“I am sorry,” she said again. “I didn't see that in you at first. I misjudged you. One can't label men just good or bad, as the novelists used to. You have taught me that—you and Mr. Neil.”
His low, sardonic laughter rippled out. “I'm bad enough. Don't make any mistake about that, Miss Mackenzie. York's different. He's just a good man gone wrong. But I'm plain miscreant.”
“Oh, no,” she protested.
“As bad as they make them, but not wolf clear through,” he said again. “Something's happened to me to-day. It won't change me. I've gone too far for that. But some morning when you read in the papers that Wolf Leroy died with his boots on and everybody in sight registers his opinion of the deceased you'll remember one thing. He wasn't a wolf to you—not at the last.”
“I'll not forget,” she said, and the quick tears were in her eyes.
York Neil came toward them from the house. It was plain from his manner he had a joke up his sleeve.
“You're wanted, Phil,” he announced.
“Wanted where?”
“You got a visitor in there,” Neil said, with a grin and a jerk of his thumb toward the house. “Came blundering into the draw sorter accidental-like, but some curious. So I asked him if he wouldn't light and stay a while. He thought it over, and figured he would.”
“Who is it?” asked Leroy.
“You go and see. I ain't giving away what your Christmas presents are. I aim to let Santa surprise you a few.”
Miss Mackenzie followed the outlaw chief into the house, and over his shoulder glimpsed two men. One of them was the Irishman, Cork Reilly, and he sat with a Winchester across his knees. The other had his back toward them, but he turned as they entered, and nodded casually to the outlaw. Helen's heart jumped to her throat when she saw it was Val Collins.
The two men looked at each other steadily in a long silence. Wolf Leroy was the first to speak.
“You damn fool!” The swarthy face creased to an evil smile of derision.
“I ce'tainly do seem to butt in considerable, Mr. Leroy,” admitted Collins, with an answering smile.
Leroy's square jaw set like a vise. “It won't happen again, Mr. Sheriff.”
“I'd hate to gamble on that heavy,” returned Collins easily. Then he caught sight of the girl's white face, and rose to his feet with outstretched hand.
“Sit down,” snapped out Reilly.
“Oh, that's all right I'm shaking hands with the lady. Did you think I was inviting you to drill a hole in me, Mr. Reilly?”
Chapter 18.
A Dinner for Three
“I thought we bumped you off down at Epitaph,” Leroy said.
“Along with Scott? Well, no. You see, I'm a regular cat to kill, Mr. Leroy, and I couldn't conscientiously join the angels with so lame a story as a game laig to explain my coming,” said Collins cheerfully.
“In that case—”
“Yes, I understand. You'd be willing to accommodate with a hole in the haid instead of one in the laig. But I'll not trouble you.”
“What are you doing here? Didn't I warn you to attend to your own business and leave me alone?”
“Seems to me you did load me up with some good advice, but I plumb forgot to follow it.”
The Wolf cursed under his breath. “You came here at your own risk, then?”
“Well, I did and I didn't,” corrected the sheriff easily. “I've got a five-thousand policy in the Southeastern Life Insurance Company, so I reckon it's some risk to them. And, by the way, it's a company I can recommend.”
“Does it insure against suicide?” asked Leroy, his masked, smiling face veiling thinly a ruthless purpose.
“And against hanging. Let me strongly urge you to take out a policy at once,” came the prompt retort.
“You think it necessary?”
“Quite. When you and York Neil and Hardman made an end of Scott you threw ropes round your own necks. Any locoed tenderfoot would know that.”
The sheriff's unflinching look met the outlaw's black frown serene and clear-eyed.
“And would he know that you had committed suicide when you ran this place down and came here?” asked Leroy, with silken cruelty.
“Well, he ought to know it. The fact is, Mr. Leroy, that it hadn't penetrated my think-tank that this was your hacienda when I came mavericking in.”
“Just out riding for your health?”
“Not exactly. I was looking for Miss Mackenzie. I cut her trail about six miles from the Rocking Chair and followed it where she wandered around. The trail led directly away from the ranch toward the mountains. That didn't make me any easy in my mind. So I just jogged along and elected myself an investigating committee. I arrived some late, but here I am, right side up—and so hearty welcome that my friend Cork won't hear of my leaving at all. He don't do a thing but entertain me—never lets his attention wander. Oh, I'm the welcome guest, all right. No doubt about that.”
Wolf Leroy turned to Alice. “I think you had better go to your room,” he said gently.
“Oh, no, no; let me stay,” she implored. “You would never—you would never—” The words died on her white lips, but the horror in her eyes finished the question.
He met her gaze fully, and answered her doggedly. “You're not in this, Miss Mackenzie. It's between him and me. I shan't allow even you to interfere.”
“But—oh, it is horrible! for two minutes.”
He shook his head.
“You must! Please.”
“What use?”
Let me see you alone
Her troubled gaze shifted to the strong, brown, sun-baked face of the man who had put himself in this deadly peril to save her. His keen, blue-gray eyes, very searching and steady, met hers with a courage she thought splendid, and her heart cried out passionately against the sacrifice.
“You shall not do it. Oh, please let me talk it over with you.”
“No.”
“Have you forgotten already?—and you said you would always remember.” She almost whispered it.
She had stung his consent at last. “Very well,” he said, and opened the door to let her pass into the inner room.
But she noticed that his eyes were hard as jade.
“Don't you see that he came here to save me?” she cried, when they were alone. “Don't you see it was for me? He didn't come to spy out your place of hiding.”
“I see that he has found it. If I let him go, he will bring back a posse to take us.”
“You could ride across the line into Mexico.”
“I could, but I won't.”
“But why?”
“Because,