ere," he ordered thickly.

I went, not forgetting to peep out at the door and to listen a moment,
then I hurried into the open, up toward the ranch.

The stars were very big and bright, so calm, so cold, that it somehow
hurt me to look at them. Not like men's lives, surely!

What had fate done to Vaughn Steele and to me? I had a moment of
bitterness, an emotion rare with me.

Most Rangers put love behind them when they entered the Service and
seldom found it after that. But love had certainly met me on the way,
and I now had confirmation of my fear that Vaughn was hard hit.

Then the wildness, the adventurer in me stirred to the wonder of it all.
It was in me to exult even in the face of fate. Steele and I, while
balancing our lives on the hair-trigger of a gun, had certainly fallen
into a tangled web of circumstances not calculated in the role of
Rangers.

I went back to the ranch with regret, remorse, sorrow knocking at my
heart, but notwithstanding that, tingling alive to the devilish
excitement of the game.

I knew not what it was that prompted me to sow the same seed in Diane
Sampson's breast that I had sown in Steele's; probably it was just a
propensity for sheer mischief, probably a certainty of the truth and a
strange foreshadowing of a coming event.

If Diane Sampson loved, through her this event might be less tragic.
Somehow love might save us all.

That was the shadowy portent flitting in the dark maze of my mind.

At the ranch dancing had been resumed. There might never have been any
interruption of the gaiety. I found Miss Sampson on the lookout for me
and she searched my face with eyes that silenced my one last qualm of
conscience.

"Let's go out in the patio," I suggested. "I don't want any one to hear
what I say."

Outside in the starlight she looked white and very beautiful. I felt her
tremble. Perhaps my gravity presaged the worst. So it did in one
way--poor Vaughn!

"I went down to Steele's 'dobe, the little place where he lives." I
began, weighing my words. "He let me in--was surprised. He had been shot
high in the shoulder, not a dangerous wound. I bandaged it for him. He
was grateful--said he had no friends."

"Poor fellow! Oh, I'm glad it--it isn't bad," said Miss Sampson.
Something glistened in her eyes.

"He looked strange, sort of forlorn. I think your words--what you said
hurt him more than the bullet. I'm sure of that, Miss Sampson."

"Oh, I saw that myself! I was furious