"I shall be gone in the morning before you are awake, so I will say
good-night--and good-by." He arose and put out his hand. "Shall I send
Susie to you?"

The lump in Dora's throat hurt her.

"Wait a minute," she whispered in a strained voice. "I want to say
something, too, before you go. I don't want you to go away thinking that I
knew anything of Smith's plans; that I knew he was going to steal cattle;
that he was trying to make a 'stake' for us--for _me_. It is all a
misunderstanding."

Dora was looking straight ahead of her, and did not see the change which
came over Ralston's face.

"I never thought of Smith in any way except to help him," she went on. "He
seemed different from most that stopped here, and I thought if I could
just start him right, if only I could show him what he might do if he
tried, he might be better for my efforts. And, after all, my time and good
intentions were wasted. He deceived me in making me think that he too
wanted to make more of his life, and that he was trying. And then to make
such a speech before you all!"

"Don't think about it--or Smith," Ralston answered. "He has come to his
inevitable end. When there's bad blood, mistaken ideals, and wrong
standards of living, you can't do much--you can't do anything. There is
only one thing which controls men of his type, and that is fear--fear of
the law. His love for you is undoubtedly the best, the whitest, thing that
ever came into his life, but it couldn't keep him straight, and never
would. Don't worry. Your efforts haven't hurt him, or you. You are wiser,
and maybe he is better."

"It's awfully good of you to comfort me," said Dora gratefully.

"Good of me?" he laughed softly. "Little Schoolmarm"--he laid a hand upon
each shoulder and looked into her eyes--"I love you."

Her pupils dilated, and she breathed in wonder.

"You _love_ me?"

"I do." He brushed back a wisp of hair which had blown across her cheek,
and, stooping, kissed her deliberately upon the mouth.

Inside the house a radiant Mongolian rushed from the pantry window into
the room where Susie sat. He carried a nearly empty bottle which had once
contained lemon extract, and his almond eyes danced as he handed it to
her, whispering gleefully:

"All light! Good medicine!"

The big kerosene lamp screwed to the wall in the living-room had long
since been lighted, but Susie still sat on the floor, leaning her cheek
against the blanket which covered the Indian w