'Dan, I've the greatest news for you,' he said. 'We are to be married.'
The rancher laughed. 'You call that news? Why, Rainbow has knowed it ever since we got back from 01' Cloudy. I've on'y one thing to say, Phil--yo're a lucky fella.'
'And that is no news to me,' the doctor returned gravely. 'Riding far, Dan?'
'I have business at the Wagon-wheel.'
Malachi's eyes twinkled. 'He has business at the Wagon-wheel,' he told the girl beside him. 'And maybe that range is larger and folks don't have to crowd one another.'
They both smiled broadly, and it was Dover's turn to get red. 'Aw, go to--Paradise,' he said, and rode away.
To his mingled relief and disappointment, Zeb's old housekeeper answered his knock, conducted him to the sick rancher's room, and left them together. Trenton, sitting up in bed, welcomed his visitor grimly.
'Well, come to give me notice to quit?'
'No, just wanted to see if you're feelin' strong enough to tear this up,' Dan replied, and threw a paper on the counterpane; it was the mortgage on the Wagon-wheel.
'What's the idea? Didn't you buy the ranch?'
'The Circle Dot took over the debt, an' you can pay in yore own time--I figure the cattle business is on the upgrade,' Dover replied. 'I've told our outfit that yore cows can graze to the river. That's all I gotta say.' He turned to go.
'Wait a minute,' Trenton said. 'A week back I was called a stiff-necked, stubborn of fool; o'course, she didn't put it in those words--'
'She?' Dan wanted to know.
'Shore, my niece, Beth.' The harsh, bony features had softened, and there was a shadow of a smile on the bloodless lips. 'She's got pluck--nobody ever dared bawl me out, sick or well. It made me think, an' this clinches it. On top of savin' her life an' mine, you hand back my property. It shames me, * boy. I've allus sworn I'd never thank a Dover, but I'm doin' it.'
The young man gripped the proffered thin hand willingly enough, and the Trenton-Dover war was at an end.
'I owe a hell of a lot to you an' yore men--'specially Green,' the invalid said presently. 'If you agree, I'd like to offer him his own terms to come here.'
'I wish you could persuade him, for we've failed,' Dan replied sadly. 'Claims he has a promise to keep, which means puffin' out soon. You'll never budge him, he's as obstinate as a--Dover,' he finished, with a grin.
The old man smiled too. 'I've treated him middlin' shabby,' he said. 'I reckon I'll have to eat crow.'
'Jim ain't that sort,' Dan assured him. 'He's the best friend I ever had, an' he won't let me do a thing--just says `Shucks' an' changes the subject. I'm damned sorry he's goin'.'
'Ask him to come an' see me,' the rancher said.
Dover promised, and was about to leave when he remembered something--the locket. He laid it on the bed.
'Guess this belongs to yore niece; I found it in the tent,' he explained, and came away.
As he stepped into the open, he met the girl herself. She had no smile of welcome for him, and her greeting told why. 'When do we move out?'
'I've been seein' yore uncle about that,' he replied.
'You might have waited until he is stronger,' she said heatedly. 'I must go to him at once.'
She left him standing there, and did not see the whimsical look which followed her. Dan hoisted himself into the saddle and set off, but he had gone less than fifty yards when he heard her call.
'Mister Dover.'
He grinned wickedly, but took no notice, until the cry was repeated, breathlessly. He stopped and dismounted; the girl was hurrying towards him; her face was flushed, eyes moist.
'You are the meanest man I ever met,' she began. 'You save my life, restore my uncle's property after he has used you badly, and even bring back something the loss of which grieved me deeply--my mother's portrait, and you refuse to accept a word of thanks. Why have you always disliked me? I couldn't help being the daughter of a Trenton.'
The curious mixture of indignation and gratitude made her so provokingly pretty that he had hard work to refrain from putting his arms about her and telling the truth--that he didn't care if she was the daughter of the Devil himself.
'I was afraid.' He saw she did not comprehend, and went on. 'Afraid I'd get too fond o' you, so I tried to build a barrier between us.'
'And it had to be barbed wire?' she said.
'Yeah, but I found out that barbed wire won't keep thoughts from strayin', an' is liable to hurt those who handle it.
The soft dark eyes faced his bravely for an instant and then dropped. 'I learned that too--Dan,' she murmured.
It was quite a time before she had an opportunity to speak again, and, as she strove to rearrange her hair, it was a truly feminine remark:
'I expect I look a sight; I don't know what you must think of me.'
'I think yo're the most beautiful girl in Arizona,' he told her.
'Only in Arizona, Dan?' she teased.
'Arizona is my world,' he replied.
'Mine too,' she whispered, and brought about another interlude.
* Sudden and Yorky were paying a final visit to the Pool of the Pines, for--as Dan had predicted--Trenton's inducements and pleas had proved vain as his own. They had enjoyed their swim, and Nigger was waiting. The boy's expression was woebegone.
'I'll be missin' yer, Jim. Wish I c'd come too,' he said, for about the twentieth time.
'So do I, but it's too chancy,' the puncher replied. `Best yu should stay here, learn yore job, an' get them bellows o' yourn sound again. Then, mebbe, when I'm free, yu an' me'll go take a look at the country somewheres.'
Yorky's eyes shone at the prospect. 'Gee! Jim, that'd be swell,' he breathed.
'So long, son,' Sudden said, as he swung into the saddle. 'Keep outa trouble, but if that ain't possible, see it through.'
The boy watched the black horse and its rider until they were blotted out by a mist which was not of Nature's making; there was an unaccustomed lump in his throat.
'Just th' greatest guy--ever,' he told the silence.
THE END
