The justice of Gideon (2024)

Copyright, 1910, By
THE MACAULAY COMPANY

To
Frank and Grace

CONTENTS

THE JUSTICE OF GIDEON

THE place of Justice in the little town ofManzanita was a low, square, cloth-and-paperedroom, bare save for the Judge’sunpainted pine desk and armchair; the twoother chairs, wooden-seated and worn, that stood justin front of the desk, and were reserved at trials forthe constable and his prisoner; the four long benchesdirectly behind these; and the squat, round-barreledstove which, though it was midsummer in the littleNorthern California town, still held its place in thecentre of the room, its four legs spraddled out as ifit were determined to defy removal from its shallowsawdust box. There was but one spot of brightnessin the whole dingy place. Back of the Judge’s desk,draped against the fly-specked wall in careful folds,gleamed the red, white and blue of the Flag.

The colours brought the Judge into sharp relief.The courtroom being deserted, his coat was off, andhung near by him on a nail under his black, slouchhat; and he was seated on the small of his back, hislong legs crossed and stretched out into the unrailedprisoner’s dock, his elbows planted upon the armsof his chair, and his hands pressed against histemples, so that they shielded his eyes. About himwere his books, calf-bound and heavy. They stoodin front of him, to his right hand and to his left,[10]in columns of six; in other columns they weightedthe strip of matting under his feet, and flanked hischair at either side. One was open before him. Itwas set upon the middle button of his vest, and hadfor a rear support the front edge of the desk. Hewas deep in the study of it. Across its pages atintervals rolled a white cloud from his pipe-rolledlike the smoke of his own silent battle for the Truth—andwent floating upward to be dissolved and lostamid the dust-heavy cobwebs of the ceiling.

He lifted his eyes, presently; someone was approachingthe front door. The rickety sidewalkleading up to the courtroom from the general merchandisestore down the street acted as an unofficialherald to him; for one section of it, as unfixed as araft, banged to the tread of all oncomers, and acouple of loose boards still closer at hand creakedand flapped when they were stepped upon. Thefootfall now nearing was light. The Judge laiddown his pipe, rose hastily, straightening out sixfeet of stalwart length, and reached for his coat.

The next moment the round, ruffled top of a whiteparasol curtained the small square of glass in thedoor. Then the parasol folded, a slim hand turnedthe knob and a girl stood on the threshold—abareheaded, brown-haired girl in a white muslindress.

“Oh, Alicia,” said the Judge, giving a last settlingjerk to his coat. A wave of colour swept upfrom the sunburned lower half of his face and reddenedhis forehead.

“I’d like to speak to you a minute, Gid,” said the[11]girl timidly. “I’m sorry if I’m breaking in on yourwork.”

“You ain’t a-breakin’ in on my work,” he protested.“Not a bit of it.”

She closed the door behind her and crossed thefloor quickly. She was slender, and the wide girdleof black satin that she wore emphasised her slenderness.

The Judge, smiling bashfully, bowed across hisdesk with mock ceremony. “Take the prisoner’schair,” he said.

She sat down, but with no answering smile. Hermanner was somewhat nervous and her grey eyeswere full of concern.

He took his seat behind the desk and leaned towardher. His eyes were grey like her own, andset in a young face so grave, and so lined by thoughtand care—as well as by long-continued exposure towind and sun—that, at first glance, he seemed mucholder than he was. “I don’t have my little talkwith Mrs. Luce an’ Jim till ’leven o’clock,” he explained.“An’ so I’m—I’m glad you dropped in.”

Her cheeks grew pink all at once. “I see youbeen getting some new books.” She nodded towardthe column on his right hand.

“Yas; four or five of these come this last week.”

“They cost, too, don’t they? And if you run fordistrict attorney, that’ll take money.”

He was still leaning forward. And now his looksuddenly became all eagerness. “Alicia, I got asecret! An’ I been just a-waitin’ t’ tell it to you. Ibeen promised the nomination.”

“You have! Oh, Gid, I’m so glad!”

[12]“Thank y’, Alicia. That’s the reason I beenstudyin’ harder’n ever lately. I’m savin’ up mymoney, too. I got five hunderd a’ready. Thesedays I almost hate to put out a cent on books.”

“You’ve done enough for others,” she said earnestly.“It’s time you spent your money on yourself.”

“When I’m district attorney I’m a-goin’ to buya piece of property up at the county seat an’ havea home of my own.” He paused, watching her wistfully.“An’ if things turn out as I look to see ’em,”he went on in a low voice, “I’m a-goin’ to marry.I’ll be thirty my next birthday. If I wait any longerI s’pose folks’ll begin t’ call me a’ ole bach.”

The colour in her cheeks deepened. “I think youought to marry,” she agreed. But she looked down,and picked at the ruffles of her parasol.

“I’ve thought about it a good deal. So far,though—wal, you know how it’s been” (this verygently). “There was that boy.”

“Oh, Gid!” Now she lifted her face. Her eyeswere swimming; her lips were trembling. “Gid,—it’sabout Homer that I’ve come.”

He sat back, and was silent for a long moment,watching her keenly. “I see,” he said finally, hisown face very grave. He spoke aloud and yet asif to himself. “Yas—I think I understand—how itis.” He drew a long breath.

“The town is talking about him, Gid,—talkingawfully mean.”

Instantly he straightened in his chair and lookedacross at her, amazed and troubled. “AboutHomer? W’y, what’s bein’ said?”

[13]“It started after Mr. Carpenter’s last trip upfrom San Francisco. And——”

“Carpenter, the fruit-buyer?”

“Yes. He handed over all the Manzanita shippingand paying to Homer, you know.”

“Homer’s Business College trainin’ come in handythat time,” said the Judge proudly.

“I hope he’ll never forget that he’s got you tothank for his education,” she went on. “You’vebeen more than a brother to him—ever since he wasin his baby-buggy and you were a little fellow.Mother says so. Just because his father was dead.”

“His maw has allus been sickly,” reminded theJudge. “An’ I ain’t missed the little I paid outfor him. He’s a fine boy, that’s what he is. Thereain’t a finer or a handsomer or a stylisher boy intown. An’ he’s smart. Didn’t them Business Collegefellers hand him a medal for fancy penmanship?So there’s a few people in this town that’sjealous of him. Wal, who cares?”

She rose and stepped forward to the desk. “Gid,”she said, “I hate to tell you. But I must. Oh, Iknew you’d be the last person to hear anything!”

“What can man, woman or child find to say aginHomer Scott?” he asked huskily.

“Since Mr. Carpenter went Homer’s acted different.He hasn’t been over to our house lately, or tosee his other friends. He goes to the OccidentalHotel of evenings—with Jim Luce and his crowd.”

“And——?” He was leaning forward oncemore.

“And folks say that—that he’s gambling.”

“Gamblin’.” He repeated it under his breath.

[14]“After all you’ve done for him, he ought tothink of what’ll please you—not what’ll hurt.”

He propped his head between his hands and staredat the desk. But presently he looked up at heragain, confident and smiling. “Alicia,” he said, “ifthere was a law in Manzanita agin gossip, half thetown would bust it so often they’d have to move,bag an’ baggage, an’ live in yonder.” He gave asidewise nod of the head. The rear door of thecourtroom was standing partly ajar. Through itcould be seen several small barred openings—thewindows of the neighbouring jail.

“Now you know, an’ I know, that Homer Scottdon’t gamble,” he said.

“Of course, there always is a lot of talk goingaround,” she admitted. “But this worried me, Gid,because——” She hesitated.

“Because w’y?”

She faced him once more. “I wouldn’t say this toanybody else. But—Mr. Carpenter left some moneywith Homer to pay for peaches. He left eight hundreddollars. I’ve been afraid—you know what Imean, Gid. And—and it would be so hard forHomer to pay Carpenter back.”

