there, Hetty's heart beating furiously. The
passage beneath them was shadowy, but a blaze of light and a jingle of
glasses came out of the half-opened door of the hall, where Torrance sat
with his guests; and while they waited, they heard his voice and
recognized the vindictive ring in it. Hetty trembled as she grasped the
bannister.

"Flo," she said, "they may come out in a minute. We have got to slip by
somehow."

They went down the stairway with skirts drawn close about them, in swift
silence, and Hetty held her breath as she flitted past the door. There was
a faint swish of draperies as Flora Schuyler followed her, but the murmur
of voices drowned it; and in another minute Hetty had opened a door at the
back of the building. Then, she gasped with relief as she felt the cold
wind on her face, and, with Miss Schuyler close behind her, crept through
the shadow of the house towards the bluff. When the gloom of the trees
closed about them, she clutched her companion's shoulder.

"No," she said hoarsely, "not that way. Joe is watching there. We must go
right through the bluff and down the opposite side of it."

They floundered forward, sinking ankle-deep in withered leaves and clammy
mould, tripping over rotting branches that ripped their dresses, and
stumbling into dripping undergrowth. There was no moon now, and it was
very dark, and more than once Flora Schuyler valiantly suppressed the
scream that would have been a vast relief to her, and struggled on as
silently as she could behind her companion; but it seemed to her that
anybody a mile away could have heard them. Then, a little trail led them
out of the bluff on the opposite side to the house, and the roar of the
river grew louder as they hastened on, still in the gloom of the trees,
until something a little blacker than the shadows behind it grew into
visibility; and when it moved a little, Flora Schuyler touched Hetty's
arm.

"Yes," she said. "It is Larry. If I didn't know the kind of man he is, I
would not let you go. Kiss me, Hetty."

Hetty stood still a second, for she understood, and then very quietly put
both hands on Flora Schuyler's shoulders and kissed her.

"It can't be very wrong; and you have been a good friend, Flo," she said.

She turned, and Flora Schuyler, standing still, saw her slim figure flit
across a strip of frost-bleached sod as the moon shone through.

XXIX

HETTY DECIDES

It was in a pale flash of silvery light that Larry saw the girl against
the gloom of the trees. The moaning of the birches and roar of the river
drowned the faint sound her footsteps made, and she came upon him so
suddenly, statuesque and slender in her trailing evening dress and
etherealized by the moonlight, that as he looked down on the blanched
whiteness of her upturned face, emphasized by the dusky hair, he almost
fancied she had materialized out of the harmonies of the night. For a
moment he sat motionless, with the rifle glinting across his saddle, and a
tightening grip of the bridle as the big horse flung up its head, and
then, with a sudden stirring of his blood, moved his foot in the stirrup
and would have swung himself down if Hetty had not checked him.

"No!" she said. "Back into the shadow of the trees!"

Larry, seeing the fear in her face, touched the horse with his heel, and
wheeled it with its head towards the house. He could see the warm gleam
from the windows between the birches. Then, he turned to the girl, who
stood gasping at his stirrup.

"You sent for me, dear, and I have come. Can't you give me just a minute
now?" he said.

"No," said Hetty breathlessly, "you must go. The Sheriff is here waiting
for you!"

Larry laughed a little scornful laugh, and slackening the bridle, sat
still, looking down on her very quietly.

"I don't understand," he said. "You sent for me!"

"No," the girl again gasped. "Oh, Larry, go away! Clavering and the others
who are most bitter against you are in the house."

Instinctively Larry moved his hand on the rifle and glanced towards the
building. He could see it dimly, but no sound from it reached him, and
Hetty, looking up, saw his face grow stern.

"Still," he persisted, with a curious quietness, "somebody sent a note to
me!"

"Yes," said Hetty, turning away from him, "it was my wicked maid.
Clavering laid the trap for you."

The man sat very still a moment, and then bent with a swift resoluteness
towards his companion.

"And you came to warn me?" he said. "Hetty, dear, look up."

Hetty glanced at him and saw the glow in his eyes, but she clenched her
hand, and would have struck the horse in an agony of fear if Larry had not
touched him with his heel and swung a pace away from her.

"Oh," she gasped, "why will you waste time! Larry, they will kill you if
they find you."

Once more the little scornful smile showed upon Grant's lips, but it
vanished and Hetty saw only the light in his eyes.

"Listen a moment, dear," he said. "I have tried to do the square thing,
but I think to-night's work relieves me of the obligation. Hetty, can't
you see that your father would never give you to me, and you must choose
between us sooner or later? I have waited a long while, and would try to
wait longer if it would relieve you of the difficulty, but you will have
to make the decision, and it can't be harder now than it would be in the
future. Promise me you will go back to New York with Miss Schuyler, and
stay with her until I come for you."

Hetty trembled visibly, and the moonlight showed the crimson in her
cheeks; but she looked up at him bravely. "Larry," she said, "you are
sure--quite sure--you want me, and will be kind to me?"

The man bent his head solemnly. "My dear, I have longed for you for eight
weary years--and I think you could trust me."

"Then," and Hetty's voice was very uneven, though she still met his eyes.
"Larry, you can take me now."

Larry set his lips for a moment and his face showed curiously white.
"Think, my dear!" he said hoarsely. "It would not be fair to you. Miss
Schuyler will take you away in a week or two, and I will come for you. I
dare not do anything you may be sorry for; and they may find you are not
in the house. You must go home before my strength gives way."

The emotion she had struggled with swept Hetty away. "Go home!" she said
passionately. "They wanted to kill you--and I can never go back now. If I
did, they would know I had warned you--and believe--Can't you understand,
Larry?"

Then, the situation flashed upon Grant, and he recognized, as Hetty had
done, that she had cast herself adrift when she left the house to warn
him. He knew the cattle-baron's vindictiveness, and that his daughter had
committed an offence he could not forgive. That left but one escape from
the difficulty, and it was the one his own passions, which he had striven
to crush down, urged him to.

"Then," he said in a strained voice, "you must come with me. We can be
married to-morrow."

Hetty held up her hands to him. "I am ready. Oh, be quick. They may come
any minute!"

Larry swept his glance towards the house, and saw a shaft of radiance
stream out as the great door opened. Then, he heard Flora Schuyler's
voice, and, leaning downwards from the saddle, grasped both the girl's
hands.

"Yes," he said, very quietly, "they are coming now. Spring when I lift
you. Your foot on my foot--I have you!"

