If Diane Sampson loved, through her this event might be less tragic.
Somehow love might save us all.
That was the shadowy portent flitting in the dark maze of my mind.
At the ranch dancing had been resumed. There might never have been any
interruption of the gaiety. I found Miss Sampson on the lookout for me
and she searched my face with eyes that silenced my one last qualm of
conscience.
"Let's go out in the patio," I suggested. "I don't want any one to hear
what I say."
Outside in the starlight she looked white and very beautiful. I felt her
tremble. Perhaps my gravity presaged the worst. So it did in one
way--poor Vaughn!
"I went down to Steele's 'dobe, the little place where he lives." I
began, weighing my words. "He let me in--was surprised. He had been shot
high in the shoulder, not a dangerous wound. I bandaged it for him. He
was grateful--said he had no friends."
"Poor fellow! Oh, I'm glad it--it isn't bad," said Miss Sampson.
Something glistened in her eyes.
"He looked strange, sort of forlorn. I think your words--what you said
hurt him more than the bullet. I'm sure of that, Miss Sampson."
"Oh, I saw that myself! I was furious. But I--I meant what I said.
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