The Judge stood up impatiently. “If a mantakes a glass of lemonade at the Occidental, all theold hens in town think he’s a-goin’ to have the d. t’s.If he plays a game of casino he’s gone to the bad.”

The colour left Alicia’s face. “I—I supposeyou’ll think I’m a gossip,” she said, and turned away.

“No,” he answered gently. He came around toher. “Alicia, I couldn’t think nothin’ that was agin—you.Do you believe me?” Then, seeing that[15]fresh tears were welling to her eyes, “Don’t cry.Homer ain’t guilty. I can tell you that. An’ what’smore, I’ll look out for him, little woman. You dependon it.”

There was silence between them again. Hewatched her, his grey eyes full of anxiety—evenpain. She was brushing at her wet lashes, andlooking out through the front door.

“I—I must go now,” she said presently.

“Must y’? Wal, will you come again soon?”He followed her to the door.

“You come and see us, Gid. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” He closed the door behind her, andas far as he could see her watched her go. Shecrossed the street, picking her way through the brick-reddust, ankle deep, to the railroad track that halvedthe town. The bobbing parasol now hid, now disclosed,her small, dark head and the girlish bow ofwide ribbon at the nape of her neck. She passedthe town hall opposite, entered a street that ran atright angles to the track, and disappeared fromhis sight beneath some low-branched pepper-trees.

He did not leave the door at once, but looked outto where he had last seen her. After a while, witha deep sigh, he returned slowly to his desk, stumbledover a pile of books at his armchair, and sat down.“She’s like a posy,” he half-whispered, “—like aposy, an’ him gamblin’!”

A wrangle of voices sounded from without. Thenthe sidewalk began to bang and creak to a doubletread. The Judge took out his watch. It waseleven. He assumed a judicial attitude. The next[16]moment a man and a woman paused at the frontdoor, the one scolding into the face of the other,gave the door a thump, each with an angry fist, andentered.

“Gid’ll settle things fair,” cried the woman. “Alawyer would just run up a bill.”

“Wall, what’m I here for?” stormed the man. “Iain’t feared to let Gid settle it.”

“Just the same, you didn’t come till I went afteryou.”

“Howdy, Mrs. Luce,” said the Judge quietly.“Howdy, Jim. Set down.”

“What I hate,” explained the woman, addressingthe Judge, “is coming up Main Street with a manI’ve divorced.” She spoke so forcibly that her pendentearrings—large, pinkish pearls of glass—swungbackward and forward against her thin, wrinkledneck. “The whole town’ll be talking. And I’msuffering enough as it is. My sister, she said to mewhen I got engaged, ‘You marry him, and you’rehunting trouble,’ but I——”

The Judge held up a hand to enjoin silence.“Jim,” he said, “I’ll hear your side of this fussfirst. Mrs. Luce, accordin’ to the laws of all civylisedcountries, you, bein’ as you’re a woman, yougit the last word.” He gave her a kindly smile.

Luce was short and thick-set, with a face as roundand red as the full moon seen through a dust-cloud.He shrugged his heavy shoulders in disgust. “Andmy sister says to me when I married, ‘Jim, you canbe anything you want to be if you just git the rightkind of a wife.’ Now see what I am, Judge,—nothin’.”

[17]“Some behind in your alimony, ain’t you, Jim?”inquired the Judge.

“Three months. But I’ll have the cash as soonas I ship my pear crop. She says she can’t wait.What’s the matter with her?”

“My self-playing piano’s the matter with me,”retorted Mrs. Luce. “I only paid forty down onit last spring. There’s one hundred and fifteen duein ten days from now—or lose the piano. Jim canget me the money if he wants to, Judge. He’s justsold his peaches.”

“I ain’t been paid for ’em,” declared Luce.

“That’s another,” said Mrs. Luce. “He got hispeach money all right, and spent it.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did!”

“I——”

Once more the Judge’s hand came up. “Jim,” hebegan, “far’s I’m concerned, I’m pretty helpless inthis case. All over this country the law is plain asday on this point: The feller that’s sentenced topay alimony, and don’t pay, gits sold out or sentto the cooler.”

“I’m goin’ to Canada to live,” declared Lucehotly. “Here she’s got plenty, an’ still the UnitedStates law allows her to hector me. W’y, she ownsa string of gold nuggets as long as your arm—herpaw gave ’em to her. Them nuggets is worth a lot.She don’t have to come to me.”

“My father dug that string up with his ownhands,” said Mrs. Luce. “It was the last thing heever gave me. And”—with exasperating finality—“itwon’t be sold.”

[18]“Wal, borrow on it,” suggested Luce wrathfully.“Judge, I can’t put my pears on to the cars whenthey’re greener’n cucumbers. Ask Homer if there’sa man in this hull Valley that’s shippin’ pears.”

Mrs. Luce smiled. “Jim’d lie and Homer’dswear to it,” she observed with a knowing nod anda wink.

The Judge gave her a look of grave reproval.“Nobody’s ever caught Homer Scott swearin’ to alie,” he contradicted coldly.

The round face of Luce brightened, and hehastened to take advantage of the Judge’s evidentdispleasure. “That’s the kind of wild talk she’sallus gittin’ off,” he declared. “She don’t havenothin’ to do but talk. Here I am, a hard-workin’man, an’ have to support her. She don’t even comedown to the ranch an’ help pack fruit.”

Mrs. Luce gave a sniff. “I don’t associate withthe prune-jammer crowd,” she said. “Whenever Iwant a little spending money I wash dishes at theOccidental.”

“The law,” informed the Judge, in his most officialtone, but with a twinkle in the grey eyes, “—thelaw don’t name just what kind of work a divorcedlady has to do.”

Luce rose, kicking his chair out of the way, andpointed a stubby finger at a column of calf-boundbooks. “None of them laws,” he said, “read to meas if they was made for men. No; they was madeto please the women—I guess I know! Wal, let herhave ’em on me if she wants to. I’ll go to jail. Idon’t care.”

“She’d be makin’ the biggest mistake in the world[19]if she put you in jail,” said the Judge earnestly.“No man can raise money when he’s killin’ time.An’ you’d bother me a lot if you was in yonder. Theprisoners allus interfere with my studyin’. Seemslike they have to be amused when they been in afew days, an’ it all comes on me. The constablethinks he’s did his duty when he gits ’em locked up.So off he goes, lookin’ after his saloon, or his cattle,or to set salmon-lines.” Then he turned to Mrs.Luce with an admonishing shake of the finger.“After this,” he counseled, “fix it so’s the pear cropan’ the piano-man come t’gether.”

At that, feeling herself twice rebuked, Mrs. Lucearose with some spirit. “What’s that got to dowith Jim’s scaring up my back alimony?” she inquireddefiantly. Then, stiff with resentment, shewalked out.

When she was gone the Judge slid down in hischair until he was again seated upon the small ofhis back, and from across the top of his desk hefixed solemn eyes upon Luce. “Jim,” he said, “youcut out that little bunch at the Occidental. Themfellers have forgot more about poker than you everlearnt.”

The other’s face took on a deeper hue. Hesquirmed under the searching glance. “They don’tgit nothin’ away from me,” he declared.

“An’ cards,” went on the Judge evenly, “is ablamed poor excuse when a man’s bein’ sued.”

“Oh, you’re dead right there, Gid.”

“Glad you see it. You don’t want t’ be responsibleif any man drops his money—especially if it’s ayoung man.”

[20]When he was alone once more the Judge got upto pace the courtroom, his hands clasped behindhim, his chin on his breast. As he walked his lipsmoved in silent debate, and he shook his head emphaticallyfrom time to time. Presently, a distantgong clanged, announcing the noon hour. He wentto the rear door and stood on its threshold, lookingaway to the north. Near at hand, bordering thetown, were orchards heavy with their fruitage. Beyondthese showed brown foothills, round and oak-dotted;still farther, a higher range, all misty blue.Its summit was Shasta, rising against a serene sky,and wearing, despite the heat, an ermine stole overher dark shoulders.

