He suggested that they step out to the veranda, where it was cooler. From the veranda they strolled to the big gate, and there she asked him, point-blank, to tell her just what had happened in Phoenix. She had read the papers, and she surmised that there was more to the affair than the papers printed. For instance, Senator Brown, upon his return to the Box-S, had kindly sent word to Aunt Jane that Cheyenne was all right. Bartley thought that the thoughtful Senator had rather spilled the beans.
"Cheyenne didn't kill Sears," stated Bartley.
"You talked with Cheyenne, and got him to keep out of it?"
"I tried to. He wouldn't listen. Then I wished him good luck and told him I hoped he'd win."
Dorothy was puzzled. "How do you know he didn't?"
"Because I was standing beside him when it happened. I don't see why you shouldn't know about it. Cheyenne and I were just about to cross the street, that night, when we saw Panhandle coming down the opposite side. Sneed and his men, who were evidently waiting for him, called to Panhandle. Panhandle must have thought it was the sheriff, or the city marshal. It happened suddenly. Panhandle began firing at Sneed and his riders. They shot him down just as he reached the curb in front of us. They kept on shooting at him as he lay in the street. Cheyenne couldn't stand that. He emptied his gun, trying to keep them off--and he emptied some saddles."
"Thank you for trying to--to give Cheyenne my message," said Dorothy. And she shook hands with him.
"Do you know this is the loveliest vista I have seen since leaving Phoenix--this San Andreas Valley," said Bartley.
"But you came through the Apache Forest," said Dorothy, not for the sake of argument, but because Bartley was still holding her hand.
"Yes. But you don't happen to live in the Apache Forest."
"Better still. Do you think Aunt Jane would mind if we walked up the road as far as--well, as far as the spring?"
"No. But she wouldn't object. Would you?"
Slowly Dorothy withdrew her hand and Bartley opened the big gate. As they walked down the dim, starlit road they were startled by the advent of a yellow dog that bounded from the brush and whined joyously.
"And I had forgotten him," said Bartley. "Oh, he's mine! I can't get away from the fact. He adopted me, and has followed me clear through. I had forgotten that he is afraid to come into a ranch. And I am ashamed to say that I forgot to feed him, to-night. He isn't at all beautiful, but he's tremendously loyal."