“Did you get any of them?”

“Didn’t stay to see,” he chuckled.  “Had to hoof it to Linrock, and it’s a good long walk.”

“Been to your ’dobe yet to-night?”

“I slipped in at the back.  Russ, it bothered me some to make sure no one was laying for me in the dark.”

“You’ll have to get a safer place.  Why not take to the open every night?”

“Russ, that’s well enough on a trail.  But I need grub, and I’ve got to have a few comforts.  I’ll risk the ’dobe yet a little.”

Then I narrated all that I had seen and done and heard during his absence, holding back one thing.  What I did tell him sobered him at once, brought the quiet, somber mood, the thoughtful air.

“So that’s all.  Well, it’s enough.”

“All pertaining to our job, Vaughn,” I replied.  “The rest is sentiment, perhaps.  I had a pretty bad case of moons over the little Langdon girl.  But we quarreled.  And it’s ended now.  Just as well, too, because if she’d....”

“Russ, did you honestly care for her?  The real thing, I mean?”

“I—­I’m afraid so.  I’m sort of hurt inside.  But, hell!  There’s one thing sure, a love affair might have hindered me, made me soft.  I’m glad it’s over.”

He said no more, but his big hand pressing on my knee told me of his sympathy, another indication that there was nothing wanting in this Ranger.

“The other thing concerns you,” I went on, somehow reluctant now to tell this.  “You remember how I heard Wright making you out vile to Miss Sampson?  Swore you’d never come back?  Well, after he had gone, when Sally said he’d meant you’d be killed, Miss Sampson felt bad about it.  She said she ought to be glad if someone killed you, but she couldn’t be.  She called you a bloody ruffian, yet she didn’t want you shot.

“She said some things about the difference between your hideous character and your splendid stature.  Called you a magnificent fellow—­that was it.  Well, then she choked up and confessed something to Sally in shame and disgrace.”

“Shame—­disgrace?” echoed Steele, greatly interested.  “What?”

“She confessed she had been taken with you—­had her little dream about you.  And she hated herself for it.”

Never, I thought, would I forget Vaughn Steele’s eyes.  It did not matter that it was dark; I saw the fixed gleam, then the leaping, shadowy light.

“Did she say that?” His voice was not quite steady.  “Wonderful!  Even if it only lasted a minute!  She might—­we might—­If it wasn’t for this hellish job!  Russ, has it dawned on you yet, what I’ve got to do to Diane Sampson?”

“Yes,” I replied.  “Vaughn, you haven’t gone sweet on her?”

What else could I make of that terrible thing in his eyes?  He did not reply to that at all.  I thought my arm would break in his clutch.

“You said you knew what I’ve got to do to Diane Sampson,” he repeated hoarsely.