--and I couldn't help loving yuh.
I--couldn't----" That was all. Within three feet of her, his face toward
her and his eyes agonizing to meet hers, he died.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ANOTHER STORY BEGINS

This chapter is very much like a preface: it is not absolutely
necessary, although many persons will read it and a few will be glad
that it was written.

The story itself is ended. To go on would be to begin another story; to
tell of the building up of the Quirt outfit, with Lone and Lone's
savings playing a very important part, and with Brit a semi-invalided,
retired stockman who smoked his pipe and told the young couple what they
should do and how they should do it.

Frank he mourned for and seldom mentioned. The Sawtooth, under the
management of a greatly chastened young Bob Warfield, was slowly winning
its way back to the respect of its neighbors.

For certain personal reasons there was no real neighborliness between
the Quirt and the Sawtooth. There could not be, so long as Brit's memory
remained clear, and Bob was every day reminded of the crimes his father
had paid a man to commit. Moreover, Southerners are jealous of their
women,--it is their especial prerogative. And Lone suspected that, given
the opportunity, Bob Warfield would have fallen in love with Lorraine.
Indeed, he suspected that any man in the country would have done that.
Al Woodruff had, and he was noted for his indifference to women and his
implacable hardness toward men.

But you are not to accuse Lone of being a jealous husband. He was not,
and I am merely pointing out the fact that he might have been, had he
been given any cause.

Oh, by the way, Swan "proved up" as soon as possible on his homestead
and sold out to the Quirt. Lone managed to buy the Thurman ranch also,
and the TJ up-and-down is on its feet again as a cattle ranch. Sorry and
Jim will ride for the Quirt, I suppose, as long as they can crawl into a
saddle, but there are younger men now to ride the Skyline Meadow range.

Some one asked about Yellowjacket, having, I suppose, a sneaking regard
for his infirmities. He hasn't been peeled yet--or he hadn't, the last I
heard of him. Lone and Lorraine told me they were trying to save him for
the "Little Feller" to practise on when he is able to sit up without a
cushion behind his back, and to hold something besides a rubber rattle.
And--oh, do you know how Lone is teaching the Little Feller to sit up on
the floor? He took a