Woman-like, she welcomed the darkness to analyze and
classify the turbid chaos of her mind. She had been swept into
sympathy with an outlaw, to give him no worse name. She had felt
herself nearer to him than to some honest men she could name who
had offered her their love.
Surely, that had been bad enough, but worse was to follow. This
discerning scamp had torn aside her veils of maiden reserve and
exposed the secret fancy of her heart, unknown before even to
herself. She had confessed love for this big-hearted sheriff and
frontiersman. Here she could plead an ulterior motive. To save
his life any deception was permissible. Yes, but where lay the
truth? With that insistent demand of the outlaw had rushed over
her a sudden wave of joy. What could it mean unless it meant what
she would not admit that it could mean? Why, the man was
impossible. He was not of her class. She had scarce seen him a
half-dozen times. Her first meeting with him had been only a
month ago. One month ago--
A remembrance flashed through her that brought her from the bed
in a barefoot search for matches. When the candle was relit he
slipped a chamoisskin pouch from her neck and from it took a
sealed envelope.
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