Johnny caught her as a sob broke from her lips. “Oh, Johnny,” she cried. “Take me into your arms and pet me. I haven’t any one but you now!” “I’ll git you away from here, Molly,” the boy told her. “We’re goin’ to git married. You take some clothes and we’ll go down to California for two or three months. Kelsey and Hobe will look after things; and Tony, too, if you’ll let him. He’s blackened his good name and made you hate him to help me. Don’t worry about tomorrow. They’ll keep on comin’ just as regular as if nothin’ had ever happened. Time fixes up these hurts.” It was even as Johnny said. Three months later, basking in the sunshine of old Santa Cruz, Molly and Johnny agreed that happiness was just beginning for them. They had tried to keep their romance a secret, but the San Francisco newspapers found them out. Although the young couple acted sedately around the hotel, they realized, as brides and grooms always do, that people knew they were honeymooners. Johnny was sitting alone on the beach one evening, watching the silver-tipped waves breaking over the wide sands of Monterey Bay, when Molly stole up behind him and slipped her arms about his neck. He caught her and held her until she paid a proper forfeit with her lips. “Nice people do not kiss in public,” Molly said, teasingly. “Well, you knew my past before you married me,” Johnny retorted with a mischievous grin. “Oh, did I—there!” And Molly kissed him again. “I’ve just received a wonderful letter from Jim Kelsey. It’s full of good things about you. Jim says he’s sorry he advised you to move out of the county. Folks want to elect you to something or other.” Johnny held up his hands in mock horror. “No, sir, never again!” he declared. “I’ve got the job I was after. Nevada will have to look out for herself.” THE END End of Project Gutenberg's Smoke of the .45, by Harry Sinclair Drago