was a forlorn
hope, but he and Rose walked out to a little house in the suburbs where
the preacher lived.

He was a friendly, white-haired old gentleman, and he made them very
much at home under the impression they had come to get married. A
slight deafness was in part responsible for this mistake.

"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.

"Unfortunately, no. They have gone to spend a few days visiting in
Idaho Springs. If they were here they could reenforce any gaps in my
memory, which is not all it once was." The Reverend Nicodemus smiled
apologetically.

"Was her name Esther McLean?" asked Rose eagerly.

The old parson brought his mind back to the subject with a visible
effort. "Oh, yes! The young lady who was married to your friend--"
He paused, at a loss for the name.

"--Cunningham," Kirby supplied.

"Quite