A HEART LAID BARE.
It was the truth at last. His heart leaped madly. But when he reached
for her she started back.
"Don't touch me!" came huskily from her lips. "You must not!"
"Mustn't?"
"No."
"Why, Bessie, I still----"
"You can't forget that I am the child of a cattle thief--a criminal!"
"That's not your fault, little girl. I can forget it. I have forgotten
it."
"It's impossible," she declared, shaking her head.
"Such talk is folly, Bessie. Your father's misdeeds should not blight
your life. I will not have it so! You were innocent."
She turned her face toward him, and those wonderful dark eyes looked
sadly into his. There were tears trembling on the long lashes.
"You know I'm not foolish, Berlin Carson," she said, in a strangely
hardened tone. "In the old days on the ranch I was no soft-hearted,
light-headed girl."
"You were the most bewitching and fascinating creature the Colorado sun
ever shone upon. There was always a mystery about you, and it bound me
with a magic spell. The years since I saw you last have made that spell
more potent and powerful."
"Still, I'm the daughter of a man who rustled cattle. He did not rustle
them in the good old-fashioned way. Instead of that, he stole them after
the manner that a sneak thief picks a pocket. He did his work by
altering the brands. He posed as another man. He sought to lay all the
blame on the shoulders of Laramie Dave, a known rustler."
"Why talk of that, Bessie?"
"I lived on the Flying Dollars Ranch. Dressed as a boy, I rode the range
with my father's cattlemen, who helped him rustle. Do you think I knew
nothing of what was taking place? Do you think I was silly enough and
soft enough to be deceived? You must understand that I knew my father
was a criminal."
Carson shivered a little, but it was not because of the cool night air.
In all the weeks and months since her vanishing, in all his thoughts of
her, this thing had never occurred to him. He had regarded her as the
innocent, unfortunate daughter of a bad man.
Now, however, he sought an excuse for her.
"He was your father, and you had to protect him. You could not betray
your own father. You must have suffered."
"You're too kind, too generous," she hoarsely explained. "It was no
effort on my part to keep his secret. I knew what business he followed
long years before I ever saw you. I knew it long before he purchased the
Flying Dollars. Down in Texas he was a rustler, but, unlike other
rustlers, he did not squander his money. He saved it and sent me to
school. In a boarding school I was regarded as the daughter of a wealthy
ranchman. I was popular with my girl schoolmates. No one of them ever
suspected that my father was a cattle thief and that I knew it."
"For Heaven's sake, stop!" commanded Carson. "Don't seek to degrade
yourself in my eyes! Don't try to turn me against you in this manner!"
"I'm simply telling you the truth, Berlin Carson. Do you wonder why I
vanished after my father's death? Do you wonder why I never faced you
again? You knew a part of the miserable truth. Had I been compelled to
see you again, I knew I would tell you all, and I likewise knew what
that meant."
"What it meant?"
"Yes."
"You thought----"
"I knew it would shock you beyond words. I knew the effect it must have
upon you. I could not bring myself to meet you, well knowing that you
would shudder and shrink from me."
He lifted his hand.
"No, no, never!" he declared. "You were wrong, Bessie. You were
frightfully mistaken. The trouble was that you did not understand
me--you did not know me."
"It cannot be that you----"
"I should have pitied you, and I should have loved you all the more,
even as I do now," he asserted. "Why not? It was not your fault that
your father was a criminal. Of course you had to keep his secret. It was
a cruel fate that placed you in such a position."
"Wait a little longer," she urged. "You must know the truth, every bit
of it. I admired my father. I loved the danger and the thrill of that
wild life. Not only did I know what he did, but more than once, in the
darkness of night, I aided him and his men in their work. I was dressed
as a boy, and only Injun Jack and my father knew I was not a boy. Now
you know what sort of girl you have fancied you loved. I mingled with
those men, those desperadoes, who were profane as pirates--who were, in
a sense, the pirates of the great plains. A fine life for an innocent
girl! Have you forgotten that my hands are stained with human blood?
Have you forgotten it was my bullet that killed Injun Jack?"
"That was one of the bravest deeds of your life. Only for that, Frank
Merriwell would be dead. Only for your nerve and bravery in shooting
that ruffian, one of God's grandest men would have been murdered in
cold blood. Since my college days I have loved and admired him above all
other men. When you saved his life by taking another worthless life you
did a noble deed. Had you not fled, I would have married you at the
earliest possible moment. I am ready now, Bessie."