BRANDED
I
The Heating of the Iron
It was not until the evening when old John Runnels, who had been the
town marshal in my school days, and was now chief of police under the
new city charter, came into the dingy little private banking room to
arrest me that I began to realize, though only in a sort of dumb and
dazed fashion, how much my promise to Agatha Geddis might be going to
cost me.
But even if the full meaning of the promise had been grasped at the
time when my word was given, it is an open question if the earlier
recognition of the possible consequences would have made any
difference. Before we go any farther, let it be clearly understood
that there was no sentiment involved; at least, no sentimental
sentiment. Years before, I, like most of the other town boys of my
age, had taken my turn as Agatha's fetcher and carrier; but that was
only a passing spasm--a gust of the calf-love which stirs up momentar-
y
whirlwinds in youthful hearts. The real reason for the promise-making
lay deeper. Abel Geddis had been crabbedly kind to me, helping me
through my final year in the High School after my father died, and
taking me into his private bank the week after I was graduated. And
Agatha was Abel Geddis's daughter.
Over and above the daughterhood, she was by far the prettiest girl in
Glendale, with a beauty of the luscious type; eyes that could toll a
man over the edge of a bluff and lips that had a trick of quivering
like a hurt baby's when she was begging for something she was afraid
she wasn't going to get. All through the school years she had been one
of my classmates, and a majority of the town boys were foolish about
her, partly because she had a way of twisting them around her fingers;
partly, perhaps, because her father was the rich man of the community
and the president of the Farmers' Bank.
She had sent for me-