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Updated: May 23, 2025
Then a voice she knew spoke from behind her: "I don't need a presentation. Miss Wetherford and I have already met." She turned to meet Ross Cavanagh, the young ranger. "How did you get here?" she asked, in wonder. "I rode across the hills; it's not far." He too was in evening dress, and as she stared at him in surprise he laughingly protested. "Please don't scrutinize this coat too closely.
Wetherford," Eleanor said, with the courtesy which was instinctive with her. "I'm mightily obliged for the chance to come," replied Lize. "I told Reddy I mean the Supervisor that you didn't want no old-timer like me, but he said 'Come along, and Lee she fixed me out, and here I am."
At the same time, you can't deceive my girl without my being named in the funeral that will follow." It was a singular place for such an exchange of confidences. Wetherford stood with his back against his pony, his face flushed, his eyes bright as though part of his youth had returned to him, while the ranger, slender, erect, and powerful, faced him with sombre glance.
You'll find the sheep just above my cabin, and the horse in my corral." "The old man didn't take the horse, eh? Well, that settles it; he's sure at one of the camps. Much obliged. Good-day." As the two officers rode away Wetherford leaned heavily on his pommel and stared at the ranger with wide eyes. His face was drawn and his lips dry. "They'll get me! My God, they'll get me!" he said.
"My dear Tom," exclaimed Miss Hinsdale, "you forget Wetherford Swift!" "I could stand it all," put forth the widower, "if it were not for Wetherford Swift." "When is Miss Sherwood coming home?" asked one of the ladies. "Why does she stay away and leave him to his sufferings?" "Us to his sufferings," substituted a bachelor. "He is just beginning; listen."
But you can forget me, consider me a dead one. I'll never bother her nor you." Cavanagh threw out an impatient hand. "It is impossible," he protested. "It's better for her and better for me that I should do so. I've made up my mind. I'm going back to my own people." Wetherford was thoroughly roused now. Some part of his old-time fire seemed to return to him.
Lee Virginia Wetherford began her return journey into the mountain West with exultation. From the moment she opened her car-window that August morning in Nebraska the plain called to her, sustained her illusions. It was all quite as big, as tawny, as she remembered it fit arena for the epic deeds in which her father had been a leader bold and free.
"Very well," replied the other, "if Miss Wetherford remains beside me; otherwise I shall rebel." He was of those small, plain men whose absurd gallantry is never taken seriously by women, and yet is something more than pretence.
Turning the flock upward again toward the higher peaks, the ranger commanded the collie to their heels, and so, having redeemed his promise, rode back to the cabin, where he found Wetherford saddled and ready for his momentous trip to the valley.
Soon after the reporter left, Cavanagh called to Swenson: "The old man can't last through another such a night as last night was, and I wish you would persuade Mrs. Wetherford and her daughter to return to the valley. They can do nothing here absolutely nothing. Please say that." Swenson repeated his commands with all the emphasis he could give them, but neither Lize nor Lee would consent to go.
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