It was done. Hetty was active and slender, the man muscular, and both had
been taught, not only to ride, but master the half-wild broncho by a
superior daring and an equal agility, in a land where the horse is not
infrequently roped and thrown before it is mounted. But Larry breathed
hard as, with his arm about her waist, he held the girl in front of him,
and felt her cheek hot against his lips. The next moment he pressed his
heels home and the big horse swung forward under its double burden.

A shout rang out behind them, and there was a crackling in the bluff.
Then, a rifle flashed, and just as a cloud drove across the moon, another
cry rose up:

"Quit firing. He has the girl with him!"

Larry fancied he could hear men floundering behind him amidst the trees,
and a trampling of hoofs about the house, but as he listened another rifle
flashed away to the right of them on the prairie, and a beat of hoofs
followed it that for a moment puzzled him. He laughed huskily.

"Breckenridge! He'll draw them off," he said. "Hold fast! We have got to
face the river."

It was very evident that he had not a second to lose. Mounted men were
crashing recklessly through the bluff and more of them riding at a gallop
across the grassy slope; but the darkness hid them as it hid the
fugitives, and the big horse held on, until there was a plunge and a
splashing, and they were in the river. Larry slipped from the saddle, and
Hetty saw him floundering by the horse's head as she thrust her foot into
the stirrup.

"Slack your bridle," he said sharply. "The beast will bring us through."

The command came when it was needed, for Hetty was almost dismayed, and
its curtness was bracing. There was no moon now, but she could dimly see
the white swirling of the flood, and the gurgling roar of it throbbed
about her hoarse and threatening, suggesting the perils the darkness hid.
Her light skirt trailed in the water, and a shock of icy cold ran through
her as one shoe dipped under. Larry was on his feet yet, but there was a
fierce white frothing about him, and when in another pace or two he
slipped down she broke into a stifled scream. The next moment she saw his
face again faintly white beneath her amidst the sliding foam, and fancied
that he was swimming or being dragged along. The horse, she felt, had lost
its footing, and had its head up stream. How long this lasted she did not
know, but it seemed an interminable time, and the dull roar of the water
grew louder and deafened her, while the blackness that closed in became
insupportable.

"Larry!" she gasped. "Larry, are you there!"

A faintly heard voice made answer, and Grant appeared again, shoulder-deep
in the flood, while the dipping and floundering of the beast beneath her
showed that the hoofs had found uncertain hold; but that relief only
lasted a moment, and they were once more sliding down-stream, until, when
they swung round in an eddy, the head that showed now and then dimly
beside her stirrup was lost altogether, and in an agony of terror the girl
cried aloud.

There was no answer, but after a horrible moment or two had passed a
half-seen arm and shoulder rose out of the flood, and the sudden drag on
the bridle that slipped from her fingers was very reassuring. The horse
plunged and floundered, and once more Hetty felt her dragging skirt was
clear of the water.

"Through the worst!" a voice that reached her faintly said, and they were
splashing on again, the water growing shallower all the time until they
scrambled out upon the opposite bank. Then, the man checking the horse,
stood by her stirrup, pressing the water from the hem of her skirt,
rubbing the little open shoe with his handkerchief, which was saturated.
Even in that hour of horror Hetty laughed.

"Larry," she said, "don't be ridiculous. You couldn't dry it that way in a
week. Lift me down instead."

Larry held up his hands to her, for on that side of the river the slope to
the level was steep, and when he swung her down the girl kissed him
lightly on either cheek.

"That was because of what we have been through, dear," she said. "There
was a horrible moment, when I could not see you anywhere."

She stopped and held up her hand as though listening, and Larry laughed
softly as a faint drumming of hoofs came back to them through the roar of
the flood.

"Breckenridge! He must have Muller or somebody with him, and they are
chasing him," he said. "I didn't know he was following me, but he is
gaining us valuable time, and we will push on again. Your friends will
find out they are following the wrong man very soon, but we should get
another horse at Muller's before they can ride round by the bridge."

They scrambled up the slope, and after Hetty mounted Larry ran with his
hand on the stirrup for a while, until once more he made the staunch beast
carry a double load. He was running again when they came clattering up to
Muller's homestead and the fräulein, who was apparently alone, stared at
them in astonishment when she opened the door. The water still dripped
from Larry, and Hetty's light, bedraggled dress clung about her, while the
moisture trickled from her little open-fronted shoes. She was hatless, and
loosened wisps of dusky hair hung low about her face, which turned faintly
crimson under the fräulein's gaze.

"Miss Torrance!" exclaimed the girl.

"Well," said Larry quietly, "she will be Mrs. Grant to-morrow if you will
lend me a horse and not mention the fact that you have seen us when
Torrance's boys come round. Where is your father?"

Miss Muller nodded with comprehending sympathy. "He two hours since with
Mr. Breckenridge go," she said. "There is new horse in the stable, and you
on the rack a saddle for lady find."

Larry was outside in a moment, and a smile crept into the fräulein's blue
eyes. "He is of the one thing at the time alone enabled to think," she
said. "It is so with the man, but a dress with the water soaked is not
convenient to ride at night in."

She led Hetty into her own room, and when Larry, who had spent some time
changing one of the saddles, came back, he stared in astonishment at
Hetty, who sat at the table. She now wore, among other garments that were
too big for her, a fur cap and coarse, serge skirt. There was a steaming
cup of coffee in front of her.

"Now, that shows how foolish one can be," he said. "I was clean forgetting
about the clothes; but we must start again."

Hetty rose up, and with a little blush held out the cup. "You are wet to
the neck, Larry, and it will do you good," she said. "If you don't
mind--we needn't wait until Miss Muller gets another cup."

Larry's eyes gleamed. "I have run over most of Europe, but they grow no
wine there that was half as nice as the tea we made in the black can back
there in the bluff. Quite often in those days we hadn't a cup at all."

He drank, and forthwith turned his head away, while a quiver seemed to run
through him; but when Hetty moved towards him the fräulein laughed.

"It nothing is," she said. "It is, perhaps, the effect tobacco have, but
the mouth is soft in a man."

Then, as Larry turned towards them she laid her hands on Hetty's
shoulders, and kissed her gravely. "You have trust in him," she said. "It
is of no use afraid to be. I quick take a man like Mr. Grant when he ask
me."