He watched the mountain, his hands at his templesto shield his eyes, until a procession of low fruit-wagonspassed through the back street on its way tothe near-by orchards. Then he clapped on his hatresolutely, went out of the front door, slamming itbehind him, and strode away across the creaking,teetering sidewalk toward the long shipping-sheddown the street.

As he entered the building there were no wagonsat the side door, but six hatless, perspiring men inblue overalls were carrying boxes out of the shedand into the refrigerator car on the siding, and theair was sweet and heavy with the perfume ofpeaches. At the gangboard leading into the carstood a young man, busily checking off the boxesas they passed him. His coat was off, showing afreshly-laundered shirt with a dainty figure, and aspotless vest of white duck. His trousers were ascarefully pressed as his vest, and he wore an imitationPanama hat with a bright silk band, and tan[21]half-shoes upon each of which flashed a brassbuckle.

“Hello, Gid!” he called out gaily as he caughtsight of the Judge.

The Judge’s face broke into a slow, pleased smile.“Hello, Homer,” he returned. “Say! give the boysa breathin’ spell, won’t y’? I want to see you aminute.”

The perspiring half-dozen promptly collapsedupon empty boxes, blowing in discomfort and wipingat their faces with sleeve or handkerchief. TheJudge nodded to them and followed Homer to oneend of the shed, where rough boards, nailed upright,formed a small office-room.

“Well?” said Homer inquiringly, when the doorshut them in. His eyes were blue and frank, andnow they regarded the Judge with eager confidence.

The elder man put a hand on the shoulder ofthe younger. “Boy,” he began, “we been suchpardners, you an’ me, that I know you’ll take whatI’m a-goin’ to say just the way I mean it.”

The confident look quickly faded. Homer fellback a step. “What’s doing?” he asked. “Akick of some kind?”

“No-o-o,” answered the Judge; “advice.”

The other gave a short laugh. “That’s worse.”

“I been Justice of the Peace for so long, Homer,that the advice business has come to be a habit.”

“Fire ahead.” The blue eyes were resentful.

“It don’t amount to much, what I’m a-goin’ tosay,” proceeded the Judge, “because I know blamedwell that you ain’t doin’ what they say you’re doin’.”

“‘They’ is usually a liar.”

[22]“But sometimes, ‘Where there’s smoke there’sfire’—as the sayin’ goes. In this case there’s justenough smoke to worry me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry if I was you. What’syour gossip?”

The hand that was resting on the younger man’sshoulder dropped to the Judge’s side. “Folks sayyou’re gamblin’.”

There was scarcely a noticeable paling of Homer’sface, but a sneer curved his mouth. “Gambling!”he repeated. “I’ll bet you got that yarn from awoman.”

“Yas,” admitted the Judge.

“If you’re going to believe every little bit of tittle-tattlethat the women tell you, you won’t havemuch time for your books.”

“Homer,” said the Judge sternly, “you’re prettyclose to bein’ sassy to the best friend you’ve got inthe hull world, barrin’ your maw.”

“You’re finding fault with me. And I hate tobe picked at. I’m not a kid any more, to be followedand watched and whistled into the house at sundown.I’m a man.”

“Wal, act like a man then.”

“I will if you’ll let me alone. Gambling!Wouldn’t it make you sick! As if a nickel antehurts anybody! I’ll let this town know that I earnmy money and I’ve got a right to do what I pleasewith it.”

“Long as you don’t hurt your maw.”

“She’ll be ready to jump on me, I suppose, whenI go home to-night.”

“Or as long as you don’t hurt—Alicia.”

[23]“Alicia? Huh!”—sullenly—“she don’t careanything about me.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken, boy. She likesyou, Homer, an’ you like her—don’t you?” Helowered his head, searching the face of the other.

“Yes, of course. But she’s just like the rest ofthe women in this town. They’re all backwoods,that’s what they are—backwoods. If they’d everbeen outside of Manzanita, and seen something, theywouldn’t be so confounded narrow. They don’twant to have any fun themselves and they don’twant anybody else to have any. I never saw sucha place!”

The Judge sighed and turned to the door.“Mebbe it’d a-been better if I hadn’t opened mymouth,” he said. “But—it seemed serious, kinda.So long, Homer.” He went out, his hands in theouter pockets of his coat, his head down.

That night, no light burned until a late hour onthe unpainted desk in the place of Justice. Aftersupper, young Judge Gideon Carr strolled down tothe Occidental and sprinkled the ashes of his pipeupon the only stretch of cement sidewalk in town.And ten o’clock found him still there, tipped backagainst the wall beside the high swinging doors thatscreened the barroom from passers-by in the street.

Shortly after ten, two figures approached thehotel from the direction of the shipping-shed. Onewas short and thick-set; the other wore a hat bandedwith bright silk. The street was illy lighted, andthey did not see the figure by the door until thethick-set man, who was leading, was within arm’slength of it. Then the Judge moved, looking up[24]into the faces of the two. Luce gave him a swiftglance and entered the barroom. But Homer haltedsuddenly, called a nervous good-night after his companion,turned away sharply, and hurried into thedarkness toward home.

The next evening found the Judge again tippedback in a chair beside the barroom entrance. Butthe third evening he came to his station at a latehour and, before sitting down, parted the swingingdoors to stand between them a moment, leisurelysurveying the brightly-lighted room.

Each night afterward he returned—always at adifferent hour. Midnight of the day the first refrigeratorcars intended for the pear shipment wereshunted upon the siding at the shipping-shed heagain came face to face with Jim Luce at the Occidental.The rancher had been drinking, and walkedunsteadily, so the Judge stepped out of his way. ButLuce recognised him, and turned upon him with acurse.

“You been spyin’ on me,” charged Luce thickly.“Just as if I ain’t got a right to spend my moneylike I want to! I say, you been spyin’ on me, an’you can’t deny it.” He wavered from side to sidebefore the tall figure of the Judge. “But you cutit out. You hear me? You cut it out.”

“What do I want to spy on you for?” inquiredthe Judge mildly. “You’re full, Jim.”

“You’re mixin’ up in my business,” shrilled theother. “But I’ll pay that alimony when I git goodan’ ready.”

The swinging doors were opening now and menwere coming out.

[25]“Don’t stir up no fracas,” advised the Judge.“I’m Justice of the Peace, mind y’—Peace. An’I’m goin’ to see that it’s kept.”

The next moment the little crowd was treated toan exciting outcome of the meeting. Luce staggeredforward and struck. The Judge, avoiding theblow, seized the rancher by the upturned collar ofhis coat, shook him vigorously and led him away upthe street, half a dozen of the curious falling inbehind. The general merchandise store was passed,and the rickety sidewalk; then the Judge unlockeda door beyond the entrance of the courtroom.

“Jim,” he said, “you been itchin’ for the lockup.And here you are!”

He pulled his prisoner after him into a dark room.Someone struck a match, and the room was seen tocontain a narrow bed, and a table upon which werewriting materials. The Judge tumbled Luce uponthe bed without ceremony. Then the crowd backedout, and the key was turned in the lock once more.

“It’s all over, boys,” said the Judge from thesidewalk. “Good-night.”

He walked away in one direction, and his lateaudience, moving slowly back toward the Occidental,divided itself on the question as to whether or not aJustice of the Peace had a right to make an arrest.

Dawn found Jim Luce asleep upon his prison-cot.But by six o’clock he was well on his way towardhis ranch; while by breakfast-time a check infull for back alimony was dispatched to Mrs. Lucethrough the medium of a small, barefooted boy wholived behind the jail.

At the middle of that same morning the Judge sat[26]at his desk, combing his hair with his fingers. Hisface was unwontedly pale, his eyes were heavy fromlack of sleep. But a calf-bound book was open beforehim, and he was bent over it almost doggedly.

