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  "I knew then what he'd been doing. And the worst of it, Orin—and you too, Ginny—is that it was all a steal —the Three Sevens as well as other things. There never was a mortgage on the ranch; that was all faked. He was a thief, and I—he was still my father. Now you'll all hate me—Ray won't want me when he knows—"

  "I do want you," Ray's voice came from the other room in stout contradiction. "There's nothing wrong with your record, sweetheart, which is more than can be said for mine. And I know how people sometimes get off on the wrong trail—"

  "Of course. And nobody will hate you," Locke cut in. "I'll be mighty proud of my sister-in-law, Reta. And if it will make you feel better, as it should, I can tell you that your father was killed because he'd decided to break with Steele and go straight, and Steele knew it."

  "Knowing that does help," Reta conceded. "But that's not all. The Three Sevens belongs to you, Ginny. It always has. I'll see that you get it back."

  Ginny hesitated, looking at Locke. Reading what was in his eyes, she nodded.

  "If that's the way you want it, Reta," she agreed. "Orin and I will have the Three Sevens, and you and Ray the Wagon Wheel. It will work out nicely."

  Reta had not thought that far ahead, but had to agree. It would work out nicely. It was sunset outside, but across the west was a glow of promise.

  THE END