"I suppose there is something I ought to say to you, Cousin Ruth," Jack continued quietly. "I ought to tell you and Jim that I am sorry that I went off to the round-up against your wishes. Of course I am sorry, it seems almost foolish for me to speak of it. I don't want to ask you to forgive me, because of course I shall never think of forgiving myself for losing Olive, no matter how long I live." Ruth took hold of Jack's cold fingers. Jack spoke with perfect self-control, but Ruth began dimly to understand something of her disposition. All at once, Jack's calmness gave way. She began to sob, as though she were torn in pieces. "Oh, Cousin Ruth, won't Olive come back ever? I used to think that having to give up our ranch would be the most dreadful thing that could happen, but now I don't. Olive was so gentle and so timid. I thought I was going to protect and take care of her as though she were Frieda, but instead of that it was I who led her into danger." Ruth and Jack talked quietly after this, until Jean and Frieda came home. Ruth had entirely lost her school-teacher manner and forgot to preach. Jack's reserve having once broken down, she told Ruth all she had suffered in silence for the past few weeks. Though Ruth and Jack might have many conflicts of their two strong wills in the future, they would never misunderstand each other so completely as they had done in the past. [Illustration: SOMEONE CREPT UP BEHIND HER WITH THE STEALTHINESS POSSIBLE ONLY TO AN INDIAN.] CHAPTER XX. OLIVE. ON the day when Jacqueline Ralston's pony ran away so unexpectedly, and Frank Kent commanded Olive to get out of danger, Olive had watched them both for a few minutes in a kind of daze. She had then moved slowly backward, keeping them both in sight, until she dimly saw Jack's leap from her horse. She then continued alone along the trail which she and Jack had traveled that morning, until the men and the cattle at the round-up were entirely out of sight, supposing that Frank and Jack would follow her as soon as they crossed the field. Olive stopped her horse finally. She was not looking about her, nor thinking of anything in particular except her joy in Jack's safety. She heard no sound. Someone crept up behind her with the stealthiness possible only to an Indian. Suddenly Olive felt her hands drawn behind her and she was forcibly dragged from her horse. Two or three times only she cried for help, but before she could do more, a handkerchief was tied tightly about her lips and she was half dragged and half carried to one of the very tents which she and Jack had passed that morning on their way to the fateful round-up. Old Laska sat stolidly smoking a pipe. "Ugh," she grunted, but her small, beady eyes flashed like coals in the sunlight.