“I know there never was and never could be any hope for me.  I—­I—­”

“Oh, you know that!” murmured the soft, strange voice.

But Kurt could not trust his ears and he had to make haste to terminate the confession into which his folly and emotion had betrayed him.  He scarcely heard her words.

“Yes....  I told you why I wanted you to know....  And now forget that—­and when I’m gone—­if you think of me ever, let it be about how much better it made me—­to have all this good luck—­to help your father and to save you!”

The dust-cloud down the road came from a string of automobiles, flying along at express speed.  Kurt saw them with relief.

“Here come the cars on your trail,” he called out.  “Your father will be in one of them.”

* * * * *

Kurt opened the door of the car and stepped down.  He could not help his importance or his pride.  Anderson, who came running between two cars that had stopped abreast, was coatless and hatless, covered with dust, pale and fire-eyed.

“Mr. Anderson, your daughter is safe—­unharmed,” Kurt assured him.

“My girl!” cried the father, huskily, and hurried to where she leaned out of her seat.

“All right, dad,” she cried, as she embraced him.  “Only a little shaky yet.”

It was affecting for Dorn to see that meeting, and through it to share something of its meaning.  Anderson’s thick neck swelled and colored, and his utterance was unintelligible.  His daughter loosened her arm from round him and turned her face toward Kurt.  Then he imagined he saw two blue stars, sweetly, strangely shining upon him.

“Father, it was our friend from the Bend,” she said.  “He happened along.”

Anderson suddenly changed to the cool, smiling man Kurt remembered.

“Howdy, Kurt?” he said, and crushed Kurt’s hand.  “What’d you do to him?”

Kurt made a motion toward the back of the car.  Then Anderson looked over the seats.  With that he opened the door and in one powerful haul he drew Ruenke sliding out into the road.  Ruenke’s bruised and bloody face was uppermost, a rather gruesome sight.  Anderson glared down upon him, while men from the other cars crowded around.  Ruenke’s eyes resembled those of a cornered rat.  Anderson’s jaw bulged, his big hands clenched.

“Bill, you throw this fellow in your car and land him in jail.  I’ll make a charge against him,” said the rancher.

“Mr. Anderson, I can save some valuable time,” interposed Kurt.  “I’ve got to return a car I broke down.  And there’s my wheat.  Will you have one of these men drive me back?”

“Sure.  But won’t you come home with us?” said Anderson.

“I’d like to.  But I must get home,” replied Kurt.  “Please let me speak a few words for your ear alone.”  He drew Anderson aside and briefly told about the eighty thousand dollars; threw back his coat to show the bulging pockets.  Then he asked Anderson’s advice.