“I’ve made an awful mess of it.” Uncle Hank shook his head. “I’ve made beggars of these children.” Hilda hadn’t been sure, till he said “these children” that he knew she was beside him. “No, no, boy.” Uncle Hank’s eyes entreated, reassured. “You was new to the ranching business. We all make our mistakes.” “Ah!” breathed the dying man, “I’ve made nothing else.” He closed his eyes and was silent for a minute. Then he opened them once more with that tearing groan. “Katie’s children—what’s to become of them?” Hilda took heart to reach out a shaking little hand and touch his fingers. They were chill, but they closed upon hers strongly. She wanted to say that he was not to be troubled, but such things were for grown-ups. She looked about on the cowpunchers, Shorty holding hard to the edge of his chair, old Snake Thompson over by the window shaken by rigors of feeling. The sun was sending long arrows in through the slit of the silken curtain beyond the couch. “Don’t worry. You’re a-going to be all right,” came Hank’s full, grave voice. “The doctor’ll be here inside of twenty-four hours. You’ll be all right.” “No,” Van Brunt stopped him with a husky whisper. “I’m not going to live an hour. My children are orphans.” Plainly this tortured him more than bodily pain. “Would it quiet your mind, Charley, if I was to promise to stick to ’em always, exactly as if they was my own?” The great wave of relief that went over the white face on the pillow was sufficient answer, and Hilda looked to see her father get better at once; but what he said between labored breaths was: “God bless you, Pearsall. I’m leaving nothing but debts—” “’S all right, Charley—all right. They’s a-plenty—I’ll make it a-plenty. And God so deal with me as I deal by these children.” It was like a solemn ceremony; the picture of it as such remained with Hilda in after life, vivid, ineffaceable. Her father on the bed, the sure knowledge of death in his eyes, Uncle Hank putting a brown hand over her own and Charley’s, the cowpunchers standing about like witnesses to the pact. When it was done the father kissed them both. Hilda thought he was going to say something as he looked at her, but he rolled his head painfully on the pillow and murmured instead: “Take them out, now—take them away. Poor things—poor little things—I don’t want them to remember—take them out, quick!” They were hurried from the room. Shorty picked up Burch, and Bud McGregor led her. They were lingering forlornly outside the closed door when Uncle Hank opened it a few moments later, and said: “You boys go with them to the bunk house.” He came fully into the hall and closed the door. “Hurry on with ’em—see about Miss Valeria as you go.”