he sun and the wind. Some day you
will be the mother of heroes, the wife of a man--"

"Yes," she prompted again, and the face lifted to his was flushed with
innocent passion.

The shy invitation of her dark-lashed eyes was not to be denied. He
flung away discretion and snatched her into his arms. An inarticulate
little sound welled up from her throat, and with a gesture wholly
savage and feminine her firm arms crept about his neck and fastened
there.

Chapter XXVI

The Sins of the Fathers

They spoke at first only in that lovers' Esperanto which is made up of
fond kisses and low murmurs and soft caresses. From these Beulah was
the first to emerge.

"Would you marry a girl off the range?" she whispered. "Would you dare
take her home to your people?"

"I haven't any people. There are none of them left but me."

"To your friends, then?"

"My friends will be proud as punch. They'll wonder how I ever
hypnotized you into caring for me."

"But I'm only a hillgirl," she protested. "Are you sure you won't be
ashamed of me, dear?"

"Certain sure. I'm a very sensible chap at bottom, and I know when I
have the best there is."

"Ah, you think that now because--"

"Because of my golden luck in winning the most wonderful girl I ever
met." In the fling of the fire glow he made a discovery and kissed it.
"I didn't know before that you had dimples."

"There are lots of things you don't know about me. Some of them you
won't like. But if you love me, perhaps you'll forgive them, and
then--because I love you--maybe I'll grow out of them. I feel to-night
as if anything were possible. The most wonderful thing that ever
happened to me has come into my life."

"My heart is saying that, too, sweetheart."

"I love to hear you say that I'm--nice," she confided. "Because, you
know, lots of people don't think so. The best people in Battle Butte
won't have anything to do with me. I'm one of the Rutherford gang."

The light was full on his face, so that she saw the dawning horror in
his eyes.

"What is it? What are you thinking?" she cried.

He gave a little groan and his hands fell slackly from her. "I'd
forgotten." The words came in a whisper, as if he spoke to himself
rather than to her.

"Forgotten what?" she echoed; and like a flash added: "That I'm a
Rutherford. Is that what you mean?"

"That you are the daughter of Hal Rutherford and that I'm the son of
John Beaudry."

"You mean that yo