He worshiped her. He would never have run away to be a wild–horse hunter if she had stayed at home.

“What did she mean? What was she going to say when she put her hands on my shoulders?” he whispered aloud what he had thought a thousand times in agony during that ride. “I believed it just bighearted Ina’s way. She would not forget an old schoolmate. She would never listen to gossip or care what people said…. But the look of her—those lovely eyes—the tremble in her voice—the straight noble talk! Was that merely friendship? I’d be a fool to think so. She doesn’t know yet, but the old feeling has grown along with her to womanhood…. She didn’t know, but she was waiting for me to take her into my arms. My God! If I’d guessed that, no thought of my honor or her good name would have stopped me. But I didn’t see…. Oh, the sweetness of her! Ina, my little sweetheart—a woman, fine, strong, splendid, sensible. Just to think of her raises me out of the dust.——But I must not let her go any farther. She would be ruined, disgraced. Her heart would break…. Yet, it might be that——Oh, it’ll take me years to clear my name. Years in which she’d have to wait for me and suffer the scorn of her people, the gibes of friends. And I—consumed by longing, jealousy! No, it can’t be. Ina Blaine is not for me. I will not see her again. So best can I prove worthy her faith.”

Chapter Five

BEN’S restless slumbers were disrupted at dawn by a noisy trampling of boots on the cabin porch. Nevada and Modoc had returned.

“By golly! he’s heah in bed!” declared the former, stalking in.

Sitting up abruptly, Ben surveyed the cowboy with magnificent disfavor.

“I’ve a mind to lick you,” he shouted.

“Now, pard, what’ve I done?” queried Nevada, incredulously.

“You woke me up,” yelled Ben.

“Shore. It’s time. Was you havin’ pleasant dreams?” returned the cowboy, grinning.

“Dreams? No! But I was dead to the world. You tramp in here—wake me up—bring it all back.”

“Huh! Bring what back?” flashed Nevada, stung in an instant.

“The cold hard facts,” moaned Ben. “I’m the unluckiest poor damn miserable beggar on earth. I want to get a horrible drunk, but I can’t—I can’t.”

Nevada’s keen scrutiny lost its edge and something like relief replaced it. For a long moment he gazed down upon Ben.

“Shore you can’t get drunk, you locoed fool,” he declared, shortly. “That’s past for you an’ me. What’d you do in town?”

“Aw—it was bad going in but hell coming back,” groaned Ben.

“Find your mother—well?” asked Nevada.

“Pretty well. Better than I expected. I cheered her up. Oh, Lord, the things I swore to! Nevada, I’ll never be able to live up to them. But I’ll have to!”

“Shore. I savvy. An’ how aboot Hettie?” rejoined the cowboy, eagerly.

“You could have knocked me over with a feather,” declared Ben. “She’s grown that tall. And a good–looker, too. But what struck me most was her cheerfulness and faith. Why, she seemed almost happy to see me.”