And from Jed: "Oh-o-o-o!" An interval of silence. "That is," muttered VB, "if she'll take him, and--" "Would you want him away from you?" the old man insisted. "Oh, I hope it won't be that, Jed! I hope not--but I want her to-- You understand. Jed? You understand?" The other nodded his head, a look of grave tenderness in the old eyes. "Then--then, Jed, I'm all right. I can get along alone. Would you mind riding over and--asking her if she'd come-- "You see, Jed, I know now. I didn't before--I'm sure it's worth the candle--and there'll be no more darkness; no lasting night for her if--" Jed walked slowly out into the other room and picked up his spurs. VB heard him strap them on, heard his boots stamp across the floor and stop. "I'd go, VB, but it ain't necessary." The boy raised his head, and to his ears came the bellow of a high-powered motor, the sound growing more distinct with each passing second. "Lord, how that woman's drivin'!" Jed cried. "Lordy!" And he ran from the house. The bellow of the motor rose to a sound like batteries of Gatlings in action; then came the wail of brakes. With a pulsing thrill VB heard her voice upraised--with such a thrill that he did not catch the dread in her tone as she questioned Jed. She came to him swiftly, eyes dimmed with tears, without words, and knelt by his bunk, hands clasped about his head. For many minutes they were so, VB gripping her fine, firm forearms. Then she raised her face high. "And you wouldn't let me help?" she asked querulously. He looked at her long and soberly, and took both her hands in his. "It was the one place you couldn't help," he muttered. "It was that sort--my love, I mean. I had to know; had to know that I wouldn't put a hateful mark on you by loving. I had to know that. Don't you see?" She moved closer and came between him and the sunshine that poured through the open door. The glorious light was caught by her hair and thrown, it seemed, to the veriest corners of the dingy little room. "The light!" he cried. She settled against him, her lips on his, and clung so. From outside came the shrilling call of the Captain. VB crushed her closer. CHAPTER XXVI To the Victor Up the flagged walk to the house of chill, white stone overlooking the North River went a messenger, and through the imposing front portal he handed a letter, hidden away in a sheaf of others. A modest-appearing letter; indeed, perhaps something less than modest; possibly humble, for its corners were crumpled and its edges frayed. Yet, of all the packages handed him, Daniel Lenox, alone at his breakfast, singled it out for the earliest attention. And what he read was this: Dear Father: In my last letter--written ten years ago, it seems--I promised to tell you my whereabouts when I had achieved certain ends. I now write to tell you that I am at the Thorpe Ranch, one hundred and thirty miles northwest of Colt, Colorado, the nearest railroad point.