“You look so strange.  Russ, I wouldn’t want you to kiss me with that mouth.  Thin, shut lips—­smile!  Soften and kiss me!  Oh, you’re so cold, strange!  You chill me!”

“Dear child, I’m badly shaken,” I said.  “Don’t expect me to be natural yet.  There are things you can’t guess.  So much depended upon—­Oh, never mind!  I’ll go now.  I want to be alone, to think things out.  Let me go, Sally.”

She held me only the tighter, tried to pull my face around.  How intuitively keen women were.  She felt my distress, and that growing, stern, and powerful thing I scarcely dared to acknowledge to myself.  Strangely, then, I relaxed and faced her.  There was no use trying to foil these feminine creatures.  Every second I seemed to grow farther from her.  The swiftness of this mood of mine was my only hope.  I realized I had to get away quickly, and make up my mind after that what I intended to do.  It was an earnest, soulful, and loving pair of eyes that I met.  What did she read in mine?  Her hands left mine to slide to my shoulders, to slip behind my neck, to lock there like steel bands.  Here was my ordeal.  Was it to be as terrible as Steele’s had been?  I thought it would be, and I swore by all that was rising grim and cold in me that I would be strong.  Sally gave a little cry that cut like a blade in my heart, and then she was close-pressed upon me, her quivering breast beating against mine, her eyes, dark as night now, searching my soul.

She saw more than I knew, and with her convulsive clasp of me confirmed my half-formed fears.  Then she kissed me, kisses that had no more of girlhood or coquetry or joy or anything but woman’s passion to blind and hold and tame.  By their very intensity I sensed the tiger in me.  And it was the tiger that made her new and alluring sweetness fail of its intent.  I did not return one of her kisses.  Just one kiss given back—­and I would be lost.

“Oh, Russ, I’m your promised wife!” she whispered at my lips.  “Soon, you said!  I want it to be soon!  To-morrow!” All the subtlety, the intelligence, the cunning, the charm, the love that made up the whole of woman’s power, breathed in her pleading.  What speech known to the tongue could have given me more torture?  She chose the strongest weapon nature afforded her.  And had the calamity to consider been mine alone, I would have laughed at it and taken Sally at her word.  Then I told her in short, husky sentences what had depended on Steele:  that I loved the Ranger Service, but loved him more; that his character, his life, embodied this Service I loved; that I had ruined him; and now I would forestall him, do his work, force the issue myself or die in the attempt.

“Dearest, it’s great of you!” she cried.  “But the cost!  If you kill one of my kin I’ll—­I’ll shrink from you!  If you’re killed—­Oh, the thought is dreadful!  You’ve done your share.  Let Steele—­some other Ranger finish it.  I swear I don’t plead for my uncle or my cousin, for their sakes.  If they are vile, let them suffer.  Russ, it’s you I think of!  Oh, my pitiful little dreams!  I wanted so to surprise you with my beautiful home—­the oranges, the mossy trees, the mocking-birds.  Now you’ll never, never come!”