He stepped to the door of the inner office, and opened it.  From the room emerged Dillon and his daughter.  The Texan looked at Arlie in blank amazement.

“This young lady says she was present, lieutenant, and knows who fired the shot that killed Faulkner.”

The ranger saw only Arlie.  His gaze was full of deep reproach.  “You came down here to save me,” he said, in the manner of one stating a fact.

“Why shouldn’t I?  Ought I to have let you suffer for me?  Did you think I was so base?”

“You oughtn’t to have done it.  You have brought trouble on yourself.”

Her eyes glowed with deep fires.  “I don’t care.  I have done what was right.  Did you think dad and I would sit still and let you pay forfeit for us?”

The lieutenant’s spirits rejoiced at the thing she had done, but his mind could not forget what she must go through.

“I’m glad and I’m sorry,” he said simply.

Hilliard came, smiling, to relieve the situation.  “I’ve got a piece of good news for both of you.  Two of the boys that were in that shooting scrap three miles from town came to my office the other day and admitted that they attacked you.  It got noised around that there was a girl in it, and they were anxious to have the thing dropped.  I don’t think either of you need worry about it any more.”

Dillon gave a shout.  “Glory, hallelujah!” He had been much troubled, and his relief shone on his face.  “I say, gentlemen, that’s the best news I’ve heard in twenty years.  Let’s go celebrate it with just one.”

Brandt and Hilliard joined him, but the Texan lingered.

“I reckon I’ll join you later, gentlemen,” he said.

While their footsteps died away he looked steadily at Arlie.  Her eyes met his and held fast.  Beneath the olive of her cheeks, a color began to glow.

He held out both his hands.  The light in his eyes softened, transfigured his hard face.  “You can’t help it, honey.  It may not be what you would have chosen, but it has got to be.  You’re mine.”

Almost beneath her breath she spoke.  “You forgot—­ the other girl.”

“What other girl?  There is none—­ never was one.”

“The girl in the picture.”

His eyes opened wide.  “Good gracious!  She’s been married three months to a friend of mine.  Larry Neill his name is.”

“And she isn’t your sweetheart at all?  Never was?”

“I don’t reckon she ever was.  Neill took that picture himself.  We were laughing, because I had just been guying them about how quick they got engaged.  She was saying I’d be engaged myself before six months.  And I am.  Ain’t I?”

She came to him slowly—­ first, the little outstretched hands, and then the soft, supple, resilient body.  Slowly, too, her sweet reluctant lips came round to meet his.

“Yes, Steve, I’m yours.  I think I always have been, even before I knew you.”