“When we went to Cheyenne, the old man was lying at the point of death; so I told Anita that we would not be married for a few days, until we saw how matters were going to shape.  If he died, we would be married secretly, and she would return to your roof until I could get possession of my inheritance, when we would go to some other part of the country to live.  If he recovered, I would marry her anyway, and let the old man go to Tophet with his money-bags.  I see now how I was in the wrong.

“Well, that very day, before your arrival, the old man himself pounced down upon us, and cursed me up hill and down, for my treachery, and forthwith struck me out from his will.  I immediately sent for a chaplain, and was married to Anita.  I then went up to see the old man and find if I could not effect a compromise with him.

“He told me if I would go with him before Anita and swear that she was not legally my wife, and that I would never live with her, he would again alter his will in my favor.

“Knowing that that would make no difference, so far as the law was concerned, I sent Anita a note apprising her of what was coming, and stating that she had best return to you until the old man should die, when I would come for her.  Subsequently I went before her in company with the old man and swore as I had promised to do, and when I departed she was weeping bitterly, but I naturally supposed it was sham grief.  A month later, on his death-bed, the old trader showed me the letter I had sent her, and I realized that not only was my little game up, but that I had cheated myself out of a love that was true.  I was left entirely out of the will, and ever since I have bitterly cursed the day that tempted me to try to win gold and love at the same time.  Here, Edward Harris,” and the young man drew a packet of papers from inside his pocket, “are two certificates of my marriage, one for Anita, and one for myself.  You see now, that, although mine has been a grievous error, no dishonor is coupled with your sister’s name.”

Ned Harris took one of the documents and glanced over it, the expression on his face softening.  A moment later he turned and grasped McKenzie’s hand.

“God bless you, old boy!” he said, huskily.  “I am the one who has erred, and if you have it in your heart to forgive me, try and do so.  I do not expect much quarter in this world, you know.  There is Anita; take her, if she will come to you, and may God shower his eternal blessings upon you both!”

McKenzie turned around with open arms, and Anita flew to his embrace with a low glad cry.  There was not a dry eye in the room.

There was an impatient surging of the crowd outside; Dick saw that his men were longing for the sport ahead; so he resumed his story: 

“There is not much more to add,” he said, after a moment’s thought.  “I fled into the Black Hills when the first whispers of gold got afloat, and chancing upon this valley, I built us a home here, wherein to live away the rest of our lives.