He straightened wearily as a woman entered—Mrs.Luce, her face tear-marked, her mouth bent ina disconsolate half-moon. “W’y, what’s the matter?”he asked with concern. “Ain’t Jim’s checkgood?”

She did not answer, but hurried forward to thedesk. “I want a warrant,” she cried. “I thinkit’s a shame and a disgrace that the constable won’tarrest him without a warrant.”

“The constable must foller the law,” explainedthe Judge. “Set down, Mrs. Luce. Who’s yourwarrant for?”

Her hands were clenched as if she had somethinghateful in their grasp. “It’s for that nice, stylishdude you’re always bragging up,” she said sarcastically.“He’s a thief, that’s what he is—a common,two-faced thief!”

“Dude?” repeated the Judge, puzzled.

“Mr. Homer Scott.”

The Judge stared her in the face. “Hush!” hecommanded sternly. “You don’t know what you’rea-sayin’.”

“Oh, I don’t!” She laughed bitterly. “Well,you’ll change your mind.”

“You’re a-talkin’ strong talk, Mrs. Luce. Whatd’ you claim he’s stole?”

“My nuggets.”

“How did he come to have your nuggets? Setdown.”

[27]“I gave ’em to him for security. I borrowed ahundred and fifteen dollars of his peach money thatday I was in here with Jim. At first I wanted himto give me the money and then dock Jim that muchon his pears. But he wouldn’t do that. He mademe a straight loan and asked for security. I tookhim my nuggets.”

“He didn’t ask for ’em?”

“No; it was my idea. The string was easy forhim to keep in his safe.”

“You didn’t take no receipt for it, I suppose?”

“That’s where I made a big mistake. This morning,the second I got my check, I wrote my nameacross it, went down to the shipping-shed and handedit to Homer. He took it, remarked that I was aheadof time, and went on with his writing. I noticed hishand shook something terrible.”

“Cigareets,” said the Judge sadly. “He learntthat in the city.”

“A guilty conscience, more likely. I says to him,‘Well, Homer, are the nuggets handy? I’ll take’em if they are.’ He looked up almost like he didn’tunderstand. ‘The nuggets?’ he says. ‘Whatnuggets?’ ‘Why, the nuggets I handed you assecurity.’ ‘You didn’t give me any nuggets,’ hesays. ‘Yes, I did.’ ‘Why, you didn’t either!’ Hewas nice and friendly all the time, Judge, but saidI was mistaken. Well, I’m not mistaken.” Hervoice rose excitedly. “He’s been gambling withJim; he’s short of money; Carpenter, the fruit-man,is back in town, and Homer’s scared.”

The face of the Judge grew pallid, and fear cameinto the grey eyes. He drew in a quick breath.[28]“Mrs. Luce, you’re yellin’. Do you want the hulltown t’hear? Let’s settle this without a crowd.You say Carpenter’s here?”

“Came in on the five-eight.” She looked acrossat the Judge defiantly.

“Mrs. Luce”—his voice was husky with pleading—“Ithink the boy’s playin’ a joke on you.”

“Well, he didn’t act joky. And I want his safeopened.”

“If he was tryin’ to do you such a trick hewouldn’t leave the nuggets in the safe.”

At that she burst into tears. “You’re againstme!” she cried; “just like the other day. You’vegot your favourites, and you don’t show justice—nota bit of justice! When anybody does somethingwrong, you’re always ready to protect ’em and makeexcuses, and keep ’em from being punished, insteadof getting the law on ’em. I tell you what thistown needs; it needs a new Judge!”

Now the blood mounted to his face. “That’spretty rough on me,” he said. “Wal, Mrs. Luce,I’ll be outen here just as soon as I can manage it.Y’know”—with almost a twinkle in his eyes—“I’maimin’ to be District Attorney of Shasta County,Sooperior Judge, Rep’esentative from this district,Gov’nor of Californy, Senator to Washington, an’President of the United States.”

“You’ll be back driving stage if you treat otherpeople like you’re treating me.”

“Whenever a man makes a first mistake I like toencourage him,” he explained. “I allus do what Ican—an’ keep inside the law. Now, please, Mrs.Luce, let me git this misunderstandin’ cleared up.[29]‘Gid’ll settle things fair,’ you said the other day.So you go home, an’ don’t say a word to nobody.If any of the women folks ask you w’y you beencryin’, tell ’em you been cuttin’ up onions.” Hetried to smile.

“No, sir!” She rose angrily. “I won’t gohome, and I won’t lie to shield Homer Scott. I’llgo up and down Main Street, and tell everybodywhat he’s done, and how you’re acting about it. I’llhave my revenge, anyhow. I’ll break off his matchwith Alicia Clay.”

Now the Judge rose, pressing down on the armsof his chair to lift himself, and a queer trembling—almosta spasm—crossed his face. “Alicia!” hesaid under his breath. “They’re engaged, then!An’ it’ll hurt her!”

“She’d better be hurt a little now than have herheart broken later on. It’s a mistake to let a sweetgirl like that marry a crooked man.”

“Oh, Mrs. Luce, he ain’t a crooked man! Here—Iwant to be square t’ you, too. If you git himarrested without cause, you can be sued. Let’stalk this over some more.” He took her armgently.

She sat down, wiping at her cheeks.

“First of all,” he began, as he resumed his ownseat, “did anybody see you give Homer the nuggets?”

“No.”

“Did you tell anybody before you took ’em downthat he was goin’ to hold ’em as security?”

“I didn’t want anybody to find out I was borrowing.”

[30]“And you two was alone, I s’pose, when he took’em and give you the money?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s just your word against his?”

“You see? You don’t believe me!”

“I’m askin’ you a question.”

“Well, I suppose it is my word against his.”

“You told the constable about it?”

“Yes; and he pretty near laughed in my face.Never mind. I’ll take this case to the county seat.”

“The law reads the same at the county seat as itdoes here, Mrs. Luce. Say I give you a warrant.Bert serves it. Homer lands in jail. He says henever seen the nuggets. You say he has ’em, butyou can’t locate ’em. What could a jury do aboutit? So—take a night t’ think it over.”

She shook her head decidedly. “No.”

“An’ don’t forgit it’ll hurt his maw, too,” urgedthe Judge. “She ain’t strong this summer—malaria,I reckon.”

“I don’t intend to give him a chance to skip onthat down train.”

Once more the Judge rose and began to pace thefloor, his hands clasped behind him, his chin on hisbreast. One minute passed, and Mrs. Luce satquietly. But when another went by she settled herhat preparatory to leaving and tucked some straywisps of hair into place.

At that the Judge returned to his desk. Therewas no fear in the grey eyes now, and his mannerwas resolute, even cheerful. “All right,” he saidalmost briskly. “I’m a-goin’ to do what you ask.A-course, I’d like to have the case rest easy for a[31]few hours, so’s I could find out one or two thingson the q. t. But”—putting several articles torights on his desk—“that ain’t possible. I’ll haveto ask you to write me out a statement.”

“Got to have one, Judge?”

“Shore. Allus got to have a statement of ev’rycase. Would you mind goin’ into the jail office towrite it? There’s some private business to attendto in here. It’s cool in the jail office, an’ you’ll havethe hull place to yourself. But be awful certainabout one thing, Mrs. Luce.”

“What’s that?” She looked a little startled.

He led the way out of the rear door of the courtroomand around to the back entrance of the jail.“Don’t leave out nothin’,” he counseled. “Takeplenty of time to git the statement ready. I won’tbreak in on you more’n I can help.”

“I’ve got some things on the line at home thatought to come in before noon. They’ll fade.”

“Your nuggets is more important, though.Don’t you want everything settled before that downtrain? Here—write at this table. I come in herewhen I don’t want nobody to find me. Here’s penan’ ink an’ paper.”

“I’ll use a pencil if you don’t mind.”

“No; statements allus got to be writ in ink. An’make as nice a copy as you can.”

