“I’m sorry,” he said grimly, “but I don’t believe you. I’ll have my own answer before I’m through. No act or word of mine will bring any harm to your daughter. Her good opinion of me is the most precious thing I possess. I aim to keep it. I can’t figure any easier way to lose it than to let her think I’m two-faced. I finish what I start! You’ve made me look small with your talk and insinuations. If I didn’t tell her about the picture and of my own run-in with you, it was because I knew she was too upset to hear it now. But I said I’d ask her—and I’m doin’ it this minute.” Johnnie turned his back on the old man and came close to Molly’s side. “You’ve heard it all, Molly,” said Johnny. “You know what I’m askin’—I want to keep that picture. Am I fit to have it?” Without looking up, Molly handed the picture to him. It was a confession of faith well calculated to arouse the best in the boy. “And about my comin’ to the ranch,” he went on. “If you asked me to come tomorrow I’d come, and nothin’ wouldn’t stop me. But I can’t see that it would serve any purpose. From now on I go alone. Even Tony stays behind. As it is, I’ve not been frank with him. What I find out no one but me’ll know. If there’s talk you’ll know who to blame. If ever you want me, you get word to the Basque; he’ll find me. And—_good-bye_.” He was gone; nor did he hear the girl’s softly murmured answer. CHAPTER XV MADEIRAS GETS A CHANCE Molly had quite forgotten that the Langwell girls had arranged a bridge party for her that afternoon. When three o’clock passed and their guest had not returned, Miss Sue Langwell set out to find her. Bridge was remote from Molly’s mind, but Sue’s interruption was welcomed by old Jackson and he urged the girl to run along. Molly, with pardonable caution, tried to conceal her distraught condition and keep from her friend’s eyes any inkling of what had occurred. To succeed, she allowed herself to be carried off. With gratitude in his heart, Kent watched the two girls ride away in Sue’s car. It effectually put an end to talk. There had been too much of that already this day. So while Molly played cards and the old man sought forgetfulness in the doing of purely routine business, Johnny talked to old Dan Secor. Dan had exhausted himself at noon, so Johnny went back to Tony. Madeiras was in a bad humor. He had been waiting these many hours for Johnny and felt himself slighted, left out of something. Your Basque is thin-skinned and quick to resent a fancied hurt. “What’s wrong?” Johnny asked. “Too much,” replied Tony. “For why I come wit’ you? I don’ lak theese bus’ness, always be left behin’.” The last hour had frayed Johnny’s nerves. The Basque’s petulance found him without the patience to accept it for what it was. “Don’t ride me, Tony,” he grumbled. “I know what I’m doin’.” “_Sí!_ But _Madre de Dios_, I be dam’ eef I do!”