But, man, she's a woman in all but years.

She's sweeter 'n the sage." "Lassiter, I know, I know.

And the hell of it is that in spite of her innocence and charm she's--she's not what she seems!" "I wouldn't want to--of course, I couldn't call you a liar, Venters," said the older man.
"What's more, she was Oldring's Masked Rider!" Venters expected to floor his friend with that statement, but he was not in any way prepared for the shock his words gave.

For an instant he was astounded to see Lassiter stunned; then his own passionate eagerness to unbosom himself, to tell the wonderful story, precluded any other thought.
"Son, tell me all about this," presently said Lassiter as he seated himself on a stone and wiped his moist brow.
Thereupon Venters began his narrative at the point where he had shot the rustler and Oldring's Masked Rider, and he rushed through it, telling all, not holding back even Bess's unreserved avowal of her love or his deepest emotions.
"That's the story," he said, concluding.

"I love her, though I've never told her.