cter, his life,
embodied this Service I loved; that I had ruined him; and now I would
forestall him, do his work, force the issue myself or die in the
attempt.

"Dearest, it's great of you!" she cried. "But the cost! If you kill one
of my kin I'll--I'll shrink from you! If you're killed--Oh, the thought
is dreadful! You've done your share. Let Steele--some other Ranger
finish it. I swear I don't plead for my uncle or my cousin, for their
sakes. If they are vile, let them suffer. Russ, it's you I think of! Oh,
my pitiful little dreams! I wanted so to surprise you with my beautiful
home--the oranges, the mossy trees, the mocking-birds. Now you'll never,
never come!"

"But, Sally, there's a chance--a mere chance I can do the job without--"

Then she let go of me. She had given up. I thought she was going to
drop, and drew her toward the stone. I cursed the day I ever saw Neal
and the service. Where, now, was the arch prettiness, the gay, sweet
charm of Sally Langdon? She looked as if she were suffering from a
desperate physical injury. And her final breakdown showed how, one way
or another, I was lost to her.

As she sank on the stone I had my supreme wrench, and it left me numb,
hard, in a cold sweat. "Don't betray me! I'll forestall him! He's
planned nothing for to-day," I whispered hoarsely. "Sally--you dearest,
gamest little girl in the world! Remember I loved you, even if I
couldn't prove it your way. It's for his sake. I'm to blame for their
love. Some day my act will look different to you. Good-by!"

Chapter 13

RUSS SITTELL IN ACTION

I ran like one possessed of devils down that rough slope, hurdling the
stones and crashing through the brush, with a sound in my ears that was
not all the rush of the wind. When I reached a level I kept running; but
something dragged at me. I slowed down to a walk. Never in my life had I
been victim of such sensation. I must flee from something that was
drawing me back. Apparently one side of my mind was unalterably fixed,
while the other was a hurrying conglomeration of flashes of thought,
reception of sensations. I could not get calm.

By and by, almost involuntarily, with a fleeting look backward as if in
expectation of pursuit, I hurried faster on. Action seemed to make my
state less oppressive; it eased the weight upon me. But the farther I
went on, the harder it was to continue. I was turning my back upon love,
happiness, success in life, perhaps on life itself