He looked at the foothills, the red butte rising in their midst, the tinted Bad Lands, the winding, willow-fringed creek. It was all beautiful in its bizarre colorings; but the spirit of the picture, the warm, glowing heart of it, had gone from it for him. The world looked a dull and lifeless place. His love for Dora was greater than he had known, far mightier than he had realized until the end, the positive end, had come. "Oh, Dora!" he whispered in utter wretchedness. "Dear little Schoolmarm!" In the room behind the white-curtained window the Schoolmarm walked the floor with her cheeks aflame and as close to hysteria as ever she had been in her life. "What _will_ he think of me!" she asked herself over and over again, clasping and unclasping her cold hands. "What _can_ he think but one thing?" The more overwrought she became, the worse the situation seemed. "And how he looked at me! How they all looked at me! Oh, it was too dreadful!" She covered her burning face with her hands. "There isn't the slightest doubt," she went on, "but that he thinks I knew all about it. Perhaps"--she paused in front of the mirror and stared into her own horrified eyes--"perhaps he thinks I belong to a gang of robbers! Maybe he thinks I am Smith's tool, or that Smith is my tool, or something like that! Oh, whatever made him say such a thing! 'Our stake--_our_ stake'--and--'I done it for you!'" Another thought, still more terrifying occurred to her excited mind: "What if he should have to arrest me as an accomplice!" She sat down weakly on the edge of the bed. "Oh," and she rocked to and fro in misery, "if only I never had tried to improve Smith's mind!" The tears slipped from under the Schoolmarm's lashes, and her chin quivered. Worn out by the all night's vigil at her mother's bedside, and the exciting events of the morning, Susie finally succumbed to the strain and slept the sleep of exhaustion. It was almost supper-time when she awakened. Passing the Schoolmarm's door, she heard a sound at which she stopped and frankly listened. Teacher was crying! "Ling, this is an awful world. Everything seems to be upside down and inside out!" "Plenty tlouble," agreed Ling, stepping briskly about as he collected ingredients for his biscuits. "Don't seem to make much difference whether you love people or hate 'em; it all ends the same way--in tears." "Plitty bad thing--love." Ling solemnly measured baking-powder. "Make people cly." Susie surmised correctly that Ling's ears also had been close to a nearby keyhole. "There'd 'a' been fewer tears on this ranch if it hadn't been for Smith." "Many devils--Smith." Susie sat on the corner of his work-table, and there was silence while he deftly mixed, rolled, and cut his dough. "Mr. Ralston intends to go away in the morning," said Susie, as the biscuits were slammed in the oven. Ling wagged his head dolorously. "And they'll never see each other again." His head continued to wag.