“Well, I’m sure _I’ve_ done what I could. I certainly haven’t left a stone unturned-- Look here--” she addressed herself exclusively to the young man--“you’ll transplant her from that ranch, the very first thing you do, won’t you? You’ll take her east, won’t you? I won’t have to--” “I’ll take her east, yes,” said Dean Wolcott. “I’ll take her east with me as soon as I’ve finished here, but I’ll bring her west again whenever she says the word.” “Oh, _Lord_!” said Ginger’s Aunt Fan in exasperation. “If you’re going to be as soft as that she’d better have married ’Rome Ojeda. Well, if ever you want to see _me_, you can stop off in San Francisco!” Then she grew tender and her very blue eyes looked as they did when she was thinking about food and making mental menus for herself, and she laid hold of them both with her plump, pretty hands. “My dears, I’m glad for you; I _am_ glad. I think you’ve got something to hold to, and see that you hold on to it! Henry and I had it, once, and Jim and I thought”--her face contracted swiftly. “I must fly and pack. The doctor’s driving me in to Monterey to catch the train so I can start east in the morning. I don’t know what I’m going to do; I won’t know till I get there.” She shook her head. “The minute I get into New York I’ll have a good, straight talk with that surgeon and see if things are really as desperate-- Of course, the idea of marrying Jim again never entered my head. But if I don’t, and he does die, I suppose I’ll never forgive myself. And if I _do_--and he _doesn’t_”--her eyes snapped blue fire--“I’ll never forgive him!” * * * * * Elmer Bunty, the Scout, lay in state in a vacant cabin and the Airedale charged outside the door. The very blond girl went in with an armful of wild flowers and tall ferns, and when she came out again her eyes were red-rimmed. She saw Dean and Ginger and nodded to them, smiling mistily, and when the young man was not looking she held up two fingers to Ginger’s gaze, uncrossed. * * * * * Dean Wolcott had to go back to his headquarters at Post’s; there were reports to be made, telephones to the Chief Ranger at King City, to the Scout Master in San Francisco. He would come to her again in the evening. The doctor was unsaddling Mabel, the lady horse, and he had warm words for his Ranger; Mateo Golinda had told him things which would make an eastern name long remembered in that wild county of the west. He had warm and hearty words for the two of them, his tired eyes kindling. He remembered Rosalía Valdés McVeagh and her tearful old song, but he believed that “_the coming of wintry weather_” would find them ready and strong. He went away from them smiling to himself, and not looking back.