The last car was a private one, and
in it the three found Henderson, Bucky O'Connor, and his little
friend, the latter still garbed as a boy.
Frances was exceedingly eager to don again the clothes proper to
her sex, and she had promised herself that, once habited as she
desired, nothing could induce her ever to masquerade again. Until
she met and fell in love with the ranger she had thought nothing
of it, since it had been merely a matter of professional business
to which she had been forced. Indeed, she had sometimes enjoyed
the humor of the deception. It had lent a spice o enjoyment to a
life not crowded with it. But after she met Bucky there had grown
up in her a new sensitiveness. She wanted to be womanly, to
forget her turbid past and the shifts to which she had sometimes
been put. She had been a child; she was now a woman. She wanted
to be one of whom he need be in no way ashamed.
When their train began to pull out of the depot at Chihuahua she
drew a deep sigh of relief.
"It's good to get away from here back to the States. I'm tired of
plots and counterplots. For the rest of my life I want to be just
a woman," she said to Bucky.
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