But before he could utter another single word of the cowardly lie, West sprang at him and dragged him from the horse. Grasping the rope firmly he drew the resisting man directly toward the fire and flung him mercilessly to the ground. With one hand he snatched a red-hot iron from the fire; with the other he tore open the man’s shirt and despite the restraining hold of a woman’s hand upon his arm he seared the bared breast with the scorching brand! “You dog,” he roared, “read that burning brand! Know that _HW_ means Honor Women! Honor! Learn if you can what it means! When again you try to destroy a woman’s life—let your fingers seek this everlasting seal; and for God’s sake, if not your own and her’s, let the purport of the brand restrain you!” Without another word he loosened the man, placed him again in the saddle and turned the horse’s head toward the east where already a great, round moon lighted the way. West gave the horse a cut with the quirt and soon horse and man were out of sight. In an unconscious heap upon the ground lay Bess, where she had fallen as the smoke from the burning flesh filled her nostrils. West stood gazing down at the white face and pulseless temples. His own heart had scarcely resumed its beating and was still pounding with choking throbs in his throat. All the love of his heart increased a thousand-fold, all the hopelessness of his love grew even more hopeless as the savagery of his recent work forced itself into his soul. With a cry of despair he knelt and lifted the limp form within his arms. “Oh, if you were only dead! If I too might die now with you so near me! You are dead—dead to me—I know! Good-bye!” he said as he tenderly imprinted a kiss upon the silent lips. Slowly her large, brown eyes opened and gazed understandingly into the face so near her own. Then a look of horror crept into them, and with a gasp she regained her senses. Thrusting out her hands, she repulsed the solicitous man. “You—_Indian_,” she cried, with abhorrence. With difficulty she arose and mounted her horse. West did not move nor offer her the slightest assistance as he watched her ride away toward camp. Long he stood, silent and immovable, gazing into the moon upon whose face he seemed to see in scarlet letters, _The Brand_. CHAPTER XXX “WHEN YOU CAN FORGET” It was nearly a month before Bess Fletcher fully recovered from the shock she had experienced. She was now ready to go to New York to rejoin her brother. Whenever she thought of leaving the ranch, of going away from Mrs. West, giving up her horse, of tearing herself away from the wonderful mountains, the lake and all its beloved haunts, it seemed as if she could not go. Her bitterness toward Henry West had grown less as she analyzed his motive, and from his mother learned what had really prompted him in his impulsive act. She had not seen him during the weeks which followed the tragedy, but now that she was leaving she felt that she must speak to him and say good-bye.