Bertha replied, "I think I'll take a forenoon off to-morrow, Captain Haney, and see that you both go to mass for once in your life." The big man looked at her with sudden intensity. "If you'll take me--I'll go." There was something in his voice and eyes that startled the girl. She drew back a little, but smiled bravely, carrying out the jest. "I'll call you on that. Unless you take water, you go to church to-morrow." The big man shoved his companion away and, leaning across the counter, said, in a low and deeply significant tone: "There ain't a thing in this world that you can't do with Mart Haney--not a thing. That's what I came down here to tell you--you can boss my ranch any day." The girl was visibly alarmed, but as she still stood fascinated by his eyes and voice, struggling to recover her serenity, another group of diners came noisily past, and the big man, with a parting look, went out and took a seat on one of the chairs which stood in a row upon the walk. The hand which held the cigar visibly trembled, and his companion said: "Be careful, Mart--" Haney silenced him with a look. "You're on the outside here, partner." "I didn't mean to butt in--" "I understand, but this is a matter between that little girl and me," replied the big man in a tone that, while friendly, ended all further remark on the part of his companion, who rose, after a little pause, and walked away. Haney remained seated, buried in thought, amazed at the fever which his encounter with the girl had put into his blood. It was true that he had been coming down every Saturday for weeks--leaving his big saloon on the best evening in the week for a chance to see this child--this boyish school-girl. In a savage, selfish, and unrestrained way he loved her, and had determined to possess her--to buy her if necessary. He knew something of the toil through which the weary mother plodded, and he watched her bend and fade with a certainty that she would one day be on his side. When at home and afar from her, he felt capable of seizing the girl--of carrying her back with him as the old-time savage won his bride; but when he looked into her clear, calm eyes his villiany, his resolution fell away from him. He found himself not merely a man of the nearer time, but a Catholic--in training at least--and the words he had planned to utter fell dead on his lips. Libertine though he was, there were lines over which even his lawlessness could not break. He was a desperate character--a man of violence--and none too delicate in his life among women; but away back in his boyhood his good Irish mother had taught him to fight fair and to protect the younger and weaker children, and this training led to the most curious and unexpected acts in his business as a gambler.