"She needn't know. I will tell her you've been out of your mind. I'll say anything you wish! You can go to her in the clothes you have on if you like--she will not recognize you as the prisoner I held the other night. You can have your beard trimmed, and not even the justice will know you." All reserve had vanished out of the convict's heart, and with choking voice he thanked his young host. "I'll never be a burden to you," he declared, in firmer voice. "And if my lung holds out, I'll show you I'm not the total locoe that I 'pear to be." No further reference was made to Lee Virginia, but Ross felt himself to be more deeply involved than ever by these promises; his fortunes seemed to be inextricably bound up with this singular and unhappy family. Lying in his bunk (after the lights were out), he fancied himself back in his ancestral home, replying to the questions of his aunts and uncles, who were still expecting him to bring home a rich and beautiful American heiress. Some of the Cavanaghs were drunkards and some were vixens, but they were on the whole rather decent, rather decorous and very dull, and to them this broken ex-convict and this slattern old barmaid would seem very far from the ideal they had formed of the family into which Ross was certain to marry. But as he recalled the spot in which he lay and the uniform which hung upon the wall, he was frank to admit that the beautiful and rich heiress of whom his family dreamed was a very unsubstantial vision indeed, and that, to be honest with himself, he had nothing to offer for such shining good-fortune. At breakfast next morning he said: "I must ride back and take some bread to the dog. I can't go away and leave him there without saying 'hello.'" "Let me do that," suggested Wetherford. "I'm afraid to go down to the Fork. I reckon I'd better go back and tend the sheep till Gregg sends some one up to take my place." "That might be too late to see Lize. Lee's voice showed great anxiety. She may be on her death-bed. No; you'd better go down with me to-day," he urged. And at last the old man consented. Putting some bread in his pockets, Ross rode off up the trail to see how the dog and his flock were faring. He had not gone far when he heard the tinkle of the bells and the murmur of the lambs, and a few moments later the collie came toward him with the air of a boy who, having assumed to disregard the orders of his master, expects a scolding. He plainly said: "I've brought my sheep to you because I was lonesome. Please forgive me." Cavanagh called to him cheerily, and tossed him a piece of bread, which he caught in his teeth but did not swallow; on the contrary, he held it while leaping for joy of the praise he heard in his new-found master's voice.