The next moment they were outside, and when he helped her to the saddle,
Hetty glanced shyly at her companion. "The fräulein is right," she said.
"But, Larry, will you tell me--where we are going?"

"To Windsor. I have still good friends there. That is the prosaic fact,
but there is ever so much behind it. We can't see the trail just now,
dear, but we are riding out into the future that has all kinds of
brightness in store."

A silvery gleam fell on the girl as a billow of cloud rolled slowly from a
rift of blue, and she laughed almost exultantly.

"Larry," she said, "it is coming true. Of course, it's a portent. There's
the darkness going and the moon shining through. Oh, I have done with
misgiving now!"

She shook the bridle, and swept from him at a gallop, and the
thaw-softened sod was whirling in clods behind them when Larry drew level
with her. He knew it was not prudent, but the fever in his blood mastered
his reason, and he sent the stockrider's cry ringing across the levels as
they sped on through the night. The damp wind screamed by them, lashing
their hot cheeks, the beat of hoofs swelled into a roar as they swept
through a shadowy bluff, and driving cloud and rift of indigo flitted past
above. Beneath, the long, frost-bleached levels, gleaming silvery grey now
under the moon, flitted back to the drumming hoofs, while willow clump and
straggling birches rose up, and rushed by, blurred and shadowy.

They were young, and the cares that must be faced again on the morrow had,
for a brief space, fallen from them. They had bent to the strain to the
breaking point, and now it had gone, everything was forgotten but the love
each bore the other. All senses were merged in it, and while the
exaltation lasted there was no room for thought or fear. It was, however,
the man who remembered first, for a few dark patches caught his eye when
they went at a headlong gallop down the slope.

"Pull him!" he cried hoarsely. "'Ware badger holes! Swing to the
right-wide!"

The girl swerved, but she still held on with loose bridle, until Larry,
swaying in his saddle, clutched at it. Then, as he swung upright, half a
length ahead, with empty hands, she flung herself a trifle backwards and
there was a brief struggle; but it was at a trot they climbed the opposite
slope.

"Now," she said, with a happy little laugh, "we are sensible once more;
but, while I knew it couldn't last, I wanted to gallop on for ever. Larry,
I wonder if we will ever feel just the same again? There are enjoyments
that can't come to anyone more than once."

"There are others one can have all the time, and we'll think of them
to-night," said the man. "There are bright days before us, and we can wait
until they come."

Hetty smiled, almost sadly. "Of course!" she said, "but no bright day can
be quite the same as this moonlight to me. It shone down on us when I rode
out into the night and darkness without knowing where I was going, and
only that you were beside me. You will stay there always now."

They held on across the empty waste while the hours of darkness slipped
by, and the sun was rising red above the great levels' rim when the roofs
of a wooden town rose in front of them. As the frame houses slowly grew
into form, Hetty painfully straightened herself. Her face was white and
weary and it was by a strenuous effort she held herself upright, the big
horse limped a little, and the mire was spattered thick upon her; but she
met the man's eyes, and, though her lips trembled, smiled bravely.

Larry saw and understood, and his face grew grave. "I have a good deal to
make up to you, Hetty, and I will try to do it faithfully," he said.
"Still, we will look forward with hope and courage now--it is our wedding
day."

Hetty glanced away from him across the prairie, and the man fancied he saw
her fingers tremble on the bridle.

"It is hard to ask you, Larry--though I know it shouldn't be--but have you
a few dollars that you could give me?"

The man smiled happily. "All that is mine is yours, and, as it happens, I
have two or three bills in my wallet. Is there anything you wish to buy?"

Hetty glanced down, flushing, at the bedraggled dress. "Larry," she said
softly. "I couldn't marry you like this. I haven't one dollar in my
pocket--and I am coming to you with nothing, dear."

The smile faded out of Larry's eyes. "I scarcely dare remember all that
you have given up for me! And if you had taken Clavering or one of the
others you would have ridden to your wedding with a hundred men behind
you, as rich as a princess."

Hetty, sitting, jaded and bespattered, on the limping horse, flashed a
swift glance at him, and smiled out of slightly misty eyes.

"It happened," she said, "that I was particular, or fanciful, and there
was only one man--the one that would take me without a dollar, in borrowed
clothes--who seemed good enough for me."

They rode on past a stockyard, and into a rutted street of bare frame
houses, and Hetty was glad they scarcely met anybody. Then, Larry helped
her down, and, thrusting a wallet into her hands, knocked at the door of a
house beside a store. The man who opened it stared at them, and when Larry
had drawn him aside called his wife. She took Hetty's chilled hand in both
her own, and the storekeeper smiled at Larry.

"You come right along and put some of my things on," he said. "Then, you
are going with me to have breakfast at the hotel, and talk to the judge. I
guess the women aren't going to have any use for us."

It was some time later when they came back to the store, and for just a
minute Grant saw Hetty alone. She was dressed very plainly in new
garments, and blushed when he looked gravely down on her.

"That dress is not good enough for you," he said. "It is very different
from what you have been accustomed to."

Hetty glanced at him shyly. "You will have very few dollars to spare,
Larry, until the trouble's through," she said, "and you will be my husband
in an hour or two."

XXX

LARRY'S WEDDING DAY

Hetty was married in haste, without benefit of clergy, while several men,
with resolute faces, kept watch outside the judge's door, and two who were
mounted sat gazing across the prairie on a rise outside the town. After
the declarations were made and signed, the judge turned to Hetty, who
stood smiling bravely, though her eyes were a trifle misty, by Larry's
side.

"Now I have something to tell your husband, Mrs. Grant," he said. "You
will have to spare him for about five minutes."

Hetty's lips quivered, for she recognized the gravity of his tone, and it
was not astonishing that for a moment or two she turned her face aside.
She had endeavoured to look forward hopefully and banish regrets; but the
prosaic sordidness of the little dusty office, and the absence of anything
that might have imparted significance or dignity to the hurried ceremony,
had not been without their effect. She had seen other weddings in New York
as well as in the cattle country, and knew what pomp and festivities would
have attended hers had she married with her father's goodwill. After all,
it was the greatest day in most women's lives, and she felt the
unseemliness of the rite that had made her and Larry man and wife. Still,
the fact remained, and, brushing her misgivings away, she glanced up at
her husband.

"It must concern us both now," she said. "May I hear?"

"Well," said the judge, who looked a trifle embarrassed, "I guess you are
right, and Larry would have to tell you; but it's not a pleasant task to
me. It is just this--we can't keep you and your husband any longer in this
town."

