His voice was shrill, strained, vibrant with anxiety. But VB did not answer--merely lifted a hand to his hot head. "VB, when you left last night th' candle dropped down into th' bottle an' went out. I didn't dare light a new one to-night--" His voice broke, and he paused a moment. "I didn't dare light it until I knowed. I've been settin' in th' dark here, thinkin' things--tryin' not to think dark things." One hand went halfway to his mouth in fear as he waited for the other to answer. VB put a hand on Jed's shoulder, and the old man clamped his cold fingers over it desperately. "Yes, Jed--light it," he said huskily. Then he raised his head and looked at the old man with a half smile. "Light it, Jed. Let it burn on and on, just for the sake of being bright. But we--we don't need it any more. Not for the old reason, Jed." The cold hand twitched as it gripped the hot one. "Not for the old reason, Jed," VB continued. "There's a bigger, better, truer light burning now. It won't slip into the bottle; it can't be blown out. It didn't waver when the true crisis came. It'll always burn; it won't slip down into the bottle. It's--it's the real thing." He staggered forward, and Jed caught him, sobbing like a woman, a happy woman. They had the whole story over then by the light of a fresh candle. When Jed started forward with a cry at the recital of the shooting VB pushed him off. "It's only a flesh wound; it don't matter--much. Mrs. Worth dressed it, and I'm all right. It's the Captain I want to tell about--the Captain, Jed!" And he told it all, in short, choking sentences, stripping his soul naked for the little rancher. He did not spare himself, not one lone lash. He ended, crushed and bleeding before the eyes of his friend. After a pause he straightened back in his chair, the new fire in his eyes, the fire the man at Worth's had seen when he offered drink. "But I've got to make it up to the Captain now," he said with a wild little laugh. "I've got to go on. He gave me the chance. He took me into blackness, into the test I needed, and brought me back to light. I've got to be a man, Jed--a man--" And throughout the night Jed Avery tended the wound and watched and muttered--with joy in his heart. Morning came, with quieted nerves for VB. He lay in the bunk, weak, immobile. Jed came in from tending the horses. "He didn't bleed, did he, VB?" "No." "It ain't what you thought, sonny. It ain't bad. Give him a rest an' he'll be better'n ever. Why, he's out there now, head up, whisperin' for you! You can't break a spirit like his unless you tear his vitals out!" VB smiled, and the smile swelled to a laugh. "Oh, Jed, it makes me so happy! But it won't be as it was. I can never let him carry me again." The old man turned on the boy a puzzled look. "What you goin' to do with him, VB--turn him loose again?" "Not that, Jed; he wouldn't be happy. He'll never carry me again, but perhaps--perhaps he could carry a light rider--a girl--a woman."