u would be ashamed to marry a Rutherford," she said,
her face white in the fire glow.

"No." He brushed her challenge aside and went straight to what was in
his mind. "I'm thinking of what happened seventeen years ago," he
answered miserably.

"What did happen that could come between you and me to-night?"

"Have you forgotten, too?" He turned to the fire with a deep breath
that was half a sob.

"What is it? Tell me," she demanded.

"Your father killed mine at Battle Butte."

A shiver ran through her lithe, straight body. "No . . . No! Say it
isn't true, Roy."

"It's true. I was there . . . Didn't they ever tell you about it?"

"I've heard about the fight when Sheriff Beaudry was killed. Jess
Tighe had his spine injured in it. But I never knew that dad . . .
You're sure of it?" she flung at him.

"Yes. He led the attackers. I suppose he thought of it as a feud. My
father had killed one of his people in a gun fight."

She, too, looked into the fire. It was a long time before she spoke,
and then in a small, lifeless voice. "I suppose you . . . hate me."

"Hate you!" His voice shook with agitation. "That would make
everything easy. But--there is no other woman in the world for me but
you."

Almost savagely she turned toward him. "Do you mean that?"

"I never mean anything so much."

"Then what does it matter about our fathers? We have our own lives to
live. If we've found happiness we've a right to it. What happened
seventeen years ago can't touch us--not unless we let it."

White-lipped, drear-eyed, Roy faced her hopelessly. "I never thought
of it before, but it is true what the Bible says about the sins of the
fathers. How can I shake hands in friendship with the man who killed
mine? Would it be loyal or decent to go into his family and make him
my father by marrying his daughter?"

Beulah stood close to him, her eyes burning into his. She was ready to
fight for her love to a finish. "Do you think I'm going to give you up
now . . . now . . . just when we've found out how much we care . . .
because of any reason under heaven outside ourselves? _By God_, no!
That's a solemn oath, Roy Beaudry. I'll not let you go."

He did not argue with her. Instead, he began to tell her of his father
and his mother. As well as he could remember it he related to her the
story of that last ride he had taken with John Beaudry. The girl found
herself visioning the pathetic tenderness of the