Elizabeth Cornish dropped back into her chair, grown
suddenly weak, and Kate fell on her knees beside her.
“Don’t you see,” she said softly,
“that no strength can turn Terry back now?
He’s done nothing wrong. He shot down the
man who killed his father. He has killed another
man who was a professional bully and mankiller.
And he’s broken into a bank and taken money
from a man who deserved to lose it—a wolf
of a man everybody hates. He’s done nothing
really wrong yet, but he will before long. Just
because he’s stronger than other men. And
he doesn’t know his strength. And he’s
fine, Miss Cornish. Isn’t he always gentle
and—”
“Hush!” said Elizabeth Cornish.
“He’s just a boy; you can’t bend
him with strength, but you can win him with love.”
“What,” gasped Elizabeth, “do you
want me to do?”
“Bring him back. Bring him back, Miss Cornish!”
Elizabeth Cornish was trembling.
“But I—if you can’t influence
him, how can I? You with your beautiful—
you are very beautiful, dear child. Ah, very lovely!”
She barely touched the bright hair.
“He doesn’t even think of me,” said
the girl sadly. “But I have no shame.
I have let you know everything. It isn’t
for me. It’s for Terry, Miss Cornish.
And you’ll come? You’ll come as quickly
as you can? You’ll come to my father’s
house? You’ll ask Terry to come back?
One word will do it! And I’ll hurry back
and—keep him there till you come. God
give me strength! I’ll keep him till you
come!”
Outside the door, his ear pressed to the crack, Vance
Cornish did not wait to hear more. He knew the
answer of Elizabeth before she spoke. And all
his high-built schemes he saw topple about his ears.
Grief had been breaking the heart of his sister, he
knew. Grief had been bringing her close to the
grave. With Terry back, she would regain ten years
of life. With Terry back, the old life would
begin again.
He straightened and staggered down the stairs like
a drunken man, clinging to the banister. It was
an old-faced man who came out onto the veranda, where
Waters was chewing his cigar angrily. At sight
of his host he started up. He was a keen man,
was Waters. He could sense money a thousand miles
away. And it was this buzzard keenness which had
brought him to the Cornish ranch and made him Vance’s
right-hand man. There was much money to be spent;
Waters would direct and plan the spending, and his
commission would not be small.
In the face of Vance he saw his own doom.
“Waters,” said Vance Cornish, “everything
is going up in smoke. That damned girl—Waters,
we’re ruined.”
“Tush!” said Waters, smiling, though he
had grown gray. “No one girl can ruin two
middle-aged men with our senses developed. Sit
down, man, and we’ll figure a way out of this.”
The fine gray head, the hawklike, aristocratic face,
and the superior manner of Waters procured him admission
to many places where the ordinary man was barred.
It secured him admission on this day to the office
of Sheriff McGuire, though McGuire had refused to
see his best friends.
