Strange that the narrating of this incident made Diane Sampson unhappy.
When I told her she exhibited one flash of gladness, such as any woman might have shown for a noble deed and then she became thoughtful, almost gloomy, sad. I could not understand her complex emotions. Perhaps she contrasted Steele with her father; perhaps she wanted to believe in Steele and dared not; perhaps she had all at once seen the Ranger in his true light, and to her undoing.
She bade me take Sally for a ride and sought her room. I had my misgivings when I saw Sally come out in that trim cowgirl suit and look at me as if to say this day would be my Waterloo.
But she rode hard and long ahead of me before she put any machinations into effect. The first one found me with a respectful demeanor but an internal conflict.
“Russ, tighten my cinch,” she said when I caught up with her.
Dismounting, I drew the cinch up another hole and fastened it.
“My boot's unlaced, too,” she added, slipping a shapely foot out of the stirrup.
To be sure, it was very much unlaced. I had to take off my gloves to lace it up, and I did it heroically, with bent head and outward calm, when all the time I was mad to snatch the girl out of the saddle and hold her tight or run off with her or do some other fool thing.
“Russ, I believe Diane's in love with Steele,” she said soberly, with the sweet confidence she sometimes manifested in me.
“Small wonder. It's in the air,” I replied.
She regarded me doubtfully.
“It was,” she retorted demurely.
“The fickleness of women is no new thing to me. I didn't expect Waters to last long.”
“Certainly not when there are nicer fellows around. One, anyway, when he cares.”
A little brown hand slid out of its glove and dropped to my shoulder.
“Make up. You've been hateful lately. Make up with me.”
It was not so much what she said as the sweet tone of her voice and the nearness of her that made a tumult within me. I felt the blood tingle to my face.
“Why should I make up with you?” I queried in self defense. “You are only flirting. You won't—you can't ever be anything to me, really.”
Sally bent over me and I had not the nerve to look up.
“Never mind things—really,” she replied. “The future's far off. Let it alone. We're together. I—I like you, Russ. And I've got to be—to be loved. There. I never confessed that to any other man. You've been hateful when we might have had such fun. The rides in the sun, in the open with the wind in our faces. The walks at night in the moonlight. Russ, haven't you missed something?”
The sweetness and seductiveness of her, the little luring devil of her, irresistible as they were, were no more irresistible than the naturalness, the truth of her.
I trembled even before I looked up into her flushed face and arch eyes; and after that I knew if I could not frighten her out of this daring mood I would have to yield despite my conviction that she only trifled. As my manhood, as well as duty to Steele, forced me to be unyielding, all that was left seemed to be to frighten her.
The instant this was decided a wave of emotion—love, regret, bitterness, anger—surged over me, making me shake. I felt the skin on my face tighten and chill. I grasped her with strength that might have need to hold a plunging, unruly horse. I hurt her. I held her as in a vise.
And the action, the feel of her, her suddenly uttered cry wrought against all pretense, hurt me as my brutality hurt her, and then I spoke what was hard, passionate truth.
“Girl, you're playing with fire!” I cried out hoarsely. “I love you—love you as I'd want my sister loved. I asked you to marry me. That was proof, if it was foolish. Even if you were on the square, which you're not, we couldn't ever be anything to each other. Understand? There's a reason, besides your being above me. I can't stand it. Stop playing with me or I'll—I'll...”
Whatever I meant to say was not spoken, for Sally turned deathly white, probably from my grasp and my looks as well as my threat.
I let go of her, and stepping back to my horse choked down my emotion.
“Russ!” she faltered, and there was womanliness and regret trembling with the fear in her voice. “I—I am on the square.”
That had touched the real heart of the girl.
“If you are, then play the game square,” I replied darkly.
“I will, Russ, I promise. I'll never tease or coax you again. If I do, then I'll deserve what you—what I get. But, Russ, don't think me a—a four-flush.”
All the long ride home we did not exchange another word. The traveling gait of Sally's horse was a lope, that of mine a trot; and therefore, to my relief, she was always out in front.
As we neared the ranch, however, Sally slowed down until I caught up with her; and side by side we rode the remainder of the way. At the corrals, while I unsaddled, she lingered.
“Russ, you didn't tell me if you agreed with me about Diane,” she said finally.
“Maybe you're right. I hope she's fallen in love with Steele. Lord knows I hope so,” I blurted out.
I bit my tongue. There was no use in trying to be as shrewd with women as I was with men. I made no
