You will come back to it," he said. "If there was a headstone for every
man that once pleasured in his freedom here, yu'd see one most every
time yu' turned your head. It's a heap sadder than a graveyard--but yu'
love it all the same."

Sadness had passed from him--from his uppermost mood, at least, when
he wrote about the rings. Deep in him was sadness of course, as well as
joy. For he had known Steve, and he had covered Shorty with earth. He
had looked upon life with a marksman's eyes, very close; and no one,
if he have a heart, can pass through this and not carry sadness in his
spirit with him forever. But he seldom shows it openly; it bides within
him, enriching his cheerfulness and rendering him of better service to
his fellow-men.

It was a commission of cheerfulness that he now gave, being distant
from where rings are to be bought. He could not go so far as the East
to procure what he had planned. Rings were to be had in Cheyenne, and a
still greater choice in Denver; and so far as either of these towns his
affairs would have permitted him to travel. But he was set upon having
rings from the East. They must come from the best place in the country;
nothing short of that was good enough "to fit her finger," as he said.
The wedding ring was a simple matter. Let it be right, that was all:
the purest gold that could be used, with her initials and his together
graven round the inside, with the day of the month and the year.

The date was now set. It had come so far as this. July third was to be
the day. Then for sixty days and nights he was to be a bridegroom, free
from his duties at Sunk Creek, free to take his bride wheresoever she
might choose to go. And she had chosen.

Those voices of the world had more than angered her; for after the anger
a set purpose was left. Her sister should have the chance neither to
come nor to stay away. Had her mother even answered the Virginian's
letter, there could have been some relenting. But the poor lady had been
inadequate in this, as in all other searching moments of her life: she
had sent messages,--kind ones, to be sure,--but only messages. If this
had hurt the Virginian, no one knew it in the world, least of all the
girl in whose heart it had left a cold, frozen spot. Not a good spirit
in which to be married, you will say. No; frozen spots are not good at
any time. But Molly's own nature gave her due punishment. Through all
these days of her warm happiness a chill current