“But, Patches,” she said earnestly, “that is all past now; it cannot happen again.”

“You do not know,” he returned, “or you would not feel so sure.  Phil might—­” He checked himself as if he feared to finish the sentence.

Kitty thought now that there must be more cause for his manner than she had guessed.

“But you are not a cattle thief,” she protested.  “You have only to explain who you are; no one would for a moment believe that Lawrence Knight could be guilty of stealing; it’s ridiculous on the face of it!”

“You do not understand,” he returned desperately.  “There is more in this than stealing.”

Kitty started.  “You don’t mean, Patches—­you can’t mean—­Phil—­” she gasped.

“Yes, I mean Phil,” he whispered.  “I—­we were quarreling—­I was angry.  My God! girl, don’t you see why I must go?  I dare not stay.  Listen, Kitty!  It will be all right.  Once I am out of this country and living under my own name I will be safe.  Later you can come to me.  You will come, won’t you, dear?  You know how I want you; this need make no change in our plans.  If you love me you—­”

She stopped him with a low cry.  “And you—­it was you who did that?”

“But I tell you we were quarreling, Kitty,” he protested weakly.

“And you think that I could go to you now?” She was trembling with indignation.  “Oh, you are so mistaken.  It seems that I was mistaken, too.  I never dreamed that you—­nothing—­nothing, that you could ever do would make me forget what you have told me.  You are right to go.”

“You mean that you will not come to me?” he faltered.

“Could you really think that I would?” she retorted.

“But, Kitty, you will let me go?  You will not betray me?  You will give me a chance?”

“It is the only thing that I can do,” she answered coldly.  “I should die of shame, if it were ever known that I had thought of being more to you than I have been; but you must go to-night.”

And with this she left him, fairly running toward the house.

Alone in the darkness, Honorable Patches smiled mockingly to himself.

When morning came there was great excitement at the Cross-Triangle Ranch.  Patches was missing.  And more, the best horse in the Dean’s outfit—­the big bay with the blazed face, had also disappeared.

Quickly the news spread throughout the valley, and to the distant ranches.  And many were the wise heads that nodded understandingly; and many were the “I told you so’s.”  The man who had appeared among them so mysteriously, and who, for a year, had been a never-failing topic of conversation, had finally established his character beyond all question.  But the cattlemen felt with reason, because of the Dean’s vigorous defense of the man when they would have administered justice, that the matter was now in his hands.  They offered their services, and much advice; they quietly joked about the price of horses; but the Dean laughed at their jokes, listened to their advice, and said that he thought the sheriff of Yavapai County could be trusted to handle the case.