"Are you against us, too?" Hetty asked, with a flash in her eyes. "I am
not afraid."

The judge made her a little respectful inclination. "You are Torrance of
Cedar's daughter, and everyone knows the kind of grit there is in that
family. While I knew the cattle-men would raise a good deal of
unpleasantness when I married you, I did it out of friendliness for Larry;
but it is my duty to uphold the law, and I can't have your husband's
friends and your father's cow-boys making trouble here."

"Larry," said the girl tremulously, "we must go on again."

Grant's face grew stern. "No," he said. "You shall stay here in spite of
them until you feel fit to ride for the railroad."

Just then a man came in. "Battersly saw Torrance with the Sheriff and
Clavering and quite a band of cow-boys ride by the trail forks an hour
ago," he said. "They were heading for Hamlin's, but they'd make this place
in two hours when they didn't find Larry there."

There was an impressive silence. Hetty shuddered, and the fear in her eyes
was unmistakable when she laid her hand on her husband's arm.

"We must go," she said. "It would be too horrible if you should meet
him."

"Mrs. Grant is right," said the storekeeper. "We know Torrance of Cedar,
and if you stayed here, Larry, you and she might be sorry all your lives.
Now, you could, by riding hard, make Canada to-morrow."

Grant stifled a groan, and though his face was grim his voice was
compassionate as he turned to Hetty.

"Are you very tired?" he said gently. "It must be the saddle again."

Hetty said nothing, but she pressed his arm, and her eyes shone mistily
when they went out together. Half an hour later they rode out of the town,
and Grant turned to her when the clustering houses dipped behind a billowy
rise, and they were once more alone in the empty prairie, with their faces
towards Canada.

"I am 'most ashamed to look at you, but you will forgive me, little girl,"
he said. "There are brighter days before us than your wedding one, and by
and by I hope you will not be sorry you have borne so much for me."

Hetty's lips quivered a little, but the pride of the cattle-barons shone
in her eyes. "I have nothing to forgive and am only very tired," she said.
"I shall never be sorry while you are kind to me, and I would have ridden
to Canada if I had known that it would have killed me. The one thing I am
afraid of is that you and he should meet."

They rode on, speaking but seldom as the leagues went by, for Grant had
much to think of and Hetty was very weary. Indeed, she swayed unevenly in
her saddle, while the long, billowy levels shining in the sunlight rolled
back, as it were, interminably to them, and now and then only saved
herself from a fall by a clutch at the bridle. There were times when a
drowsiness that would scarcely be shaken off crept upon her, and she
roused herself with a strenuous effort and a horrible fear at her heart,
knowing that if her strength failed her the blood of husband or father
might be upon her head.

The sky was blue above them, the white sod warm below, and already
chequered here and there with green; and, advancing in long battalion,
crane and goose and mallard came up from the south to follow the sun
towards the Pole. The iron winter had fled before it, and all nature
smiled; but Hetty, who had often swept the prairie at a wild gallop, with
her blood responding to the thrill of reawakening life that was in
everything, rode with a set white face and drooping head, and Larry
groaned as he glanced at her.

Late in the afternoon they dismounted, and Hetty lay with her head upon
his shoulder while they rested amidst the grass. The provisions the
storekeeper had given them were scattered about, but Hetty had tasted
nothing, and Grant had only forced himself to swallow a few mouthfuls with
difficulty. He had thrown an arm about her, and she lay with eyes closed,
motionless.

Suddenly he raised his head and looked about him. Save for the sighing of
the warm wind, the prairie was very still, and a low, white rise cut off
from sight the leagues they had left behind, but, though a man from the
cities would have heard nothing at all, Larry, straining his ears to
listen, heard a sound just audible creep out of the silence. For a moment
he sat rigid and intent, wondering if it was made by a flight of cranes;
but he could see no dusky stain on the blue beyond the rise, and his
fingers closed upon the rifle as the sound grew plainer. It rose and fell
with a staccato rhythm in it, and he recognized the beat of hoofs.
Turning, he gently touched the girl.

"Hetty, you must rouse yourself," he said, with a pitiful quiver in his
voice.

The girl slowly lifted her head, and glanced about her in a half-dazed
fashion. Then, with an effort, she drew one foot under her, and again the
fear shadowed her face.

"Oh," she said, "they're coming! Lift me, dear."

Larry gently raised her to her feet, but it was a minute or two before she
could stand upright, and the man's face was haggard when he lifted her to
the saddle.

"I think the end has come," he said. "You can ride no farther."

Hetty swayed a little; but she clutched the bridle, and a faint sparkle
showed in her half-closed eyes.

"They want to take you from me. We will go on until we drop," she said.

Larry got into the saddle, though he did not know how he accomplished it,
and looked ahead anxiously as he shook the bridle. Away on the rim of the
prairie there was a dusky smear, and he knew it was a birch-bluff, which
would, if they could reach it, afford them shelter. In the open he would
be at the cow-boys' mercy; but a desperate man might at least check some
of the pursuers among the trees, and he was not sure that Torrance, whose
years must tell, would be among them. There was a very faint hope yet.

They went on at a gallop, though the horses obtained at Windsor were
already jaded, and very slowly the bluff grew higher. Glancing over his
shoulder, Grant saw a few moving objects straggle across the crest of the
rise. They seemed to grow plainer while he watched them, and more appeared
behind.

"We will make the bluff before them," he said hoarsely. "Ride!"

He drove his heels home; but the beast he rode was flagging fast when,
knowing how Torrance's cow-boys were mounted, he glanced behind again. He
could see them distinctly now, straggling, with wide hats bent by the wind
and jackets fluttering, across the prairie. Here and there a rifle-barrel
glinted, and the beat of their horses' hoofs reached him plainly. One,
riding furiously a few lengths ahead of the foremost, he guessed was
Clavering, and he fancied he recognized the Sheriff in another; but he
could not discern Torrance anywhere. He turned his eyes ahead and watched
the bluff rise higher, though the white levels seemed to flit back to him
with an exasperating slowness. Beyond it a faint grey smear rose towards
the blue; but the jaded horse demanded most of his attention, for the sod
was slippery here and there where the snow had lain in a hollow, and the
beast stumbled now and then.

