One of his arms was remarkably efficient.  It circled her promptly and drew her up till he kissed her on the lips.  Then he presently said: 

“How much time have we wasted?”

“Oh, days!” she said, warmly blushing.  “Ever since that night on the desert.”

He shook a smiling negative.

“Wrong.  We’ve wasted all our lives.”

He kissed her again, then sank into slumber with the dusk.

CHAPTER XLVII

A TRIBUTE TO THE DESERT

Love is a healer without a rival in the world.  Van proved it—­Van and Beth, of course, together, with Gettysburg, Dave, and Napoleon to help, and Algy to furnish the sauce.  All were present, including Glen and Mrs. Dick, on the summer day of celebration when at last Van came down to dinner.  At sight of the wan, wasted figure, Algy, in his characteristic way, fought down his heathen emotions.

“What’s mallah you, Van?” he demanded, his face oddly twitching as he spoke.  “Makee evlybody sick!  That velly superstich!  Nobody’s got time cly for you come home—­makee my dinner spoil!”

He bolted for the kitchen, swearing in loving Chinese.

But with that day passed, Van soon snatched back his own.  His strength returned like a thing that was capable of gladness, lodging where it belonged.  His spirit had never been dimmed.

Bostwick, who had been detained by the sheriff, faithfully waiting till Van should “get back on his feet,” was almost relieved when his day for departure finally dawned.  He was dressed, at Van’s express desire, in the convict suit which he had worn on the day of his arrival.

Van was on hand when at last the stage, with Bostwick and Christler for passengers, was ready to pull up the street.

“Searle,” he said, “for a man of your stripe you are really to be envied.  You’re going to about the only place I know where it’s even remotely possible to be good and not be lonesome.”

Searle went.  Lawrence, perhaps more fortunate, had managed to escape.  He had fled away to Mexico, taking the bulk of his plunder.

Gettysburg, Dave, and Napoleon returned once more to the placer and sluices on the hill.  Glenmore Kent was of the party, as superintendent of the mine.  He held a degree from a school of mines, and knew even more than he had learned.  Moreover, he had saved the gold pilfered by Bostwick and McCoppet.

Then one sunny morning Van and Beth were married by a Justice of the Peace.  Algy and Mrs. Dick were the lawful witnesses of the rites.  The only nuptial present was the gift of a gold mine in the mountains to the bride.

“You see,” said Van, “you are my ‘Laughing Water’ claim—­and just about all I can handle.”

They were alone.  She came to his arms and kissed him with all the divinity and passion of her nature.  He presently took her face in his hands and gave her a rough little shake.