home among friends who would be glad to see him. As he took his bath and
shaved and dressed he broke occasionally into a whistle of sheer
exuberant joy of life. He intended to surprise the folks by walking down
and taking his place with the others when the dinner bell rang. Daisy
Ellington would clap her hands and sparkle in her enthusiastic way.
Shorty would begin to poke fun at him. Mrs. Seymour would probably just
smile in her slow, motherly fashion and see that he got one of the
choice steaks. And Ruth--would she flash at him her swift dimpled smile
of pleasure? Or would she still be harboring malice toward him for
having warned her against Harrison?

Steve waited until he thought they would be seated before he opened the
door and stepped into the dining-room. The effect was not at all what he
had expected. Daisy was the first to see him. She dropped her knife on
the plate with a clatter and gave a little scream. Shorty stopped a
spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth, as if he were waiting to have a
still picture of himself taken. His eyes stared and his jaw fell. Mrs.
Seymour, who was bringing a platter from the kitchen, stood stock-still
in the doorway. The expression, on her face arrested Yeager's smile.

"What's the matter with you all? Looks like you were seeing a ghost," he
said.

"Where did you come from, Steve Yeager?" demanded Mrs. Seymour.

"Me? Why, I came from my room--reached town an hour or so ago."

Something cold clutched at the heart of the mother. "Where from? Weren't
you in Sonora?"

"Sure I was. At Noche Buena. And I want to tell you that I've had enough
of that burg for quite some time."

Daisy broke in. "Isn't it true that you were shot?"

He turned to her, surprised. "How did you hear that story already. No,
it ain't true. I was to have been shot this mawnin', but I broke jail
and made a getaway."

"But--your letter said you had shot yourself and couldn't live long. I
read it myself. Mr. Threewit showed it to me before he left."

"And Mr. Harrison told us it was true," corroborated Mrs. Seymour. She
knew something was wrong, but as yet she could not guess what.

"Harrison! Has he been here?" asked Yeager sharply.

"He and Ruth left this afternoon for Noche Buena. He said you wanted to
see her before you died and he showed us the letter you had written."

The range-rider stood paralyzed. The truth flashed numbingly over his
brain.

"Ruth--gone with Harrison--to Noche Buena," was