He bridged
all explanations and passed to the thing he meant to do in reparation.
"The money I cleaned up from that claim belongs to you, Miss O'Neill.
You will oblige me by taking it."
From his pocket he took a folded paper and handed it to her. Sheba
opened it doubtfully. The paper contained a typewritten statement and
to it was attached a check by means of a clip. The check was made out
to her and signed by Colby Macdonald. The amount it called for was one
hundred and eighty-three thousand four hundred and thirty-one dollars.
"Oh, I couldn't take this, Mr. Macdonald--I couldn't. It doesn't belong
to me," she cried.
"It belongs to you--and you're going to take it."
"I wouldn't know what to do with so much."
"The bank will take care of it for you until you decide. So that's
settled." He passed definitely from the subject. "There's something else
I want to say to you, Miss O'Neill."
Some change in his voice warned her. The girl slanted a quick, shy
glance at him.
"I want to know if you'll marry me, Miss O'Neill," he shot at her
abruptly. Then, without giving her time to answer, he pushed on:
"I'm older than you--by twenty-five years. Always I've lived on the
frontiers.
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