g. "I've known for a
long time that you were here. But I couldn't let you know. Mother and
Ruth--and Shorty," he repeated; and then, in a lower voice, that trailed
off into a murmur as he closed his eyes and appeared to be falling
asleep: "Good old Shorty!"

Ruth and Mrs. Lawler were clasped in each other's arms, joy unutterable
in their eyes. It was some time before they turned, to look at Shorty.

The tawny giant was standing near the foot of the bed. His lips were
quivering, his eyes were wet, his whole body seemed to be racked with
emotion that he could not suppress. He was making an heroic effort,
though--an effort that made the cords of his neck stand out lividly;
that swelled his muscles into knotty bunches.

"Damn it!" he growled as he turned his head away from Ruth and Mrs.
Lawler, so that they might not see what was reflected there; "there
ain't no sense of him gettin' mush-headed about it!"

CHAPTER XXXV

HAUNTING MEMORIES

It was many days before Lawler was strong enough to ride Red King to the
Circle L; and many more days joined the regiments that have marched into
the ages, before he forgot what he saw in Blackburn's eyes when one day,
soon after his return to the Circle L, he listened to the range boss
relate the story of the fight on the plains. Blackburn's cynical eyes
had changed expression. They had become tragic, strained, as though the
man was striving to blot out mental pictures that were detailed
there--pictures that memory persisted in drawing.

He rode with Lawler to the scene of the fight, and showed him where the
Circle L outfit had brought the rustlers to bay.

"After Shorty left," said Blackburn; "me insistin' on him goin', an' him
blackguardin' me for sendin' him, there was a little time when nothin'
happened. Then the day broke, an' everything seemed to happen at once.

"They rushed us, Lawler. There was more of 'em than there was of us, an'
they circled around us, howlin' an' shootin' like Indians. They got us
between 'em. But we fought 'em--Lawler, we fought 'em till there wasn't
a man left standing. But there was too many of 'em. We planted
twenty--afterward. But about that number got away. I was hit sort of
hard, but I watched 'em scutterin' towards Kinney's canon. They'd been
gone some time when Caldwell's outfit--an' Shorty--come up. Caldwell's
outfit lit out after 'em; but Caldwell's men had rode pretty hard
gettin' to us, an' it wasn't no go. Sigmund's men, though