I am sorry
now that the chance brought us together this time, because it is a
greater grief to see you go. I thought once that we might be together
always, because I know that you are mine, mine in spirit at least, no
matter to whom the law may give you, but now--"

He broke off and looked at her with longing.

"It is better that I should leave you and go alone," she said.

She held out her hand.

"This is a good-bye," she said.

"But it shall not be so cold a one!" he exclaimed.

He put his arms around her, and kissed her full upon the lips.

"Oh, John!" she cried, and when he released her she ran back upon their
path, her face very red, although she was in no wise angry with him.
Harley walked on, and he did not raise his head until the shadow that
followed them stood across his way. Then, when he looked up, he found
himself gazing into the muzzle of a very large revolver, held by a
large, brown hand. Behind the hand, and lowering at him, was the
inflamed and determined face of "King" Plummer.

In this crisis neither of the two wasted words. Each was a man of
action, and each knew that long speech was vanity of vanities.

Harley was pale; life was sweet, never sweeter than when it seemed to be
leaving, but he did not flinch.

"You have stolen her from me," said the "King." "I saw what you did
there; you ought to be willing to pay the price."

"I object to the word 'stolen,'" said Harley, calmly. "The love of
Sylvia Morgan is not a thing that could be stolen by anybody."

"Words differ, but acts don't. I've been a border man, and I've got to
do things in the border way."

"One of which is to come armed upon an unarmed man?"

Harley saw the "King" flinch, but the finger did not leave the trigger.

"You took from me when I wasn't looking all that I love best, and I'll
take from you all I can."

The red face of "King" Plummer suddenly turned gray, and Harley saw it,
but he did not see what caused it. There was the light, swift tread of
footsteps behind him, a warm breath upon his face, and then Sylvia's
arms were around his neck and she was upon his breast.

"Shoot if you want to," she said to the "King," "but your bullet will
strike me first."

Her eyes, for the first time in her life, sparkled defiance at him, and
their gaze stabbed the "King" to the heart.

Harley strove to put her aside, but she clung to him with strong, young
arms.

The "King's" face, pale before, now became white. It was, pe