Two more telegrams were flashed westward from Ruth that night. One was to McCoy, the second to Tim Flanders. The message to Flanders laid upon him the duty of notifying the families of the paroled men. Early next morning Ruth sent still another telegram. It was addressed to Jennings, and gave him instructions that made him get busy at once looking after horses, saddles, pack saddles, a tent, and other camping outfit. Later in the day Rowan, junior, and his mother entrained for Rawlins. The adventure before her tremendously intrigued the interest of the young wife. It was immensely more significant than her marriage had been. All the threads of her life for years had been converging toward it. CHAPTER XXXIV A HONEYMOON IN THE HILLS SAM YERBY strolled up and down the station platform. His wife clung to him on one side and on the other trotted Boy, hand in hand with his new-found father. Outwardly Rogers and Cole took their good fortune philosophically, but the Texan could not hide his delight at Missie, Boy, and freedom. The habits of his former life began to reassert themselves. His cheek bulged with a chew of tobacco. As the old cowman grinned jauntily at Ruth, who had come down to see the party off, he chirruped out a stanza of a range song: “Goin’ back to town to draw my money, Goin’ back home for to see my honey. “Only I don’t have to go home to see her. She done come to see the old man. I tell you it’s great, Miss Ruth. This air now; Lordee, I jus’ gulp it down! But I’ll bet it ain’t a circumstance to that on the Fryingpan. I’m sure honin’ to hit the old trails again.” Ruth smiled through her tears. “Good days ahead, Mr. Yerby, for all of us. We know just how you feel, don’t we, Missie?” “When do you-all expect Mac to get in?” “Some time this afternoon. Here comes your train. We’ll see you soon.” After the train had gone Ruth walked back to the hotel where she was staying. Governor McDowell had given a complete pardon to all four of the cattlemen, but Rowan had not yet reached town from the distant road camp where he was working. The clerk handed the young woman a letter. It was from Jennings and was postmarked at a small town seventy miles farther up the line. Ruth reclaimed the baby from the nursemaid with whom she had left him and went up to her room. A man came swinging with crisp step along the dark corridor. She would have known that stride anywhere. A wave of emotion crashed through her. In another moment she was in his arms. “Oh, Rowan—at last!” she cried.