Still, the birches were drawing nearer, and Hetty holding ahead of him,
though the roar of hoofs behind him told that the pursuers were coming up
fast. He was not certain yet that he could reach the trees before they
came upon him, and was clawing with one hand at his rifle when Hetty cried
out faintly:

"There are more of them in front."

Grant set his lips as a band of horsemen swung out of the shadows of the
bluff. His eyes caught and recognized the glint of sunlight on metal; but
in another moment his heart leaped, for through the drumming of their
hoofs there came the musical jingle of steel, and he saw the men were
dressed in blue uniform. He swung up his hat exultantly, and his voice
reached the girl, hoarse and strained with relief.

"We are through. They are United States cavalry!"

The horsemen came on at a trot, until Grant and the girl rode up to them.
Then, they pulled up, and when Grant had helped Hetty down their officer,
who wheeled his horse, sat gazing at them curiously. Grant did not at once
recognize him, but Hetty gasped.

"Larry," she said faintly, "it's Jack Cheyne."

Grant drew her hand within his arm, and walked slowly forward past the
wondering troopers. Then he raised his broad hat.

"I claim your protection for my wife, Captain Cheyne," he said.

Cheyne sat very still a moment, looking down on him with a strained
expression in his face; and Grant, who saw it, glanced at Hetty. She was
leaning heavily upon him, her garments spattered with mire, but he could
not see her eyes. Then Cheyne nodded gravely.

"Mrs. Grant can count upon it," he said. "Those men were chasing you?"

"Yes," said Grant. "One of them is the Sheriff. I believe he intends to
arrest me."

"Sheriff Slocane?"

"Yes. I shall resist capture by him; but I heard that the civil law would
be suspended in this district, and if that has been done, I will give
myself up to you."

Cheyne nodded again. "Give one of the boys your rifle, and step back with
Mrs. Grant in the meanwhile. You are on parole."

He said something sharply, and there was a trample of hoofs and jingle of
steel as the troopers swung into changed formation. They sat still as the
cattle-men rode up, and when Clavering reined his horse in a few lengths
away from them Cheyne acknowledged his salute.

"We have come after a notorious disturber of this district who has, I
notice, taken refuge with you," he said. "I must ask you to give him up."

"I'm sorry," said Cheyne firmly. "It can't be done just yet."

Clavering glanced at the men behind him--and there were a good many of
them, all without fear, and irresponsible; then he looked at the little
handful of troopers, and Cheyne's face hardened as he saw the insolent
significance of his glance.

"Hadn't you better think it over? The boys are a little difficult to hold
in hand, and we can't go back without our man," he said.

Cheyne eyed him steadily. "Mr. Grant has given himself up to me. If there
is any charge against him it shall be gone into. In the meanwhile, draw
your men off and dismount if you wish to talk to me."

Clavering sat perfectly still, with an ironical smile on his lips. "Be
wise, and don't thrust yourself into this affair, which does not concern
you, or you may regret it," he said. "Here is a gentleman who will
convince you."

He backed his horse as another man rode forward and with an assumption of
importance addressed Cheyne. "Now," he said, "we don't want any
unpleasantness, but I have come for the person of Larry Grant, and I mean
to take him."

"Will you tell me who I have the honour of addressing?" said Cheyne.

"Sheriff Slocane. I have a warrant for Larry Grant, and you will put me to
any inconvenience in carrying it out at your peril."

Cheyne smiled drily. "Then, as it is evidently some days since you left
home, I am afraid I have bad news for you. You are superseded, Mr.
Slocane."

The Sheriff's face flushed darkly, Clavering's grew set, and there was an
angry murmur from the men behind them.

"Boys," said Clavering, "are you going to be beaten by Larry again?"

There was a trampling of hoofs as some of the cow-boys edged their horses
closer, and the murmurs grew louder; but Cheyne flung up one hand.

"Another word, and I'll arrest you, Mr. Clavering," he said. "Sling those
rifles, all of you! I have another troop with horses picketed behind the
bluff."

There was sudden silence until the Sheriff spoke. "Boys," he said, "don't
be blamed fools when it isn't any use. Larry has come out on top again.
But I don't know that I am sorry I have done with him and the
cattle-men."

The men made no further sign of hostility, and Cheyne turned to the
Sheriff. "Thank you," he said. "Now, I have to inform you that this
district is under martial law, and I have been entrusted, within limits,
with jurisdiction. If you and Mr. Clavering have any offences to urge
against Grant, I shall be pleased to hear you. In that case you can tell
your men to picket their horses, and follow me to our bivouac."

The two men dismounted, and while Hetty sat trembling amidst the birches
talked for half an hour in Cheyne's tent. Then, Clavering, who saw that
they were gaining little, lost his head, and stood up white with anger.

"We are wasting time," he said. "Still, I warn you that the State will
hold you responsible if you turn that man loose again. Our wishes can
still command a certain attention in high places."

Cheyne smiled coldly. "I shall be quite prepared to account for whatever I
do. The State, I fancy, is not to be dictated to by the cattle-men's
committees. It is, of course, no affair of mine, but I can't help thinking
that it will prove a trifle unfortunate for one or two of you that, when
you asked for more cavalry, you were listened to."

"Well," said the Sheriff dejectedly, "I quite fancy it will be; but I'm
not going to worry. The cattle-men made it blamed unpleasant for me. What
was I superseded for, any way?"

"Incapacity and corruption, I believe," Cheyne said drily.

Clavering stood still a moment, with an unpleasant look in his eyes, but
the Sheriff, who seemed the least disconcerted, touched his arm.

"You come along before you do something you will be sorry for," he said.
"I'm not anxious for any unnecessary trouble, and it would have been
considerably more sensible if I had stood in with the homestead-boys."

They went away, and Cheyne led Larry, who had been confronted with them,
back to where Hetty was sitting.

"I understand the men left your father behind, some distance back," he
said. "He was more fatigued than the rest and his horse went lame. Your
husband's case will have consideration, but I scarcely fancy he need have
any great apprehension, and I must try to make you comfortable in the
meanwhile."

Hetty glanced up at him with her eyes shining and quivering lips. "Thank
you," she said quietly. "Larry, I am so tired."

Cheyne called an orderly, and ten minutes later led her to a tent. "Your
husband placed you in my charge, and I must ask for obedience," he said.
"You will eat and drink what you see there, and then go to sleep. I will
take good care of Mr. Grant."