He left her, closing the door softly behind him.Outside, he drew a key from his pocket, noiselesslyfitted it into the lock and turned it. Then he re-enteredthe courtroom on a run, lifted one edge ofthe flag, disclosing a telephone, rang the bell twice,listened, rang it again, asked for his number in a[32]low voice, and when the reply came began to speakwith decision: “Homer, this is Gid. Run up fora minute. Yas, it’s important. I must see you.Can’t tell you over the ’phone. But don’t you wait—come.All right.” Then he hung up, rang for asecond number—the constable’s—gave some quickdirections and, having drawn the flag into place overthe telephone, sat down.

He waited, bowed over in his chair, with his elbowsupon the arms of it, and his head supported by hishands. But when the rickety sidewalk gave warningof an oncomer he straightened, and smiled inwelcome as Homer entered the door. “Wal, hereyou are,” he said by way of salutation.

Homer flung himself into a chair before the Judge’sdesk, fanning himself with his hat. His thinface was tense, like the face of a man under astrain.

“Boy, this is what I want to say: Don’t joshMrs. Luce.”

Homer crimsoned. His hat fell to his knee.“Mrs. Luce is crazy!” he burst forth.

“She’s been tellin’ me how you hung on to hernuggets. Give ’em back to her, boy. She’s got abad tongue.”

“Her nuggets! What does she mean? She needsher brain examined.”

“You ain’t got ’em, Homer?”

“Of course I haven’t got ’em. I don’t believeshe ever had any. Did you ever see ’em?”

“No.”

“What on earth could I do with a string of nuggets?”His chest heaved angrily.

[33]“Good collateral,” said the Judge, “case a manneeded money.”

“I don’t need money.” He said it sullenly, andshifted in his chair.

“Come to me when you do, boy.”

There was a long silence. The elder man sat,his grave look fixed on the younger, who crossed anduncrossed his feet and wiped at his forehead and neckwith a folded silk handkerchief.

“How’s your work comin’?” inquired the Judgepresently. He took up a pen and began to write.

“Oh, pretty good.”

“I reckon Mister Fruit-Buyer is satisfied, hey?He couldn’t find a better man than you for the place,anyhow.”

“Oh, he’s satisfied, I guess. But I don’t thinkI—I care to hang on to the job.”

“No?” The Judge thrust a sheet of paper intoa pocket. “How long’s Carpenter stayin’ over thistime?”

“Till the down train.”

“That so? Wal!” He paused a moment, examiningthe end of his pen. “Say, you don’t wearyour Business College medal no more.”

“I carry it in my pocket.”

“I see. Got it now? I like to take a peep atit ev’ry once in a while.”

The younger man reached into a vest pocket anddrew forth a small silver piece, shield-shaped andengraved. He handed it across the desk.

“It’s mighty pretty,” said the Judge, holding itup. He rose, still looking at it. “Must ’a’ costsomethin’, too. Excuse me a minute.” He went to[34]the front door, looked out, opened it, disappearedfor a moment and then entered again.

His hands were deep in his trousers’ pockets now,and as he talked he walked to and fro. “Homer,”he said, “you’re right about not hangin’ on to thatfruit job. I think you oughta begin to plan ongoin’ into business for your own self. You’ll wantt’ settle down soon an’ have a little home. I’d liketo help you out on it, ’cause I’ve got your good atheart, boy. You could build right on that lot ofyour maw’s. It’s a big lot. An’ then about a good,payin’ business for you—I’ve got two or three ideasI’d like to propose. (Y’see, I’m in a gassy moodt’day.) Now, the first idea is like this——”

Five minutes passed; then five more, and still theJudge talked on. Homer listened without raisinghis eyes.

At last the rattle of a board in the rickety sidewalkmade the Judge pause. Once more he wentto the door and stepped outside.

When he came back into the courtroom he walkedunsteadily, like one suddenly seized with a sickness.He sat down, not at his desk, but in the chair nextto the younger man; then he reached out a tremblinghand. “Homer,” he said huskily, “forgive me forcoming back to that nugget business. It’s made mefeel turrible, somehow. Boy, you know I’m yourfriend, don’t you? Now, let’s have the hull truthabout Mrs. Luce. Homer”—he lifted a hand andpointed to the flag—“look at that an’ tell me: Haveyou got them nuggets?” His voice broke with itspleading.

Homer jerked away his hand and sprang to his[35]feet. “Do you want me to lie and say I stole hernuggets?” he demanded. “All right, I’ll lie!I’ll——”

The Judge also rose. And now his voice was calmand cold. “I don’t like lies,” he said. “And Ithink this matter has been drug out far enough.”He reached into an outer coat pocket for the medaland handed it to the other. Then he reached intothe pocket a second time and drew forth—a stringof nuggets.

Homer’s face whitened to ghastliness, his jaw fell.He retreated, knocking over his chair and backinginto the Judge’s desk. There he hung, panting.

“Oh, boy!” said the Judge.

The other strove to speak; but his voice would notcome, and the hands that clutched at the desk wereshaking.

“I sent your medal to Carpenter,” explained theJudge. “An’ he sent the string.”

“Then he’ll grab me. It’s embezzlement. Ican’t pay him back. I’ll go to jail!”

“Sh! I sent a check, too.”

“For how much? Oh, Gid!” The tremblinghands were lifted to cover his face.

“I don’t know how much, so I just left the checkblank an’ sent word you’d forgot the exact amountyou owed. I—I reckon my bank’ll stand for a’overdraft.”

Now the white face was slowly uncovered againand the staring eyes were fixed upon the Judge.“Carpenter came—I didn’t expect him—I told himI was short—I asked him to take the nuggets to theMint—it was the only thing——”

[36]“Never once thought of old Gid?” The Judgewiped at his eyes with the back of a hand.

“Oh, you’re too good to me!” Now Homer brokedown and fell to sobbing.

“Don’t do that.” The elder laid a kind hand onthe shoulder of the younger. “No; it’s a-goin’ tobe all right, boy. Only I won’t spoil you no more,you bet your life. I’ll come down turrible hard onyou if ever you do this kind of business again. Youjust quit your gamblin’, Homer. If you don’t I’llnever let you marry Alicia.”

“She wouldn’t marry me, Gid.”

A knocking sounded from without, at the rear.

“What’s that?” Homer caught the Judge’ssleeve in a frightened grasp.

“It’s Mrs. Luce. I kept her in there, writin’, tillI could git them nuggets back. Now, you skip. Gohome. Here’s your hat. Stay there till I come.Now, don’t forgit.” He hurried the other to thefront door, opened it and shoved him on to the sidewalk.Then, with long strides, he gained the rearyard.

“By Jingo!” he called out. “Is that door stickin’,Mrs. Luce? You’re a shore enough prisoner!Wal, that’s a good one! Never mind. Come along.Where’s that statement?”

Mrs. Luce handed him several sheets of foolscap.“I don’t think I’ve left anything out,” she said.“Can you read my awful writing?”

When they were in the courtroom, in their formerplaces, the Judge laid the written sheets upon hisdesk, leaned back, looked at her a moment silently,and then began to smile across at her.

[37]“Say!” he said. “You shore can’t take a josh.”

“What d’ you mean?”

“What I said to you when you first come in.How many people did you say you’d tole?”

“The constable and you.”

“That’s good. ’Cause if you’d tole anybody elseI’d have to ask you to go an’ untell ’em.”

Sudden hope came into her eyes. “Judge! Youain’t——”

“Yas,” said the Judge. He dropped a big handinto his coat pocket once more. It came out, thenuggets dangling from it.

In an instant she was beside him and had seizedthe string. “Glory!” she exclaimed.

“Now, I’m goin’ to ask a favour of you,” saidthe Judge. “It’s this: Just forgit about the nuggetsan’ Homer. Will you? The hull thing makesyou look silly an’ wouldn’t help the boy.”

