“Of course. But I’m sorry that father has been called to Phoenix. I suppose you came to tell him about your success.” “To brag about it,” he corrected. “But not to your father—to his daughter.” “That’s very thoughtful of you. Will you begin now?” “Not yet. There is something I have to tell you, Miss Mackenzie.” At the gravity in his voice the lightness slipped from her like a cloak. “Yes. Tell me your news. Over the telephone all sorts of rumors have come to us. But even these were hearsay.” “I thought of telephoning you the facts. Then I decided to ride out and tell you at once. I knew you would want to hear the story at first hand.” Her patrician manner was gone. Her eyes looked their thanks at him. “That was good of you. I have been very anxious to get the facts. One rumor was that you have captured Sir Leroy. Is it true?” It seemed to her that his look was one of grave tenderness. “No, that is not true. You remember what we said of him—of how he might die?” “He is dead—you killed him,” she cried, all the color washed from her face. “He is dead, but I did not kill him.” “Tell me,” she commanded. He told her, beginning at the moment of his meeting with the outlaws at the Dalriada dump and continuing to the last scene of the tragedy. It touched her so nearly that she could not hear him through dry-eyed. “And he spoke of me?” She said it in a low voice, to herself rather than to him. “It was just before his mind began to wander—almost his last conscious thought. He said that when you heard the news you would remember. What you were to remember he didn’t say. I took it you would know.” “Yes. I was to remember that he was not all wolf to me.” She told it with a little break of tears in her voice. “Then he told me to tell you that it was the best way out for him. He had come to the end of the road, and it would not have been possible for him to go back.” Presently Collins added gently: “If you don’t mind my saying so, I think he was right. He was content to go, quite game and steady in his easy way. If he had lived, there could have been no going back for him. It was his nature to go the limit. The tragedy is in his life, not in his death.” “Yes, I know that, but it hurts one to think it had to be—that all his splendid gifts and capabilities should end like this, and that we are forced to see it is best. He might have done so much.” “And instead he became a miscreant. I reckon there was a lack in him somewhere.” “Yes, there was a great lack in him somewhere.” They were silent for a time. She broke it to ask about York Neil. “You wouldn’t send him to prison after doing what he did, would you?” “Meaning what?” “You say yourself he helped you against the other outlaws. Then he showed you where to start in finding the buried money. He isn’t a bad man. You know how he stood by me when I was a prisoner,” she pleaded.