Again the man drew a long breath; but even thereafter his voice trembled.

“Let me decide for you then, Bess,” he said.

“You?” The girl inspected him slowly through level eyes.  “By what right should you be permitted to decide?”

The man returned her look.  Of a sudden he had become calm.  His eyes were steady.  Deep down in his consciousness he realised that he would win, that the moment was his moment.

“The right is mine because I love you, Bess Landor,” he said simply.

“Love me, after what you have done?”

“Yes.  I have been mad—­and done mad things.  But I’ve discovered my fault.  That’s why I’ve come back; to tell you so—­and to make amends.”

Intensely, desperately intensely, the girl continued her look; but the man was master of himself now, sure of himself, so sure that he voiced a challenge.

“And you, Bess Landor, love me.  In spite of the fact that you ran away, in spite of the fact that you are married, you love me!”

Into the girl’s brown face there crept a trace of colour; her lips parted, but she said no word.

“You can’t deny it,” exulted the man.  “You can’t—­because it is true.”

A moment longer they sat so, motionless; then for a second time that day Clayton Craig did a wise thing, inspiration wise.  While yet he was master of the situation, while yet the time was his, he arose.

“I’m going now, Bess,” he said, “but I’ll come again.”  He looked at her deeply, meaningly.  “I’ve said all there is to say, for I’ve told you that I love you.  Good-bye for now, and remember this:  If I’ve stolen your happiness, I’ll give it all back.  As God is my witness, I’ll give it all back with interest.”  Swiftly, before she could answer, he turned away and strode toward the impatient thoroughbred.  Equally swiftly he undid the tie strap and mounted.  Without another word, or a backward glance, he rode away; the galloping hoofs of his mount muffled in the damp spring earth.

Equally silent, the girl sat looking after him.  She did not move.  She did not make a sound.  Not until the horse turned in at the C-C ranch house, until the buildings hid the owner from view, did her eyes leave him.  Then, as if compelled by an instinct, she looked away over the prairie, away where the last time she had glanced a tiny black dot stood out against the intense blue sky.  But look as she might she could not find it.  It was there no more.  It had been for long; but now was not.  Clean as though drawn by a crayon on a freshly washed blackboard, the unbroken horizon line stretched out in a great circle before her eyes.  With no watcher save the grey wolf staring forth from the stable doorway, she was alone with her thoughts.

CHAPTER XVI

THE RECKONING

It was later than usual when How Landor returned that evening, and as he came up the path that led from the stable, he shuffled his feet as one unconsciously will when very weary.  He was wearing his ready-made clothes and starched collar; but the trousers were deplorably baggy at the knees from much riding, and his linen and polished shoes were soiled with the dust of the prairie.