"Exactly. That's the toughest part...." Wright ended abruptly, and then
broke out fiercely: "But, by God, he'll never come back!"

Wright's slow pacing quickened and he strode from the parlor, leaving
behind him a silence eloquent of the effect of his sinister prediction.

"Sally, what did he mean?" asked Diane in a low voice.

"Steele will be killed," replied Sally, just as low-voiced.

"Killed! That magnificent fellow! Ah, I forgot. Sally, my wits are sadly
mixed. I ought to be glad if somebody kills my father's defamer. But,
oh, I can't be!

"This bloody frontier makes me sick. Papa doesn't want me to stay for
good. And no wonder. Shall I go back? I hate to show a white feather.

"Do you know, Sally, I was--a little taken with this Texas Ranger.
Miserably, I confess. He seemed so like in spirit to the grand stature
of him. How can so splendid a man be so bloody, base at heart? It's
hideous. How little we know of men! I had my dream about Vaughn Steele.
I confess because it shames me--because I hate myself!"

Next morning I awakened with a feeling that I was more like my old self.
In the experience of activity of body and mind, with a prospect that
this was merely the forerunner of great events, I came round to my own
again.

Sally was not forgotten; she had just become a sorrow. So perhaps my