“All right,” she promised. “My, but I’mhappy!” She ran the nuggets through her fingers,fondling and counting them.

The Judge watched her for a moment. Then hisface suddenly brightened; he smiled in his slow way.“I wouldn’t wonder if Homer thought you tattledto Alicia about him playin’ cards with Jim at theOccidental.”

“Yes, I did,” she admitted a little shamefacedly.

“Wal, he’s got even with you.”

She moved away. “I’m glad he was only joking,”she said. Then from the door: “I wonderwhen he and Alicia’ll marry. My, but they’ll makea fine-looking couple, her so dark and him so light!Of course, I don’t exactly favour these marriages[38]where the groom and bride have been acquaintedwith each other for so long. They get to knoweach other too good. Give a woman something tofind out, I say, so that she can live with her husbandtwo or three years, anyhow. Now, I met Jim oneweek and was married the next, and it was four yearsbefore we was what you might call fighting.”

“Oh, wait,” said the Judge. “There’s one thingmore. In a case like this, where a statement hasbeen writ out, it’s the rule, in law, for the statoress——”

“The statoress?”

“You’re the statoress in this case. Y’see, youwrit the statement. It’s the rule for her to make asecond statement, appended to the end of the first,sayin’ that the first ain’t so.”

“All right, Judge.”

“I’ll just write the second statement, an’ youcan sign it.” He scribbled a few lines hastily.

“Wish you’d wrote the first statement,” she saidenviously, when she had come back and was standingat the desk once more. “Can’t you gofast!”

“That’s because mine’s a fountain-pen,” he explained.“Here, sign right on this line.”

“An’ say!” he added as she started away a secondtime, “lemme repeat what I advised once before—don’tnever give security, especially collateralsecurity, without you git a receipt, Mrs. Luce. Thenext feller, mebbe, won’t be jokin’.”

“I won’t, Judge,” she promised.

When she was across the railroad track on herhomeward way he went back to his armchair, sat[39]down, laid his arms upon his desk and his headupon his arms.

Noon came and passed unnoticed. The downtrain snorted by, and he did not look up. Then thelong afternoon went slowly. He stayed where hewas, scarcely moving. Afternoon merged into twilight.Darkness crept into the courtroom.

The banging of the unfixed section of the ricketysidewalk roused the Judge at last. And as theloose boards nearer at hand flapped and creakedunder a light tread he sat up and got stiffly tohis feet.

The knob of the front door turned and a slenderfigure in white appeared in the doorway. Then,“Gid!” called an anxious voice—a girl’s voice.“Gid! Are you there?”

“Yas,” answered the Judge. “I’m here. Isit—Alicia?”

“Gid!” she cried tremulously; “poor, poorGid!”

He walked toward her slowly. “What you poreGiddin’ me for?” he asked.

“Mrs. Luce told me—about what Homer’sdone.”

The Judge came short. “She did? Can’t thatwoman keep nothin’ to herself? W’y”—pleadinglyand reaching out a hand—“let me explain beforeyou—w’y, that boy, Alicia, he only——”

“Oh, it wasn’t a joke!” she interrupted. “Mrs.Luce thinks it was. But I know. Oh, you dear oldGid, you’re trying to shield him. And he doesn’tdeserve it.”

“Now, Alicia, he didn’t——”

[40]“He did—and right at a time when it could hurtyour chance to be district attorney.”

“District attorney?” repeated the Judge andlaughed—a little sadly, but bravely. “Aw, wal!I can wait t’ be district attorney.”

“You see! It’s so! It’s so! He’s taken yourmoney to get himself out of his trouble! The coward!”

“Alicia! You’re turnin’ on the boy! Pleasedon’t let a little thing like this come between youan’ Homer.”

“Between me and Homer!” she exclaimed in surprise.“What makes you say that, Gid?”

“W’y, you come here that day an’ tole me abouthim gamblin’, an’ cried.”

She laid a white hand on his sleeve. “I knewthis whole thing was coming, Gid, and you’d be theone to suffer.”

“Me?” he questioned.

“Homer Scott! I never did like him, and I’vehated to see you wasting yourself on him. Whatdoes he care about you, or your ambitions, or yourdreams?”

He was silent for a moment—so silent that heseemed to be holding his breath. Then he spokegently: “There’s only one dream I got that counts.An’—an’ I don’t dare t’ hope it might come true.”

Her face was lifted to his almost appealingly;his eyes eagerly searched hers in the dimness. Presentlyhe reached down and took the hand that washanging at her side and lifted it, pressing it againsthis breast.

She smiled up at him. And, little by little, her[41]other hand began to creep its way to his shoulder.There it rested, and she whispered to him softly:“Gid! Dear Gid!”

A smothered cry of great happiness answeredher. The next moment he dropped her hand andhis arms went out, sweeping her slender figure tohim.

IT was a long-distance call and the voice wasa man’s, impatient, peremptory and curiouslyunsteady: “Hello! Hello! Hello! I say! Isthis Doctor Hunter?”

“Yas, this is me,” answered the doctor, makingan arc of his stalwart length as he leaned down tothe receiver on his table; “this is Hunter.”

“This is the Blue Top Mine—the Blue Top. Doyou understand? We want you up here.”

“The Blue Top!” repeated the doctor. And ofa sudden his boyish face grew eager. “All right.What kind of a case is it?”

“Never mind—come. Get a good horse.”

“But look a-here,” expostulated the doctor. “Isit surgical? I’d like to know just what to bring.”

“Come prepared for anything. Can you hearme? This is Eastman.”

“Oh—Mr. Eastman.” The doctor fell back alittle, then, still holding the receiver to his ear withone hand, hastily smoothed at his hair with theother—as if to make himself more presentable forhis conversation with the distant speaker. “I’llstart in fifteen minutes,” he promised.

“Good-bye.” The line closed.

The doctor was in his shirt-sleeves. He reachedone long arm out for the coat hanging on the backof his office chair, the other for his wide, soft hat.[43]Then he caught up a canvas case that held bothmedicines and instruments, and hurried out.

Half a block up the street was a low, flower-coveredcottage that stood among wide-spreading figtrees. There was a strip of clover lawn before thelittle house. He halted when he reached it, andtook off his hat. “Oh, Miss Letty!” he called.

The fig trees formed a dense screen against thenoon heat. Under one was a girl, bareheaded andbarearmed, with a half-filled basket of the purplefruit at her feet. As the doctor spoke she turnedand came toward him swiftly across the clover. Shewas tall, nearly as tall as he, and the great knotof crisp and dusky hair on her small head added toher slender height. Her eyes were like herhair—dark and shining. They made vivid contrastwith the clear paleness of her cheek andthroat.

“You’re going out of town,” she said, with aglance at the canvas case.

“What do you think!” he answered, his faceflushing with pleasure. “They want me at BlueTop!”

She stopped. “The regular mine doctor left lastweek. They’ll have to have somebody in his place.Maybe——” Her eyes questioned his.

“It was Eastman ’phoned me.” He said itproudly.

“The owner of the mine!”

“‘We want you up here’ is what he said. And‘Come prepared for anything.’ But a-course——”It was his turn to break off. His grey eyes wereanxious.

[44]“They want you to stay!” she declared excitedly.“Won’t that be splendid! Now you’ll beable to buy all the books you’ve been wanting. Youknow, they give a good salary at Blue Top, and—andhouse rent free.” A wave of colour swept herface then, tinting it a delicate rose.

He had come nearer her. “It’d mean more’nbooks to me,” he said in a low voice.

“You’re the best doctor in the country; that’swhy they’ve sent for you. But what’ll this towndo without you?” She smiled up at him, forgettingher embarrassment. “Every baby in theplace’ll miss ‘Doc’.”

Like a man who is summoning his courage he sethis teeth together for a moment and took a deepbreath. Then: “The part of the town that I likebest I want to take with me,” he said, his tonesignificant.

