The shadow of a smile flickered on the Texan’s lips:  “After a while, maybe—­but not soon.  I’ve got to lick a savage, first—­and they die hard.”

Endicott turned to go, when the other called to him:  “Oh, Win!” He turned.  “Is she here—­anywhere around?  I must tell her good-bye.”

“Yes, she is down the creek a way.  I’ll send her to you.”

The Texan advanced to meet her, Stetson in hand:  “Good-bye,” he said, “an’ good luck.  I can’t give you no regular weddin’ present—­there’s nothin’ in the town that’s fit.  But, I’ll give you this—­I’ll give you your man clean-handed.  He ain’t wanted.  There’s no one wants him—­but you.  He didn’t kill Purdy that night.  It’s too bad he didn’t—­but he didn’t.  We all thought he did, but he only creased him.  He came to, after we’d pulled out.  I heard it from the puncher I had the fight with in the coulee—­an’ it’s straight goods.”  He paused abruptly, and the girl stared wide-eyed into his face.  The wild flowers dropped from her hands, and she laid trembling fingers upon his arm.

“What are you saying?” she cried, fiercely.  “That Purdy is not dead?  That Win didn’t kill him?  That——­”

“No.  Win didn’t kill him,” interrupted the Texan, with a smile.

“Have you told Win?”

“No.  Weddin’ presents are for the bride.  I saved it for you.”

Tears were streaming from the girl’s eyes:  “It’s the most wonderful wedding present anybody ever had,” she sobbed.  “I know Win did it for me, and if he had killed him it would have been justifiable—­right.  But, always, we would have had that thing to think of.  It would have been like some hideous nightmare.  We could have put it away, but it would have come again—­always.  I pretended I didn’t care.  I wouldn’t let him see that it was worrying me, even more than it worried him.”

The cowboy stooped and recovered the flowers from the ground.  As Alice took them from him, her hand met his:  “Good-bye,” she faltered, “and—­may God bless you!”

At the rock she turned and saw him still standing, hat in hand, as she had left him.  Then she passed around the rock, and down the creek, where her lover waited with his arms laden with blossoms.

AN EPILOGUE

At exactly half-past four the Texan galloped to the door of the Red Front Saloon, and swinging from his horse, entered.  Some men were playing cards at a table in the rear, but he paid them no heed.  Very deliberately he squared himself to the bar and placed his foot upon the brass rail:  “Give me some red liquor,” he ordered.  And when the bartender set out the bottle and the glass the cowboy poured it full and drank it at a gulp.  He poured out another, and then a third, and a fourth.  The bartender eyed him narrowly:  “Ain’t you goin’ it a little strong, pardner?” he asked.  The Texan stared at him as if he had not heard, and answered nothing.  A smile bent the white aproned one’s lips as he glanced into his customer’s eyes still black from the blow Curt had dealt him in the coulee.