That was the shadowy portent flitting in the dark maze of my mind.

At the ranch dancing had been resumed.  There might never have been any interruption of the gaiety.  I found Miss Sampson on the lookout for me and she searched my face with eyes that silenced my one last qualm of conscience.

“Let’s go out in the patio,” I suggested.  “I don’t want any one to hear what I say.”

Outside in the starlight she looked white and very beautiful.  I felt her tremble.  Perhaps my gravity presaged the worst.  So it did in one way—­poor Vaughn!

“I went down to Steele’s ’dobe, the little place where he lives.”  I began, weighing my words.  “He let me in—­was surprised.  He had been shot high in the shoulder, not a dangerous wound.  I bandaged it for him.  He was grateful—­said he had no friends.”

“Poor fellow!  Oh, I’m glad it—­it isn’t bad,” said Miss Sampson.  Something glistened in her eyes.

“He looked strange, sort of forlorn.  I think your words—­what you said hurt him more than the bullet.  I’m sure of that, Miss Sampson.”

“Oh, I saw that myself!  I was furious.  But I—­I meant what I said.”

“You wronged Steele.  I happen to know.  I know his record along the Rio Grande.  It’s scarcely my place, Miss Sampson, to tell you what you’ll find out for yourself, sooner or later.”

“What shall I find out?” she demanded.

“I’ve said enough.”

“No.  You mean my father and cousin George are misinformed or wrong about Steele?  I’ve feared it this last hour.  It was his look.  That pierced me.  Oh, I’d hate to be unjust.  You say I wronged him, Russ?  Then you take sides with him against my father?”

“Yes,” I replied very low.

She was keenly hurt and seemed, despite an effort, to shrink from me.

“It’s only natural you should fight for your father,” I went on.  “Perhaps you don’t understand.  He has ruled here for long.  He’s been—­well, let’s say, easy with the evil-doers.  But times are changing.  He opposed the Ranger idea, which is also natural, I suppose.  Still, he’s wrong about Steele, terribly wrong, and it means trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t know what to believe!”

“It might be well for you to think things out for yourself.”

“Russ, I feel as though I couldn’t.  I can’t make head or tail of life out here.  My father seems so strange.  Though, of course, I’ve only seen him twice a year since I was a little girl.  He has two sides to him.  When I come upon that strange side, the one I never knew, he’s like a man I never saw.

“I want to be a good and loving daughter.  I want to help him fight his battles.  But he doesn’t—­he doesn’t satisfy me.  He’s grown impatient and wants me to go back to Louisiana.  That gives me a feeling of mystery.  Oh, it’s all mystery!”

“True, you’re right,” I replied, my heart aching for her.  “It’s all mystery—­and trouble for you, too.  Perhaps you’d do well to go home.”