Some one stepped into the doorway and shut out the sunlight. Her questioning glance lifted, to meet the heavy frown of the man to whom she was engaged. At sight of him the sunshine was extinguished from her face, just as it had seemed to be from the room when his broad shoulders had filled the opening. "You--Chad!" she cried. "I thought--" "Well, I ain't. I'm here," he broke in roughly. "And you don't look glad to death to see me either." Her gentle eyes reproached him. "You're always welcome. You know that." His harsh face softened a little as he stepped forward and kissed her. "Maybe I do, but maybe I like to hear you say so. Girl, I've come to take you with me." "With you? Where?" Alarm was in the eyes that flashed to meet his. "To Noche Buena." "But--what for?" "Ain't it reason enough that I want you to go? We can get married at Arixico to-night." She broke into protest disjointed and a little incoherent. "You promised me that--that I could have all the time I wanted. You said--you said--" "That was when I was here to look after you. But I'll be staying in Sonora quite a while the way my business affairs look. I need you--and what's the sense of waiting, anyhow?" "No--no! I don't want to--not now. Please don't ask it, Chad, I--I don't want to get married--yet." Sobs began to choke up her voice. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I don't see why you don't," he insisted sullenly. "Ain't trying to back out, are you?" "No, but--" "You better not," he retorted with a threatening look. "I ain't the kind of man it's safe to jilt." "You promised me all the time I wanted," she repeated. "You wouldn't hurry me. That was what you said," she sobbed, breaking down suddenly. "All right," he conceded ungraciously. "I'm not forcing you to marry me now. But I thought it best, seeing as I've got to ask you to go with me, anyhow. O' course I can put you in charge of Carmen to chaperon you. She's the woman that keeps house for Pasquale. But it kinder seemed to me it would be better if you went as my wife. Then I could take care of you." "Go with you--now? What do you mean, Chad?" "It's this fellow Yeager. He's shot himself, and he wants to see you before he dies." From his pocket he took the note Steve had written to Threewit and handed it to Ruth. "You don't have to go, but I hate to turn down a fellow when he's all in and ready to quit the game." She read the note, her face like chalk. Not for a moment did she doubt that the cowpuncher had written it. Even if her mind had harbored any vague suspicions one line in the letter would have swept them away. _Bust up that marriage if you can._ She knew to what marriage he referred. Nobody but Yeager could have written those words. "But he says--he says"--her voice shook, but she forced herself to go on--"that this letter isn't to be sent until his death."