The man did not answer, he scarcely heard.  Almost as by a miracle, the last obstacle had been removed from his way.  He had counted upon blindness, the unsuspicion of perfect confidence; but a passive, conscious conformity such as this—­The thing was unbelievable, providential, too unnaturally good to last.  The present was a strategic moment, the time for immediate, irrevocable action, ere there came a change of heart.  It had not been a part of Clayton Craig’s plans to permit a meeting between himself and the Indian.  As a matter of fact he had taken elaborate, and, as it proved, unnecessary precautions to avoid such a consummation.  Even now, the necessity passed, he did not alter his plans.  Not that he was afraid of the red man.  He had proven to himself by an incontrovertible process of reasoning that such was not the case.  It was merely to avoid unpleasantness for himself and for the girl—­particularly for the latter.  Moreover, no possible object could be gained by such a meeting.  Things were as they were and inevitable.  He merely decided to hasten the move.  It was the forming of this decision that had held him silent.  It was under its influence that he spoke.

“When is it to be, Bess,” he asked abruptly, “the final break, I mean?”

“It has already been, I tell you.  It’s all over.”

“The new life, then,” guided the man.  “You can’t go on this way any longer.  It’s intolerable for both of us.”

“Yes,” dully, “it’s intolerable for all of us.”

Craig arose and, walking to the door, looked out.  In advance he had imagined that the actual move, when all was ready, would be easy.  Now that the time had really arrived, he found it strangely difficult.  He hardly knew how to begin.

“Bess.”  Of a sudden he had returned swiftly and, very erect, very dominant, stood looking down at her.  “Bess,” repeated, “we’ve avoided the obvious long enough, too long.  As I said, you’ve succeeded in keeping me at arm’s length all the last week; but I won’t be denied any longer.  I’m willing to take all the blame of the past, and all the responsibility of the future.  I love you, Bess.  I’ve told you that before, but I repeat it now.  I want you to go away with me, away from this God-cursed land that’s driving us both mad—­at least leave for a time.  After a while, when we both feel different, we can come back if we wish; but for the present—­I can’t stand this uncertainty another week, another day.”  He paused for breath, came a step nearer.

“Your marrying this Indian was a hideous mistake,” he rushed on; “but we can’t help that now.  All we can do is to get away and forget it.”  He cleared his throat needlessly.  “It’s this getting away that I’ve arranged for since I’ve been here.  I’ve not been entirely idle the last week, and every detail is complete.  There are three relays of horses waiting between here and the railroad.  One team is all ready at the ranch house the minute I give the signal.  They’ll