Wetherford was thoroughly roused now. Some part of his old-time fire seemed to return to him. He rose from his chair and approached the ranger firmly. "I've seen you act like a man, Ross Cavanagh. You've been a good partner these last few days--a son couldn't have treated me better--and I hate like hell to think ill of you; but my girl loves you--I could see that. I could see her lean to you, and I've got to know something else right now. You're going to leave here--you're going to throw her off. What I want to know is this: Do you leave her as good as you found her? Come, now, I want an answer, as one man to another." Cavanagh's eyes met his with firm but sorrowful gaze. "In the sense in which you mean, I leave her as I found her." The old man's open hand shot out toward his rescuer. "Forgive me, my lad," he said, humbly; "for a minute I--doubted you." Ross took his hand, but slowly replied: "It will be hard for you to understand, when I tell you that I care a great deal for your daughter, but a man like me--an Englishman--cannot marry--or he ought not to marry--to himself alone. There are so many others to consider--his friends, his sisters--" Wetherford dropped his hand. "I see!" His tone was despairing. "When I was young we married the girls we loved in defiance of man, God, or the cupboard; but you are not that kind. You may be right. I'm nothing but a debilitated old cow-puncher branded by the State--a man who threw away his chance--but I can tell you straight, I've learned that nothing but the love of a woman counts. Furthermore," and here his fire flashed again, "I'd have killed you had you taken advantage of my girl!" "Which would have been your duty," declared Cavanagh, wearily. And in the face of this baffling mood, which he felt but could not understand, the old man fell silent. XIII CAVANAGH ASKS FOR HELP Lee Virginia waited with increasing impatience for Ross Cavanagh's return, expecting each noon to see him appear at the door; but when three days passed without word or sign from him, her uneasiness deepened into alarm. The whole town was profoundly excited over the murder, that she knew, and she began to fear that some of the ranger's enemies had worked their evil will upon him. With this vague fear in her heart, she went forth into the street to inquire. One of the first men she met was Sifton, who was sitting, as usual, outside the livery-barn door, smiling, inefficient, content. Of him she asked: "Have you seen Mr. Cavanagh?" "Yes," he answered, "I saw him yesterday, just after dinner, down at the post-office. He was writing a letter at the desk. Almost immediately afterward he mounted and rode away. He was much cut up over his chief's dismissal." "Why has he not written to me," she asked herself, "and why should he have gone away without a word of greeting, explanation, or good-bye? It would have taken but a moment's time to call at the door."