ranges,"
replied Pan. "I've known cowmen to shoot rustlers. Cowmen who had
themselves branded cattle not their own. This was a practice. They
didn't think it crooked. They all did it. But it _was_ crooked, when
you come down to truth. And though that may not be legally as criminal
as the stealing of branded cattle, to my mind it is just as bad. Your
father began that way, Hardman caught him, and perhaps forced him into
worse practice."

"Pan, are you trying to give me some hope?"

"Reckon I am. Things are not so bad. My Lord, suppose I'd been a
month later!"

Lucy shook her head despondently. "It's worse _now_ for me than if you
had come--"

"Why?" interrupted Pan. She would say the things that hurt.

"Because to see you--be with you like this--before I'm--if I have to be
married--is perfectly terrible.... Afterward, when it would be too
late and I had lost something--self-respect or more--then I might not
care."

That not only made Pan lose patience but it also angered him. The hot
blood rushed to his face. He bit his tongue and struggled to control
himself.

"Lucy! Haven't I told you that you're not going to marry Dick
Hardman," he burst out.

"Oh, but I'll have to," she replied, stubbornly, with a sad little
shake of her head.

"No!"

"I must save Dad. You might indeed get him out of jail some way. But
that would not save him."

"Certainly it would," rejoined Pan, curtly. "In another state he would
be perfectly safe."

"They'll trail him anywhere. No, that won't do. We haven't time.
Dick is pressing me hard to marry him at once, or his father will
prosecute Dad. I promised.... And today--this morning--Dick is coming
here to get me to set the day."

"_What?_" cried Pan, passionately.

His word, swift as a bullet, made her jump, but she repeated what she
had said almost word for word.

"And your answer?" queried Pan, in hot scorn.

"Sooner the--better," she replied, mournfully. "I can't
stand--this--you--oh, anything would be--easier than your hope ...
your--love making!"

"Lucy Blake, have _you_ gone down hill like your father?" asked Pan,
hoarsely. "What kind of a woman are you? If you love me, it's a crime
to marry him. Women do these things, I know--sell themselves. But
they kill their souls. If you could save your father from being
hanged, it would still be wrong. Suppose he _did_ go to jail for a few
years. What's that compared to hell for you all your lif