he
cried, pressing her to him, "I never felt so happy over anything in my
life as the fact that Julian Marbolt is not your father."

"But the shame of it!" cried the girl, imagining that her lover had
not fully understood.

"Shame? Shame?" he cried, holding her still tighter in his arms.
"Never let me hear that word on your lips again. You are the truest,
sweetest, simplest child in the world. You are mine, Danny. My very
own. And I tell you right here that I've won you and will hold you to
my last dying day."

Now she was kneeling beside him with her face pillowed on his breast,
sobbing in the joy of her relief and happiness. And Tresler kissed her
softly, pressing his cheek many times against the silky curls that
wreathed about her head. Then, after a while, he sat looking out of
the window with a hard, unyielding stare. Weak as he was, he was ready
to do battle with all his might for this child nestling so trustfully
in his arms.

CHAPTER XIX

HOT UPON THE TRAIL

The most welcome thing that had happened to the men on the ranch for
many a long day was Tresler's return to the bunkhouse. He was hailed
with acclamation. Though he had found it hard to part with Diane under
the doubtful circumstances, there was some compensation, certainly
gratification, in the whole-hearted welcome of his rough comrades. It
was not the effusion they displayed, but the deliberateness of their
reception of him, that indexed their true feelings. Teddy Jinks
refused to serve out the supper hash until Tresler had all he
required. Lew Cawley washed out a plate for him, as a special favor;
and Raw Harris, pessimist as he was, and who had a way of displaying
the fact in all the little every-day matters of life, cleaned and
sharpened a knife for him by prodding it up to the hilt in the
hard-beaten earth, and cleaned the prongs of a fork with the edge of
his buckskin shirt. But he could not thus outrage his principles
without excusing himself, which he did, to the effect that he guessed
"invalid fellers need onusual feedin'." Jacob Smith, whose habit it
was to take his evening meals seated at the foot of the upright log
which served as part of the door casing, and which contact with his
broad, buckskin-covered shoulders had polished till it shone
resplendently, renounced his coveted position in the invalid's favor.
Tresler was a guest of honor, for whom, on this one occasion at least,
nothing was too good. And in this position Ari