There was a moment’s silence. She retreated astep, her face rosier than before. He kept his eyesfixed earnestly on her lowered lashes, waiting forthem to rise.

“I’ve—I’ve wanted to ask you before, Letty—lotsof times. But I couldn’t as long as I knowedI’d have to take you to a boardin’-house; I’ve waitedtill I thought I could see a home in sight. If thiscomes true——” He reached out a big, sunburnedhand and touched her slender one where it hung ather side.

She raised her eyes and they were misty withhope. “Do your level best at the mine!” she half-whispered.

“Letty—you care!” He let her hand fall, for[45]his own was trembling. “Oh, you bet I’ll do mybest. This is my chance. I’m bankin’ on it.”

“Take my horse for the trip. Bobby wasn’tout of the barn yesterday, and I’m pickling figsto-day. Please do.”

“All right, I’ll be glad to.”

A few minutes later, when he rode out of thecorral, canvas case tight-strapped to his back, he wasmounted on a spirited little mustang whose brighteyes watched through a bushy forelock. The gatewas left in a rushing gallop. And from down thestreet, where the doctor turned into the Blue Toproad, he waved a hand back to Letty. Then hecantered on.

It was fifteen miles to the mine, all up grade andrough going. But Bobby kept a quick pace; andhis rider, fixing his look hopefully ahead, gave nothought to the road. Two things ran constantlyin the doctor’s mind: “We want you up here”and “Come prepared for anything.” The more hethought of the statements the more he felt certainabout the success of his trip. They surely meanthim to remain at the mine. That was why he hadbeen asked to bring as much of his equipment aspossible.

“Halt!”

It was Bobby who obeyed the command. Out ofthe thick brush that lined the grade had steppedthree men, blocking his way. The trio carriedrifles across their arms.

“Who are you?” demanded one of the three.He was a smooth-shaven, thick-set, middle-aged manwith hard, milky-blue eyes and soft, fat cheeks that[46]pouched heavily, drawing his under lids down toshow a scarlet lining.

“Doctor.”

“Oh!—I see. Good work.” The thick-set manfell back a step and gave a sidewise jerk of thehead. It was permission to ride on. Then he ledhis companions across the road and into thechaparral.

A moment later the doctor forgot the occurrence.The road divided, and he turned into the less usedone of the two. Rounding a sharp turn in it hecame in sight of a tiny, shingled bungalow builtupon a spot that had been made level by digginginto the side of the mountain. This was the residenceof the regular physician at the mine. It wasvacant now, and through the uncurtained windowhe could see the pretty living room, with its low,raftered ceiling and its great fireplace of stone.

“Oh, if this only comes true!” he said aloud.Already he pictured Letty’s face at the window.

At the side porch of the superintendent’s househe dismounted quickly, dropped the bridle reins tothe ground and sprang up the steps, unbucklinghis case as he went.

A Chinese in spotless white answered his ring and,without a question, went pattering away to a closeddoor at the end of a long hall, where he paused andknocked softly.

A man opened the door. He was perhaps thirty-five,with the bearing that marks the city-bred. Buthis dress was dishevelled, his haggard face showeda one-day’s growth of beard, and his eyes were[47]hollow, as if from sickness, and bloodshot. “Is thisDoctor Hunter?” he questioned, whispering.

“Yas, sir.”

“My name is Eastman.” He motioned the doctorto enter.

In the darkened room there was discernible onlythe outlines of a bed, upon which someone was tossing.The patient was moaning, too, and hoarselyrepeating a name: “Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!Laurie!” The tone was insistent and full of anguished appeal.

The doctor went to the bedside. The face onthe pillow was that of a young woman—a womanof perhaps twenty-five. It was a face that remindedhim of Letty’s. There was the same delicate outlineof cheek and chin, the same full, sweet mouthand girlish throat. But the dark head was movingfrom side to side with each repeating of the name,and the dark eyes were staring wildly. As he leaneddown she turned them full upon him.

“Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!” she entreated.

“Nervous shock,” said the doctor. He lifted awhite wrist. It was rigid and the pulse hard. Thehand was knotted, too, and shook with its very tenseness.“What put her into this shape?”

Eastman did not reply at once. He began towalk the room. Presently he halted behind thedoctor. “Mrs. Eastman is—is worried,” he explained.

“Wal, I should judge so,” remarked the doctorcoldly. He laid an open hand upon the sick woman’sforehead to quiet the constant wagging. “Howlong’s she been like this?”

[48]“Twenty-four hours. Give her something tomake her sleep. She’ll go crazy.”

“In a case like this you got to remove the cause.”The doctor spoke severely. The whole thing lookedbad to him.

Eastman made no answer, but left the room, forthe Chinese had summoned him noiselessly from thedoor.

Left alone, the doctor prepared an opiate andadministered one draught of it, after which he tooka chair beside the bed and again lifted a tense wrist.Presently Mrs. Eastman ceased to murmur her heart-brokenplaint. Her clenched fingers relaxed theirhold on the counterpane. Then the strained lids ofthe sufferer fluttered down.

When she was breathing deep and regularly, witha peaceful smile on the sweet mouth and her handsfolded on her breast, he leaned back. And, lookingat her, his thoughts returned to Letty and to thetiny bird’s-nest of a house perched below in a nicheof the mountain. He could see a strong young figuregoing to and fro through the cozy rooms; himselfbeside a wood fire, with his books about him. Springcame a trifle later here on the tilted crown of BlueTop, fall arrived a little early, which meant manyevenings cool enough for a cheery blaze. And ifthe mine was off the line of the railroad, that didnot——

Eastman entered hurriedly, leaving the door openbehind him.

The doctor rose, the look of day-dreaming stillin his eyes. “She’s quiet,” he said in a low voice.“What else can I attend to up here?”

[49]“This is all.” As Eastman answered his ownlook was averted. “Our new physician’s due to-day—DoctorFowler, of San Francisco.”

“I—I see.” A surge of red deepened the tanon the doctor’s face. “I s’pose you won’t need meno more.”

“How much do I owe you?” There was dismissalin Eastman’s tone.

The other closed the canvas case and picked uphis hat. Then he leaned over the sleeper for a moment.When he started slowly toward the door thespring was gone from his step. He seemed not tohave heard the question.

“Will ten be satisfactory?” Eastman had runa hand into a pocket. Now he held a goldpiece.

The doctor turned. A troubled light was in thegrey eyes. “Five’d be a fair charge for Blue Top,”he said. As the smaller coin was proffered him hetook it, bowed and went out.

Someone followed him—he did not look back tosee who. But as he reached the front door his eyesfell upon a photograph that lay on a table besidethe hatrack. It was the photograph of a child—ahandsome, fair-haired little boy in ginghamrompers, standing on a garden path amid chrysanthemumsthat reached above his tumbled curls.“Is that your baby?” asked the doctor, and, withthe inquiry, turned to the one behind.

It was not Eastman, but the Chinese servant whohad followed him out. As he opened the door hemade no reply.

Bobby was waiting dutifully at the steps; andwhen he was headed down the mountain he went[50]single-footing away eagerly, his bit-chains rattlingwith his swaying gait. But the doctor rode with hischin on his breast and his soft hat pulled to hisbrows. And when a bend in the road brought theshingled bungalow near, instead of looking at ithe turned his face toward the long, level valley. Inthe distance, on the tree-strewn river-bottom, wasa cluster of white specks—the town he had left inthe early afternoon. He had come from it hopefully:he was returning unsuccessful. But his jawwas set resolutely.

It was past sundown when he reined at the gateleading to Bobby’s corral. Letty had seen him rideup. Now she came hurrying across the garden towardhim. “Is it good news?” she called.

He was down and standing beside his horse. “Icounted my chickens ahead of time,” he answered,and smiled ruefully. “They’re gittin’ a city docfor Blue Top.”

