had trying to
puzzle out the way your clothes went on! Well, Mrs. Laramie, didn't I
tell you--friends would come? So will the brighter side."

"Yes, I've more faith than I had," replied Mrs. Laramie. "Granger
Longstreth's daughter has come to me. There for a while after Jim's
death I thought I'd sink. We have nothing. How could I ever take care of
my little ones? But I'm gaining courage to--"

"Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more," said Miss Longstreth.
"I shall see you are well cared for. I promise you."

"Miss Longstreth, that's fine!" exclaimed Duane. "It's what I'd
have--expected of you."

It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her face
burned out in a beautiful blush.

"And it's good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to come," added Duane. "Let me
thank you both. I'm glad I have you girls as allies in part of my lonely
task here. More than glad for the sake of this good woman and the little
ones. But both of you be careful about coming here alone. There's
risk. And now I'll be going. Good-by, Mrs. Laramie. I'll drop in again
to-night. Good-by."

"Mr. Ranger, wait!" called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She was
white and wonderful. She stepped out of the door close to him.

"I have wronged you," she said, impulsively.

"Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?" he returned.

"I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now I see--I
wronged you."

"You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, please don't speak of
wronging me. I have been a--a gunman, I am a ranger--and much said of me
is true. My duty is hard on others--sometimes on those who are innocent,
alas! But God knows that duty is hard, too, on me."

"I did wrong you. If you entered my home again I would think it an
honor. I--"

"Please--please don't, Miss Longstreth," interrupted Duane.

"But, sir, my conscience flays me," she went on. There was no other
sound like her voice. "Will you take my hand? Will you forgive me?"

She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her breast.
Duane took the proffered hand. He did not know what else to do.

Then it seemed to dawn upon him that there was more behind this white,
sweet, noble intensity of her than just the making amends for a fancied
or real wrong. Duane thought the man did not live on earth who could
have resisted her then.

"I honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman," she said, and
now her speech came swiftly. "When sh