He drew Larry away and sat talking with him for a while, then bade an
orderly find him a waterproof sheet and rug. Larry was asleep within ten
minutes, and the moon was shining above the bluff when he awakened and
moved to the tent where Hetty lay. Drawing back the canvas, he crept in
softly and dropped almost reverently on one knee beside her. He could hear
her faint, restful breathing, and the little hand he felt for was
pleasantly cool. As he stooped and touched her forehead with his lips, the
fingers closed a trifle on his own, and the girl moved in her sleep.
"Larry," she said drowsily, "Larry, dear!"

Grant drew his hand away very softly, and went out with his heart
throbbing furiously, to find Cheyne waiting in the vicinity. His face
showed plain in the moonlight, and it was quietly grave; but Grant once
more saw the expression in it that had astonished him. Now, however, he
understood it, and Cheyne knew that he did so. They stood quite still a
moment, looking into each other's eyes.

"Mrs. Grant is resting well?" Cheyne asked.

"Yes," said Larry. "I owe a good deal to you."

It did not express what they felt, but they understood each other, and
Cheyne smiled a little. "You need not thank me yet. Your case will require
consideration, and if the new Sheriff urges his predecessor's charge, I
shall pass it on. In the meantime I have sent to Windsor for a buggy, in
which you can take Mrs. Grant away to-morrow."

It was early next morning when the buggy arrived, and Cheyne, who ordered
two troopers to lead the hired horses, had a hasty breakfast served. When
the plates had been removed he turned to Hetty with a smile.

"I have decided to release your husband--on condition that he drives
straight back to his homestead and stays there with you," he said. "The
State has undertaken to keep order and give every man what he is entitled
to now; and if we find Mr. Grant has a finger in any further trouble, I
shall blame you."

He handed Hetty into the buggy, passed the reins to Larry, and stood alone
looking after them as they drove away. Hetty turned to her husband, with a
blush in her cheek.

"Larry," she said softly, "I have something to tell you."

Grant checked her with a smile. "I have guessed it already; and it means a
new responsibility."

"I don't understand," said Hetty.

Again the little twinkle showed in Larry's eyes. "Well," he said quietly,
"that you should have taken me when you had men of his kind to choose from
means a good deal. I wouldn't like you to find out that you had been
mistaken, Hetty."

XXXI

TORRANCE RIDES AWAY

It was late at night, and Miss Schuyler, sitting alone in Hetty's room,
found the time pass very heavily. She had raised her voice in warning when
the cow-boys mounted the night Grant had ridden away with Hetty, and had
seen the fugitives vanish into the darkness, but since then she had had no
news of them, for while Breckenridge had arrived at Cedar the next day, in
custody of two mounted men, nobody would tell him what had really
happened. Her first impulse had been to ask for an escort to the depot and
take the cars for New York, but she was intensely anxious to discover
whether Hetty had evaded pursuit, and her pride forbade her slipping away
without announcing her intention to Torrance, who had not yet come back to
the Range. She felt that something was due to him, especially as she had
not regained the house unnoticed when the pursuit commenced.

Rising, she moved restlessly up and down the room; but that in no way
lessened the suspense, and sitting down again she resolutely took up a
book, but she listened instead of reading it. There was, however, no sound
from the prairie, and the house seemed exasperatingly still.

"You will have to shake this nervousness off or you will make a fool of
yourself before that man," she muttered.

She felt that she had sat there a very long while, though the clock showed
that scarcely an hour had passed, when at last there was a rattle of
wheels and a trampling of hoofs outside. The great door opened, and after
that there was an apparently interminable silence, until Hetty's maid came
in.

"If it is convenient, Mr. Torrance would like to speak to you," she said.

Flora Schuyler rose and followed the girl down the corridor; but her heart
beat faster than usual when the door of Torrance's room closed behind her.
The stove was no longer lighted, and Torrance stood beside the hearth,
which was littered with half-consumed papers, and Miss Schuyler, who knew
his precision in dress, noticed that he still wore the bespattered
garments he had ridden in. But it was the grimness of his face, and the
weariness in his pose, which seized her attention and aroused a curious
sympathy for him. He glanced at her sharply, with stern, dark eyes.

"I have to thank you for coming, but I am going to talk plainly," he said.
"You connived at the meetings between my daughter and the rascally
adventurer who has married her?"

"They are married?" exclaimed Miss Schuyler in her eagerness, and the next
moment felt the blood rise to her face as she realized that she had
blundered in admitting any doubt upon the subject. "I mean, of course,
that I wondered whether Mr. Grant could have arranged it so soon."

"You seem to attach a good deal of importance to the ceremony," Torrance
said, with a bitter smile. "Marriage is quite easy in this country."

Miss Schuyler was not deficient in courage of one kind, and she looked at
him steadily. "I came down to speak to you because it seemed your due,"
she said, "but I have no intention of listening to any jibes at my
friends."

Torrance made her a little half-respectful and half-ironical inclination.
"Then will you be good enough to answer my question?"

"Though most of the few meetings were accidental, I went with Hetty
intentionally on two occasions because it seemed fitting."

"It seemed fitting that a girl should betray her father to the man who
wanted to ruin him, supply him with the dollars that helped him in his
scheme, and, more than all, warn him of each move we made! Well, my
standard is not very high, but the most cruel blow I have had to bear was
the discovery that my daughter had fallen so far."

The hoarseness of his voice, and the sight of the damp upon his forehead,
had a calming effect upon Miss Schuyler. Her anger against the old man had
given place to pity, for she decided that what had passed would have
excited most men's suspicions, and it was not in Hetty's defence alone she
made an effort to undeceive him.

"I am going to answer you plainly, and I think an examination of Hetty's
cheque-book and the money she left behind will bear me out," she said.
"Once only did Hetty give Mr. Grant any dollars--fifty of them, I think,
to feed some hungry children. He would not take them until she assured him
that they were a part of a small annuity left her by her mother, and that
not one of them came from you. I also know that Mr. Grant allowed his
friends to suspect him of being bribed by you sooner than tell them where
he obtained the dollars in question. The adventurer dealt most honourably
with you. Your daughter twice disclosed your plans, once when Clavering
had plotted Grant's arrest, and again when had she not done so it would
most assuredly have led to the destruction of the cattle-train. Mr.
Clavering came near making a horrible blunder on that occasion, and but
for Hetty's warning not a head of your stock would have reached Omaha."

