he breakfast table Ruth told
them of the visit of Masten and of her plan to advance the date of the
marriage.

Uncle Jepson and Aunt Martha received the news in silence. Aunt Martha
did manage to proffer a half-hearted congratulation, but Uncle Jepson
wrinkled his nose, as he did always when displeased, and said nothing;
and he ate lightly. Ruth did not notice that she had spoiled his
appetite, nor did she note with more than casual interest that he left
the table long before she or Aunt Martha. She did not see him, standing
at the corral fence, scowling, and she could not hear the old-fashioned
profanity that gushed from his lips.

"Aren't you glad?" Ruth asked Aunt Martha when they were alone, for she
had noted her relative's lack of enthusiasm.

"Why, yes, honey," Aunt Martha smiled at her, though it seemed forced.
"Only--" She hesitated eloquently.

"Only what, Aunt Martha?" Ruth's voice was a little sharp, as with all
persons who act in opposition to her better judgment and who resent
anyone understanding them.

"Only I was hoping it would be Randerson, my dear," said Aunt Martha
gently.

"Randerson!" Ruth's voice was scornful. But it sounded insincere to her,
and she would trust it no further.

"Honey!" Aunt Martha's arm was around her, and Aunt Martha's sympathetic
and knowing eyes were compelling hers; and her voice was ineffably
gentle. "Are you sure, honey, that you don't wish it were Randerson? It
is a great event in your life, dear, and once it is done, it can't be
undone. Don't be hasty."

"It can never be Randerson," Ruth said firmly--not, however, as firmly as
she had intended. "Randerson is a murderer--a reckless taker of human
life!"

"He _had_ to shoot, they say," defended Aunt Martha. "I don't believe he
would harm a living thing except in defense of his own life. Defending
themselves is their way out here, girl--they know no other way. And he is
a man, dear. I don't know when I have met a man who has impressed me
more!"

"Please don't talk about it any more." Ruth's face was pale, her brows
contracted, for Aunt Martha's reference to Randerson had brought back
haunting sensations that, she thought, she had succeeded in putting out
of her life. She was ready to cry, and when she thought of Randerson--how
calmly he had accepted his dismissal, with what manliness he had borne
her insults, a chill of sympathy ran over her. She believed she would
never forget him as he had looked on the night