and to the little girl he had
rescued and left there. He had left her frail, sick-minded, silent,
somber, a pale victim to a horrible memory. He had found her an amazing
contrast to what she had been in the past. She had grown strong, active,
swift. She was as lovely as a wild rose. No dream of his idle fancy, but
a fact! Then last--stirring him even as he tried to clarify and arrange
this magic, this mystery--had come the unbelievable, the momentous and
dazzling assurance that she loved him. It was so plain that it seemed
unreal. While near her he saw it, yet could not believe his eyes;
he felt it, but doubted his sensibilities. But now, away from the
distraction of her presence and with Slingerland's eloquent words
ringing in his ears, he realized the truth. Love of him had saved the
girl's mind and had made her beautiful and wonderful. He had heard
of the infinite transforming power of love; here in Allie Lee was its
manifestation. Whether or not he deserved such a blessing was not the
question. It was his, and he felt unutterably grateful and swore he
would be worthy of this great gift.

Darkness had set in when Neale returned to the cabin, the interior of
which was lighted by blazing sticks in a huge stone fireplace.

Slingerland was in the shadow, busy as usual, but laughing at some sally
of Larry's. The cowboy and Allie, however, were in plain sight. Neale
needed only one look at Larry to divine what had come over that young
man. Allie appeared perplexed.

"He objects to my calling him Mr. King and even Larry," she said.

Larry suddenly looked sheepish.

"Allie, this cowboy is a bad fellow with guns, ropes, horses--and I
suspect with girls," replied Neale, severely.

"Neale, he doesn't look bad," she rejoined. "You're fooling me.... He
wants me to call him Reddy."

"Ahuh!" grunted Neale. He laughed grimly at himself, for again he had
felt a pang of jealousy. He knew what to expect from Larry or any other
young man who ever had the wonderful good luck to get near Allie Lee.
"All right, call him Reddy," he went on. "I guess I can allow my future
wife so much familiarity with my pard."

This confused Allie out of her sweet gravity, and she blushed.

"Shore you're mighty kind," drawled Larry, recovering. "More 'n I
reckoned on from a fellar who's shore lost his haid."

"I've lost more 'n that," retorted Neale, "and I'm afraid a certain wild
young cowboy I know has lost as much."

"Wal, I reckon somethin