“Very well; I’ll see about it.” “But I want the blank form now, so I can have it all ready when we go through town. Mother has the original deed, and I can easily duplicate it. I’ll search for a blank among your papers, if you don’t object.” “You have no idea how this little act of justice will help mother to regain her health,” said Mary. “She’s been haunted by a fear that you’d put it off till it would be too late.” Captain Ranger did not reply; but his silence was considered as consent, and Jean hurried away to prepare the deed. “I’ve been dreaming about an island somewhere in mid-ocean,” said Marjorie, “where women could hold their own earnings, just as men do in the United States; where they had full liberty to help the men to make the laws, for which they paid their full quota of taxes, just as the women do in Missouri and Illinois and, for aught I know, in Oregon.” “I’ve paid the taxes on that ten-acre farm for a dozen years,” said her father. “Yes, out of mother’s income from it,” retorted Marjorie. “It has always been rented, you know.” The subject was dropped for the nonce, though John Ranger did not feel wholly at ease, he hardly realized why. But the next day, as the train was moving through the principal street on its way to the river-front, he stopped his team hard by a notary’s office and tenderly assisted his wife to alight. Here, with her thin and trembling fingers, Annie Ranger affixed her signature to her last earthly deed of conveyance, her eyes beaming with joy. “Are you satisfied now?” asked her husband, as he lifted her to her seat in the wagon, where she watched Harry rushing away to the post-office with a big envelope containing the precious deed. “Yes, dear; and I am so glad I didn’t have to make my mark! When I get to Oregon, I’ll manage somehow to earn the money to pay you what I owe on my taxes, John.” “Don’t speak of that,” her husband exclaimed, feeling half ashamed of himself, for a reason he did not divine. “Then you’ll never try to hold those old tax receipts as a lien on the property?” “Nonsense, Annie! Do you think I’m a brute beast?” “No, darling. I would to God all men were as good as you are, my own dear, precious husband.” * * * * * They were nearing the Missouri River now, and in the rush that ensued, the family had no opportunity for further exchange of confidences for many hours. “Look!” cried Marjorie, after the last loaded wagon had been crowded on to the big ferry-boat, and they had started to a point several miles up the river to make a landing on the opposite bank. “There’s a posse of officers. They’re after Dugs, I know they are, ’cause they’ve got bloodhounds with ’em, and they’re signalling the boat to stop and come back.” “She can’t do it,” said the captain of the ferry, after a hurried conference with the captain of the train, as he suspiciously thrust his closed hand into the breeches pocket over his hip.