Three days later ’Lindy wakened to find a broad ribbon of sunshine across the floor of the cabin.  Her husband had not come home at all the night before.  She shivered with self-pity and dressed slowly.  Already she knew that her life had gone to wreck, that it would be impossible to live with Dave Roush and hold her self-respect.

But she had cut herself off from retreat.  All of her friends belonged to the Clanton faction and they would not want to have anything to do with her.  She had no home now but this, no refuge against the neglect and insults of this man with whom she had elected to go through life.  To her mind came the verdict of old Nance Cunningham on the imprudent marriage of another girl:  “Randy’s done made her bed; I reckon she’s got to lie on it.”

A voice hailed the cabin from outside.  She went to the door.  Ranse Roush and the red-haired preacher had ridden into the clearing and were dismounting.  They had with them a led horse.

“Fix up some breakfast,” ordered Ranse.

The young wife flushed.  She resented his tone and his manner.  Like Dave, he too assumed that she had come to be a drudge for the whole drunken clan, a creature to be sneered at and despised.

Silently she cooked a meal for the men.  The girl was past tears.  She had wept herself out.

While they ate the men told of her father’s fury when he had discovered the elopement, of how he had gone down to the mill and cast her off with a father’s curse, renouncing all relationship with her forever.  It was a jest that held for them a great savor.  They made sport of him and of the other Clantons till she could keep still no longer.

“I won’t stand this!  I don’t have to!  Where’s Dave?” she demanded, eyes flashing with contempt and anger.

Ranse grinned, then turned to his companion with simulated perplexity.  “Where is Dave, Brother Hugh?”

“Damfino,” replied the red-headed man, and the girl could see that he was gloating over her.  “Last night he was at a dance on God Forgotten Crick.  Dave’s soft on a widow up there, you know.”

The color ebbed from the face of the wife.  One of her hands clutched at the back of a chair till the knuckles stood out white and bloodless.  Her eyes fastened with a growing horror upon those of the red-headed man.  She had come to the edge of an awful discovery.

“You’re no preacher.  Who are you?”

“Me?” His smile was cruel as death.  “You done guessed it, sister.  I’m Hugh Roush—­Dave’s brother.”

“An’—­an’—­my marriage was all a lie?”

“Did ye think Dave Roush would marry a Clanton?  He’s a bad lot, Dave is, but he ain’t come that low yet.”

For the first and last time in her life ’Lindy fainted.

Presently she floated back to consciousness and the despair of a soul mortally stricken.  She saw it all now.  The lies of Dave Roush had enticed her into a trap.  He had been working for revenge against the family he hated, especially against brave old Clay Clanton who had killed two of his kin within the year.  With the craft inherited from savage ancestors he had sent a wound more deadly than any rifle bullet could carry.  The Clantons were proud folks, and he had dragged their pride in the mud.