Her tone carried conviction with it, as did the flash in her eyes, but
Torrance's smile was sardonic. "You would try to persuade me Larry saved
the train out of goodwill to us?"

"He did it, knowing what it was going to cost him, to prevent the men he
led starting on a course of outrage and lawlessness."

"And they have paid him for it!"

"I fancy that is outside the question," said Miss Schuyler. "Twice, when
every good impulse that is in our kind laid her under compulsion, Hetty
warned the man she loved, but at no other time did a word to your
prejudice pass her lips; and if she had spoken it Grant would not have
listened. Hetty was loyal, and he treated you with a fairness that none of
you merited. You sent the Sheriff a bribe and an order for his arrest, and
by inadvertence it fell into his hands. He brought it back here unopened
at his peril."

Torrance looked at her in astonishment. "He brought back my letter to the
Sheriff?"

"Yes. There was nothing else a man of that kind could have done."

Torrance stood silent for a space, and then, stooping, picked up a
half-burnt paper from the hearth, glanced at it with a curious expression,
and flung it into the embers. When it had charred away he turned to Miss
Schuyler.

"You have shown yourself a good friend," he said gravely. "Still, you may
understand the other side of the question if you listen to me."

He turned and pointed to an empty tin case, and the charred papers in the
hearth. "That is the end of the plans of half a lifetime--and they were
all for Hetty. I had no one else after her mother was taken from me, and I
scraped the dollars together for her, that she should have what her heart
could wish for, and the enjoyments her parents had never known; and while
I did so I and the others built up the prosperity of the cattle country.
We fed the railroads and built the towns, and when we would have rested,
Larry and his friends took hold. You see what they have made of it--a
great industry ruined, the country under martial law, its commerce
crippled, and the proclamation that can only mean disaster to us hung out
everywhere. My daughter turned against me--and nothing left me but to go
out, a wanderer! Larry has done his work thoroughly, and you would have me
make friends with him?"

Miss Schuyler made a little sympathetic gesture, for he seemed very jaded
and weary. "No," she said. "One could not expect too much, but Hetty is
your daughter, the only one you have, and for her mother's sake you will
at least do nothing that would embitter her life."

Torrance looked at her with a curious smile. "There is nothing I could do.
Larry and the rabble are our masters now; but I will see her once before I
go away. Is there any other thing--that would be a little easier--I could
do to please you?"

"Yes. You could release Mr. Breckenridge."

Torrance turned and struck a bell. "I had almost forgotten him. Will you
wait and see me do what you have asked me?"

In a few minutes more Breckenridge was ushered in. He smiled at Miss
Schuyler, and made Torrance a slight, dignified salutation. Torrance
acknowledged it courteously.

"You have yourself to blame for any inconvenience you have been put to,
Mr. Breckenridge," he said. "You conspired to assist your partner in an
undertaking you could not expect me to forgive."

"No," said Breckenridge. "I offered to ride with Larry, and he would not
have me. I went without him knowing it and made my plans myself?"

"This is the truth?"

Breckenridge straightened himself and looked at Torrance with a little
flash in his eye. "You must take my word--I shall not substantiate it. If
you had had an army corps of cut-throats ready to do what you told them
that night, Larry would have gone alone."

Torrance nodded gravely. "It is taken. At least, you bluffed us into
following you."

"Yes," and Breckenridge smiled, "I did. I also prevented my companion
shooting one of your friends, as he seemed quite anxious to do. I don't
wish to hurt your feelings, sir, but I have not the least regret for
anything I did that night."

"Then, you are still very bitter against me?"

Breckenridge considered. "No, sir. The one man I am bitter against is
Clavering. Now, it may sound presumptuous, and not come very well from me,
but I believe that Clavering, for his own purposes, forced your hand, and
I had a certain respect for you, if only because of your thoroughness. You
see, one can't help realizing that you can look at every question quite
differently."

Torrance smiled drily. "Then if you are not too proud to be my guest
to-night, I should be glad of your company and will find you a horse to
take you back to Fremont when it suits you."

Breckenridge, for some reason that was not very apparent, seemed pleased
to agree, but a faint smile just showed in Torrance's eyes when he went
out again. Then, he turned to Miss Schuyler.

"I wonder what Mr. Clavering has done to win everybody's dislike," he
said. "You do not seem anxious to plead for him."

Flora Schuyler's face grew almost vindictive. "No," she said, "I don't. I
can, however, mention one thing I find it difficult to forgive him. When
you promised him Hetty he had found favour with her maid, and made the
most of the fact. It was not flattering to your daughter or my friend. He
may not have told you that he promised to marry her."

Torrance stared at her a moment, a dark flush rising to his forehead. "You
are quite sure?"

"Ask the girl," said Flora Schuyler.

Torrance struck the bell again, and waited until the maid came in. "I
understand Mr. Clavering promised to marry you," he said very quietly.
"You would be willing to take him?"

The girl's face grew a trifle pale, and she glanced at Miss Schuyler who
nodded encouragingly.

"Yes," she said.

Torrance smiled, but Miss Schuyler did not like the glint in his eyes.
"Then," he said with incisive distinctness, "if you are in the same mind
in another week, he shall."

The girl went out, and Torrance, who had watched her face, turned to Miss
Schuyler. "I guess that young woman will be quite equal to him," he said.
"Well, I am putting my house in order, and I will ride over once and see
Hetty before I leave Cedar. You will stay here until she comes back to
Fremont, any way."

Miss Schuyler promised to do so, and stayed two days, as did Breckenridge,
who eventually rode to Fremont with her. He was very quiet during the
journey, and somewhat astonished his companion by gravely swinging off his
broad hat when they pulled upon the crest of a rise.

"I wonder if you would listen to something I wish to tell you," he said.
"The trouble is that it requires an explanation."

Flora Schuyler glanced at him thoughtfully, for she recognized the
symptoms now. Breckenridge appeared unusually grave, and there was a
little flush on his forehead, and a diffidence she had not hitherto seen
there, in his eyes.

"I can decide about the rest when I have heard the explanation," she
answered.

"Well," said Breckenridge slowly, "I came out West, so to speak, because I
was under a cloud. Now, I had never done anything distinctly bad, but my
one ability seemed to consist in spending money, and when I had got
through a good deal of it my friends sent me here, which was perhaps a
little rough on your country. Well, as it happened, I fell in with men and
women of the right kind--Larry, and somebody else who did more for me.
That made a difference; and while I was realizing how very little I had
got for the time and dollars I had wasted, affairs began to happen in the
old country, and I should have the responsibility of handling a good many
of them if I went back there now. It sounds abominably egotistical, but
you see what it is leading to?"

