The opening of that big basket was an event.  Poor, starved little beggars!  I went out on the porch to get away from them.  My feelings seemed too easily aroused.  Hard indeed would it have gone with Jim Hoden’s slayer if I could have laid my eyes on him then.  However, Miss Sampson and Sally, after the nature of tender and practical girls, did not appear to take the sad situation to heart.  The havoc had already been wrought in that household.  The needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action, and these the girls furnished with a spirit that did me good.

“Mrs. Hoden, who dressed this baby?” presently asked Miss Sampson.  I peeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on her knees.  That sight, if any other was needed, completed my full and splendid estimate of Diane Sampson.

“Mr. Steele,” replied Mrs. Hoden.

“Mr. Steele!” exclaimed Miss Sampson.

“Yes; he’s taken care of us all since—­since—­” Mrs. Hoden choked.

“Oh, so you’ve had no help but his,” replied Miss Sampson hastily.  “No women?  Too bad!  I’ll send someone, Mrs. Hoden, and I’ll come myself.”

“It’ll be good of you,” went on the older woman.  “You see, Jim had few friends—­that is, right in town.  And they’ve been afraid to help us—­afraid they’d get what poor Jim—­”

“That’s awful!” burst out Miss Sampson passionately.  “A brave lot of friends!  Mrs. Hoden, don’t you worry any more.  We’ll take care of you.  Here, Sally help me.  Whatever is the matter with baby’s dress?” Manifestly Miss Sampson had some difficulty in subduing her emotion.

“Why, it’s on hind side before,” declared Sally.  “I guess Mr. Steele hasn’t dressed many babies.”

“He did the best he could,” said Mrs. Hoden.  “Lord only knows what would have become of us!  He brought your cowboy, Russ, who’s been very good too.”

“Mr. Steele, then is—­is something more than a Ranger?” queried Miss Sampson, with a little break in her voice.

“He’s more than I can tell,” replied Mrs. Hoden.  “He buried Jim.  He paid our debts.  He fetched us here.  He bought food for us.  He cooked for us and fed us.  He washed and dressed the baby.  He sat with me the first two nights after Jim’s death, when I thought I’d die myself.

“He’s so kind, so gentle, so patient.  He has kept me up just by being near.  Sometimes I’d wake from a doze an’, seeing him there, I’d know how false were all these tales Jim heard about him and believed at first.  Why, he plays with the children just—­just like any good man might.  When he has the baby up I just can’t believe he’s a bloody gunman, as they say.

“He’s good, but he isn’t happy.  He has such sad eyes.  He looks far off sometimes when the children climb round him.  They love him.  I think he must have loved some woman.  His life is sad.  Nobody need tell me—­he sees the good in things.  Once he said somebody had to be a Ranger.  Well, I say, thank God for a Ranger like him!”