The fourth individual was to be considered--Benny Lynch. Through the months that he had brooded over the injustice which sent his father to a quick end, through the weeks that he had planned to administer his own justice, through the straining days that he had waited to kill, a part of him had been stifled. That part was the kindly, deliberate, peace loving Benny, and so surely as he was slow to anger he would have lived to find himself tortured by regret had he slain for revenge. As it was, he shot to save the life of a friend ... and only that. He lived to thank the scheme of things that had called on him to untangle the skein which events had snarled about Bruce and the woman he loved ... for it took from him the stain of killing for revenge. Somehow, Bruce got Ann away from the Sunset mine that day. She was brave and struggled to bear up, but after the strain of those last weeks the fatigue of the ride Ned had forced her to take unnerved her and she was like a child when they gained the Boyd ranch where she was taken to the maternal arms of the mistress of that house, to be petted and cried over and comforted. In his rattling, jingling buckboard Judson Weyl drove out to the mining camp and beside a rock-covered grave murmured a prayer for the soul which had gone out from the body buried there; when he drove away, his chin was higher, his face brighter, reflecting the thought within him that an ugly past must be forgotten, that the future assured those qualities which would make it forgettable. News of the killing roused Yavapai. In the first hour the community's attention was wholly absorbed in the actual affair at the mine, but, as the story lost its first edge of interest, inquisitive minds commenced to follow it backward, to trace out the steps which had led to the tragedy. Ann's true identity became known. The fact that Bayard had sheltered Lytton was revealed. After that the gossip mongers insinuated and speculated. No one had known what was going on; when men hide their relationships with others and with women it must be necessary to hide something, they argued. And then the clergyman, waiting for this, came forward with his story. He had known; his wife had known. Nora, the girl who had gone, had known. No, there had been no deception in Bayard's attitude; merely discretion. With that the talk ceased, for Yavapai looked up to its clergy. Within the fortnight Ann boarded a train bound for the East. Her face had not regained its color, but the haunted look was gone from her eyes, the tensity from about her lips. She was in a state of mental and spiritual convalescence, with hope and happiness in sight to hasten the process of healing. Going East for the purpose of explaining, of making what amends she could for Ned's misdeeds, was an ordeal, but she welcomed it for it was the last condition she deemed necessary to set her free.