d what you said is so--she mustn't _ever_
know, not now ner no time, what--Sim Gage really is."

Doctor Barnes' voice was out of control. He turned once more to this
newly revealed Sim Gage, a man whom he had not hitherto understood.

"Marriage means all sorts of things. It covers up things, begins
things, ends things. That's true."

"It ends things for her, Doc--it don't begin nothing fer me, you
understand. It is, but it isn't. I'd never step a foot across that
door sill, night or day--you understand that, don't you? You didn't
think _that_ for one minute, did you? You didn't think I was so
low-down I couldn't understand a thing like _that_, did you? It's
because she's blind and don't know the truth; and because she's plumb
up against it. That's why."

"Oh, damn you!" said Doctor Barnes savagely. "You understand me better
than I did you. Yes--it's the only way."

"It sure is funny how funny things get mixed up sometimes, ain't it,
Doc?" remarked Sim Gage. "But now, part of my coming down here was
about a minister."

"Well," said Doctor Barnes, desperately, feeling that he was party to a
crime, "it's priest day next Sunday. We have five or six different
sorts of priests and ministers that come in here once a month, and they
all come the same Sunday, so they can watch each other--every fellow is
afraid the other fellow will get some souls saved the wrong way if he
isn't there on the job too. Listen, Gage--I'll bring one of these
chaps--Church of England man, I reckon, for he hasn't got much to do
down here--up to your ranch next Sunday morning. We've got to get this
over with, or we'll all be crazy--I will, anyhow. When I show up, you
two be ready to be married.

"Does that go, Sim Gage?" he concluded, looking into the haggard and
stubbly face of the squalid-figured man before him.

"It goes," said Sim Gage.

CHAPTER XXI

WITH THIS RING

It was the Sabbath, and the summer sun was casting its southering light
even with the eaves of Sim Gage's half-ruined house. It was high noon.

High noon for a wedding. But this was a wedding of no pomp or
splendor. No bell summoned any hither. There was no organ peal, nor
maids with flowers and serious faces to wait upon the bride; no
processional; no aisles fenced off with bride's ribbon; no audience to
crane. In the little room stood only a surpliced priest of the Church
of England. The witnesses were Nels Jensen and Karen, his wife, back
o