heard on his lips. "Atter all I did make a
mistake. Hit _war_ him I should hev spoke with fust--an' I reckon hit
hain't too late ter overtake him yit."

Her hands were clinging to his arms. "No, Turney," she sought to
explain. "He didn't know hit an' I didn't know hit either, when ye
left. Neither one of us wouldn't hev sought ter lie ter ye."

Bear Cat Stacy was only partly conscious of what she was saying. Before
his eyes swam red spots of fury which blinded him. If there was any
vestige of truth in his ugly suspicion that Blossom was being deceived
or played with, the responsible man, trusted friend and admired
preceptor though he had been, was Bear Cat's to kill--and must die!

So he stood, tensely strained of attitude and ashen of cheek while a
murder light kindled afresh in his eyes, and Blossom seemed the
wavering shape of a dream: the dream of every hope his life had
known--now utterly unattainable. Her fingers were clutching his taut
arms yet she seemed suddenly withdrawn from his world, leaving it void.

But she was talking earnestly, beseeching, and with the strained effort
of one striving to separate lucid voices from the chaotic din of a
delirium, he gave painstaking heed. She told the story of Jerry's
narrow escape from death and of her conducting him to a place of safe
departure. Part of it only he understood through the crashing
dissonance of tempest which still confused his brain.

The volcanic fires within him that were destined to bring earthquake
and transition were licking consumingly at the gates of his
self-control.

His whole life had been builded on a single dream: the dream of her
love--and she had promised it. For that he had fought the one enemy
that had ever mastered him, and had conquered. For that he had shaped
his life. Now he had been robbed of everything!

"Don't ye see how hit is, Turney?" she pleaded. "Hit wasn't his fault
ner hit wasn't my fault.... Hit jest had ter be! Ye sees how hit is,
don't ye?"

"Yes, I sees--how hit is!" The response came dully, then with a nearer
recovery of a natural tone he went on. "Anyways I reckon ye've got ther
right ter decide atween us. I reckon yore heart's yore own ter give or
withhold. Hit war ter me that ye pledged yoreself first. Yore first
kiss was mine--an' ye suffered me ter hope an' believe." There was a
strained pause, then he added: "But even ef I could hold yer erginst
yore free will, I wouldn't seek ter do hit."

Blossom's con