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Updated: May 24, 2025
Why did the face of the ranchman which had fixed itself on her memory then, because he had come on the evening of her birthday and had spoiled it for her, having taken her father away from her for an hour why did his face come to her now? What had it to do with the face of this outcast she had just left? "What is his name?" she asked at last. "Roger Lygon," he answered.
It was left to the man of the reedy lake to pay the penalty of apprehension, to suffer the effects of crime upon a nature not naturally criminal. Again and again, how many hundreds of times, had Roger Lygon seen in his sleep had even seen awake so did hallucination possess him the new cattle trail he had fired for scores of miles.
The trouble was still deep in the girl's eyes as she kissed her father, and he, with an overdone cheerfulness, wished her a good night. The man of iron had been changed into a man of straw once at least in his lifetime. Lygon found Dupont at the Forks. "Eh ben, it is all right yes?" Dupont asked eagerly as Lygon joined him. "Yes, it is all right," answered Lygon.
At sight of this millionaire with the pile of notes before him there vanished the sickening hesitation of the afternoon, of the journey with Dupont. The look of the robust, healthy financier was like acid in a wound; it maddened him. "You will know me better soon," Lygon added, his head twitching with excitement. Henderley recognised him now.
Lygon, weapon in hand and bleeding freely, waited for him to rise and make for the canoe again. Ten, twenty, fifty seconds passed. Dupont did not rise. A minute went by, and still there was no stir, no sign. Dupont would never rise again. In his wild rage he had burst a blood-vessel on the brain. Lygon bound up his reeking wound as best he could. He did it calmly, whispering to himself the while.
A sharp suspicion was in her heart that somehow or other her father was responsible for this man's degradation and ruin. She looked Lygon in the eyes. "Did you want to see me?" she asked.
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