Miss Schuyler, who had no difficulty on that point, regarded him
thoughtfully. Breckenridge was a handsome young Englishman and she had
liked him from the first. Larry had fallen to another, and that perhaps
counted for more than a little to Breckenridge; but she had seen more than
one friend of hers contented with the second best. Still, she sighed
before she met his gaze.

"I think you must make it a little plainer," she said.

"Well," said Breckenridge quietly, "it is just this. You have done a good
deal for me already, and I almost dare to fancy I could be a credit to you
if you would do a little more, while it would carry conviction to my most
doubting relatives if you went back to the old country with me. They would
only have to see you."

Flora Schuyler smiled. "This is serious, Mr. Breckenridge?"

Breckenridge made her a little inclination, and while in a curious fashion
it increased Flora Schuyler's liking for him she recognized that he was no
longer the light-hearted and irresponsible young Englishman she had met a
few months ago. He, too, had borne the burden, and there was a gravity in
his eyes and a slight hardening of his lips that had its meaning.

"I never was more serious in my life, madam," he said. "I know that I
might have spoken--not more respectfully, but differently--but when I am
too solemn everybody laughs at me."

"Does it not strike you that you have only regarded the affair from one
point of view so far?"

Breckenridge nodded. "I understand. But one feels very diffident when he
knows the slight value of what he has to offer. I should always love you,
whether you say yes or no. For the rest, there is a little land in the old
country, and an income which I believe should be enough for two. It seems
more becoming to throw myself on your charity."

"And what would Larry do without you?" asked Miss Schuyler.

The quick enthusiasm in Breckenridge's face pleased her. "Larry's work is
splendidly done already," he said. "He asked nothing for himself--and got
no more; but now the State is offering every man the rights he fought for.
The proclamations are out, and any citizen who wants it can take up his
homestead grant. It will be something to remember that I carried his
shield; but Larry has no more need of an armour-bearer."

"I am older than you are."

"Ten years in wisdom, and fifty in goodness, but I scarcely fancy that
more than six months separate our birthdays. Now, I know I am not
expressing myself very nicely, but, you see, we can't all be eloquent, and
perhaps it should count for a little when I tell you that I never made an
attempt of the kind before. I am, however, most painfully anxious to
convince you."

Miss Schuyler recognized it, and liked him the more for the diffidence
which he wrapped in hasty speech. "Then," she said softly, "if in six
months from now----"

Breckenridge swayed in his saddle; but the girl's heel was quicker, and as
her horse plunged the hand he would have laid on her bridle fell to his
side.

"No!" she said. "If in six months you are still in the same mind, you can
come to Hastings-on-the-Hudson, and speak to me again. Then, you may find
me disposed to listen; but we will go on to Fremont in the meanwhile."

Breckenridge's response was unpremeditated, but the half-broken horse,
provoked by his sudden movement, rose with fore hoofs in the air, and then
whirled round in a circle. Its rider laughed exultantly, swaying lithely,
with the big hat still in one hand that disdained the bridle; but his face
grew grave when there was quietness again, and he turned towards the
girl.

"I shall be in the same mind," he said, "for ever and ever."

They rode on to Fremont, and the next day Breckenridge drove Miss
Schuyler, who was going back to New York, the first stage of her journey
to the depot. A month had passed when one evening Torrance rode that way.
The prairie, lying still and silent with a flush of saffron upon its
western rim, was tinged with softest green, but broad across the
foreground stretched the broken, chocolate-tinted clods of the ploughing,
and the man's face grew grimmer as he glanced at them. He turned and
watched the long lines of crawling cattle that stretched half-way across
the vast sweep of green; and Larry and his wife, who stood waiting him
outside the homestead, understood his feelings. Raw soil, rent by the
harrows and seamed by the seeder, and creeping bands of stock, were tokens
of the downfall of the old régime. Then Torrance, drawing bridle, sat
still in his saddle while Hetty and her husband stood by his stirrup.

"I promised your friend, Hetty, that I would see you before I went away,"
he said. "I left Cedar for the last time a few hours ago, and I am riding
in to the railroad now. The stock you see there are mine and Allonby's,
and the cars are waiting to take them to Omaha. I shall spend the years
that may be left me on the Pacific slope."

Hetty's lips quivered, and it was Larry who spoke.

"Was it necessary, sir?"

Torrance smiled grimly. "Yes. The State offered me a few paltry
concessions, and a little of what was all mine by right. It didn't seem a
fit thing to accept their charity. Well, you have beaten us, Larry."

Grant's face flushed a little. "Only that the rest will gain more than the
few will lose I could almost be sorry, sir."

Torrance swung himself down from the saddle and laid his hand on Hetty's
shoulder.

"You have chosen your husband among the men who pulled us down, and
nothing can be quite the same between you and me," he said. "But I am
getting an old man, and may never see you again."

Hetty looked up at him with a faint trace of pride in her misty eyes.
"There was nobody among our friends fit to stand beside him," she said.
"If you kiss me you will shake hands with Larry."

"I can do both," and Torrance held out his hand when he turned to Grant.
"Larry, I believe now you tried to do the square thing, and there might
have been less trouble between us but for Clavering. I hope you will bear
me no ill will, and while we can't quite wipe out the bitterness yet, by
and by we may be friends again."

"I hope so, sir," said Larry.

Torrance said nothing further, but, moving stiffly, swung himself into the
saddle and slowly rode away. Hetty watched him with a curious wistfulness
in her eyes until he wheeled his horse on the crest of the rise, and sat
still a moment looking back on them, a lonely, dusky object silhouetted
against the paling sky. Then he turned again, and sank into the shadowy
prairie. Hetty clung a little more tightly to her husband's arm, and for a
time they stood watching the crawling cattle and dim shapes of the
stockriders slowly fade, until the last pale flicker of saffron died out
and man and beast sank into the night. A little cold wind came sighing out
of the emptiness and emphasized its silence.

Hetty shivered. "Larry," she said, "they will never come back."

Grant drew her closer to him. "It had to be, my dear," he said. "They
blocked the way, and nothing can stop the people you and I--and
they--belong to, moving on. Well, we will look forward and do what we can,
for we must be ready to step out when our turn comes and watch the rest go
by."