b-bout the Utes
risin'? Any talk of it down the river?"

"Some. The same old stuff. I've been hearin' it for a year."

"About ripe, looks like. This business of Houck ain't gonna help any.
There's a big bunch of 'em over there in the hills now. They've been
runnin' off stock from outlying ranches."

"Sho! The Indians are tamed. They'll never go on the warpath again,
Blister."

"J-just once more, an' right soon now."

The justice gave his reasons for thinking so, while Bob listened rather
inattentively. The boy wanted to ask him about June, but he remembered
what his fat friend had told him last time he mentioned her to him. He
was still extremely sensitive about his failure to protect his girl-wife
and he did not want to lay himself open to snubs.

Bob sauntered from the office, and before he had walked a dozen steps
came face to face with June. She was coming out of a grocery with some
packages in her arms. The color flooded her dusky cheeks. She looked at
him, startled, like a fawn poised for flight.

During the half-year since he had seen her June had been transformed. She
had learned the value of clothes. No longer did she wear a shapeless sack
for a dress. Her shoes were small and shapely, her black hair neatly
brushed and coiffed. The months had softened and developed the lines of
the girlish figure. Kindness and friendliness had vitalized the
expression of the face and banished its sullenness. The dark eyes, with
just a hint of wistful appeal, were very lovely.

Both of them were taken unawares. Neither knew what to do or say. After
the first instant of awkwardness June moved forward and passed him
silently.

Bob went down the street, seeing nothing. His pulses trembled with
excitement. This charming girl was his wife, or at least she once had
been for an hour. She had sworn to love, honor, and obey him. There had
been a moment in the twilight when they had come together to the verge of
something divinely sweet and wonderful, when they had gazed into each
other's eyes and had looked across the boundary of the promised land.

If he had only kept the faith with her! If he had stood by her in the
hour of her great need! The bitterness of his failure ate into the soul
of the range-rider as it had done already a thousand times. It did not
matter what he did. He could never atone for the desertion on their
wedding day. The horrible fact was written in blood. It could not be
erased. Forever it would have to