She was roused after a long time by the sound of the huge key grating in the lock. Through the opened door a figure descended, and by an illuminating swing of the turnkey’s lantern she saw that it was Bucky. Next moment the door had closed and they were in each other’s arms. Bucky’s stubborn pride, the remembrance of the riches which of a sudden had transformed his little partner into an heiress and set a high wall of separation between them, these were swept clean away on a great wave of love which took Bucky off his feet and left him breathless. “I had almost given you up,” she cried joyfully. Again he passed his hand across her face. “You’ve been crying, little pardner. Were you crying on account of me?” “On account of myself, because I was afraid I had lost you. Oh, Bucky, isn’t it too good to be true?” The ranger smiled, remembering that he had about fourteen hours to live, if the Megales faction triumphed. “Good! I should think it is. Bully! I’ve been famished to see Curly Haid again.” “And to know that everything is going to come out all right and that we love each other.” “That’s right good hearing and most ce’tainly true on my side of it. But how do you happen to know it so sure?” he laughed gayly. “Why, your letter, Bucky. It was the dearest letter. I love it.” “But you weren’t to read it for three hours,” he pretended to reprove, holding her at arm’s length to laugh at her. “Wasn’t it three hours? It seemed ever so much longer.” “You little rogue, you didn’t play fair.” And to punish her he drew her soft, supple body to him in a close embrace, and for the first time kissed the sweet mouth that yielded itself to him. “Tell me all about what happened to you,” she bade him playfully, after speech was again in order. “Sure.” He caught her hand to lead her to the bench and she winced involuntarily. “I burned it,” she explained, adding, with a ripple of shy laughter: “When I was reading your letter. It doesn’t really hurt, though.” But he had to see for himself and make much over the little blister that the flame of a match revealed to him. For they were both very much in love, and, in consequence, bubbling over with the foolishness that is the greatest inherited wisdom of the ages. But though her lover had acquiesced so promptly to her demand for a full account of his adventures since leaving her, that young man had no intention of offering an unexpurged edition of them. It was his hope that O’Halloran would storm the prison during the night and effect a rescue. If so, good; if not, there was no need of her knowing that for them the new day would usher in fresh sorrow. So he gave her an account of his trial and its details, told her how he had been convicted, and how Colonel Onate had fought warily to get the sentence of execution postponed in order to give their friends a chance to rescue them. “When Megales remanded me to prison I wanted to let out an Arizona yell, Curly. It sure seemed too good to be true.”