nd
she never realized about his mother and me. We've talked awful open,
but that was not pleasant to speak of, and the whole country knew it so
long--and I never thought! She don't blame me. She says she understands;
but she says I have a wife livin'."

"That is nonsense," I declared.

"Yu' mustn't say that," said he. "She don't claim she's a wife, either.
She just shakes her head when I asked her why she feels so. It must be
different to you and me from the way it seems to her. I don't see her
view; maybe I never can see it; but she's made me feel she has it, and
that she's honest, and loves me true--" His voice broke for a moment.
"She said she'd wait."

"You can't have a marriage broken that was never tied," I said. "But
perhaps Governor Barker or Judge Henry--"

"No," said the cow-puncher. "Law couldn't fool her. She's thinking of
something back of law. She said she'd wait--always. And when I took it
in that this was all over and done, and when I thought of my ranch and
the chickens--well, I couldn't think of things at all, and I came and
waked Billy to clear out and quit."

"What did you tell her?" I asked.

"Tell her? Nothin', I guess. I don't remember getting out of the room.
Why, here's actually her pistol, and she's got mine!"

"Man, man!" said I, "go back and tell her to keep it, and that you'll
wait too--always!"

"Would yu'?"

"Look!" I pointed to Jessamine standing in the door.

I saw his face as he turned to her, and I walked toward Billy and the
horses. Presently I heard steps on the wooden station, and from its
black, brief shadow the two came walking, Lin and his sweetheart, into
the moonlight. They were not speaking, but merely walked together in
the clear radiance, hand in hand, like two children. I saw that she
was weeping, and that beneath the tyranny of her resolution her whole
loving, ample nature was wrung. But the strange, narrow fibre in her
would not yield! I saw them go to the horses, and Jessamine stood while
Billy and Lin mounted. Then quickly the cow-puncher sprang down again
and folded her in his arms.

"Lin, dear Lin! dear neighbor!" she sobbed. She could not withhold this
last good-bye.

I do not think he spoke. In a moment the horses started and were gone,
flying, rushing away into the great plain, until sight and sound of them
were lost, and only the sage-brush was there, bathed in the high, bright
moon. The last thing I remember as I lay in my blankets was Jessamine's