As he slipped off saddle and bridle she stood insilence, her eyes on the ground. But when he cameover and paused beside her she looked up at himbravely, for all the tears on her lashes. “Nevermind about Blue Top,” she said. “Think what afine doctor you are now. And you’re so young. Ifyou go on with your studying——”

“I’ll tell you what’s the matter with me,” he saidvery earnestly. “I cure, don’t I? But I don’tdress good enough. I don’t know how to talk. AndI ain’t one of them stylish, top-buggy physicians.”He looked up the street to his own gate. A man hadpulled up before it—a queer-looking individualmounted on a raw-boned mule and wearing a long,[51]tan linen duster and a black slouch hat. “Thefact is,” he went on, “I’m not Doctor Hunter.That’s it. I’m just ‘Doc.’”

The man on the mule was advancing toward them.Letty hastened to inquire about Blue Top. “Youdidn’t tell me who was sick at the mine,” she reminded.

“Mrs. Eastman. But—she wasn’t sick.”

“She wasn’t sick?” Letty raised a puzzled face.

“Just unhappy. Eastman didn’t say what about.But her poor heart’s a-breakin’.”

The man on the mule pulled up for a second time,near by. “Are you Doc Hunter?” he demanded.The voice sounded muffled.

“I’m the Doc.”

“A friend of mine is sick—out of town here alittle ways.”

“Take Bobby again,” Letty urged in an undertone.“You know how tough he is. He won’tmind, if the trip is short.”

“But he ain’t had his feed,” said the doctor.

“I’ll tie some oats to the saddle.”

As she hurried off the doctor went up to the manon the mule. “What kind of a case is it?” he inquired,and noticed that the stranger had a handkerchieftied under his jaws and over his ears.

“That’s what I expect you to tell me.” Therewas a note of sneering in the retort.

“I mean, is it surgical?” explained the other.

“Well, suppose you come fixed so’s you’ll be readyfor any kind of a case.”

The doctor stared. It was Eastman’s reply—witha different wording. And the coincidence[52]seemed a strange one. Then: “You’d better letme do somethin’ for that toothache,” he saidkindly.

“Oh, it don’t amount to anything,” was the shortanswer.

The doctor had not unbuckled his case. Now hecrossed the corral to Bobby and picked up bridleand saddle.

The stranger led the way out of town, hurryinghis mule forward with voice, switch and heels, andtaking the main traveled road that led south besidethe railroad track. Night was already settling, andto the left the scattered shafts of a cemeterygleamed white through the gathering dusk. Beyondthe cemetery, where a dim road branched eastwardacross the rails toward the river, the guidedrew up and dismounted and busied himself for amoment with the bridle of his mule. The doctoralso reined and waited.

Presently his companion came walking back, leavingthe mule tied to the railroad fence. “Doc,”he began, putting one hand on Bobby’s bridle andthe other on the doctor’s knee, “don’t misunderstandwhat I’m going to say to you.”

“Yas? What’s that?” Of a sudden the doctorfelt dislike and suspicion.

“Where I’m going,” continued the man deliberately,“you’ll have to travel blindfolded.”

The doctor did not speak for a moment. Againhe was staring at the other, not so startled as hewas amazed at this, the second queer call in a singleday! Before he had finished puzzling over the half-crazedwoman at Blue Top and the trio of armed[53]men who had halted him, here was another mystery.Was the county gone mad?

“You’ve barked up the wrong tree, Mister,” hesaid finally, looking into the small eyes that wereglinting up at him. “I’ve got just five dollars withme. Let me show y’.” He reached into a pocket.“That ain’t worth cuttin’ my throat for.”

A boisterous laugh greeted this. Then: “Cutyour throat! Why, I’m not after money. I wanta doctor. And I’m going to have a doctor.” Stillholding to Bobby’s rein the stranger reached downand patted his right thigh. “I’ve never heard oftaking a doctor to a sick man at the end of a gun,”he added, “but if you hold back that’s the way I’lltake you. Get down.”

The doctor dismounted.

“Turn around,” was the next order.

As the doctor obeyed a large, soft handkerchiefwas laid across his eyes and bound tight.

He climbed back into his saddle then, and foundhis stirrups. But as he picked up his rein once morehe felt his hands gripped in a firm hold and broughtforward to the pommel.

“I’ll tie your wrists now,” said his companion.

The doctor straightened and jerked his arms tohis sides. “You don’t need to,” he declared. “I’lllet my eyes alone.”

“Put out your hands!” came the stern command.

There was nothing to do but comply.

When they moved on again the doctor sat withevery faculty on the alert, determined to discoverwhich way they were travelling. But first theycircled two or three times, then took a zigzag course.[54]And after so much forethought on his guide’s partthe doctor was completely turned around. So that,starting forward finally along a comparativelystraight course, he did not know in what directionthey were headed. Soon he forgot to note any veeringto right or left. A feeling of intense nauseacame over him, caused by the sway of his horse andhis inability to see.

The going was smooth enough for the first half-hour.Afterward it became rough, when they ceasedto canter, even over short distances. At the end ofthe first long hour they wound down a steep andevidently narrow path. This brought them to rushingwater, which they crossed when the mule andBobby had drunk. Then a long climb began—tolevel ground again. At last a sharp turn was madeto the left. Once more they descended. Then camea halt.

“Get down,” said the guide.

“I will when you let loose my hands,” returnedthe doctor crossly. “This is a dickens of a way totreat a white man!”

When he was down and his eyes were unboundhe saw that they were in the bottom of a deep cañon,for on either side of him, against the lighter backgroundof the sky, was the black, pine-topped lineof a ridge. There was a small clearing in the cañon,circled by a wall of underbrush, and at the centreof the clearing a squat shanty, beyond which showeda patch of light from a window on its fartherside.

Bridles were taken off and girths loosened. Thenthe doctor folded down the top of the feed-sack so[55]that Bobby could eat, and left the little horse devouringhis oats.

Now the two men made toward the shanty andsilently entered a small, low room lighted by a singlekerosene lamp. The walls of the room were of roughpine boards, smoke-stained; the ceiling was of blackenedcheesecloth that sagged low overhead. Therewas a rough board table beside the door, and twobenches, as unplaned as the table, for seats. Asmall stove stood in one corner, rusted by the rainthat had trickled down upon it from the pipe-openingin the roof; against a wall stood a bed of boards—abed only wide enough for one person. Upon it,under a grey blanket, lay a figure.

The doctor picked up the lamp, crossed to thebedside, and let the light shine down upon his patient—aman not more than twenty-eight years ofa*ge. The fevered face was ugly, almost apelike;the forehead bulged, the cheek-bones were high, thenose so flat that the nostrils were two wide, blackholes; and the mouth was full and coarse. Thedoctor recoiled as he looked, and turned to the manstanding at his shoulder.

He saw a face that he liked still less—eyes smalland deep-set, and overhung with heavy, coarse brows;a nose lean and high and twisted so far out of linethat it made a left obtuse angle from forehead tomouth; and long, thin lips that opened over small,uneven, discoloured teeth. But the most strikingfeature of the face was a scar. It lay across theleft cheek from the corner of the eye to the pointof the heavy chin. It was a straight scar—asstraight as if made by a keen knife drawn along[56]the edge of a ruler. And it was old, and a deadwhite that contrasted sharply with the liquor-reddenedskin of the cheek.

“I’ll hold the lamp,” said the man with the scar.

The doctor unbuckled his case, threw off his coatand rolled up his sleeves. He did not ask what wasthe matter, but laid back the bedclothes and beganhis look for a wound. And he found it—a gunshotwound in the right side, at the waist-line, and mortallydeep.

“My! This oughta been ’tended to hours ago,”he said severely. “When did it happen?”

“Yesterday. He’s been unconscious eversince.”

“Git me some hot water.”

Then, for an hour, not a word was spoken. Thedoctor worked with all his energy, forgetting wherehe was, forgetting hunger and weariness. Thetable had been moved close to the bed and the lampplaced upon it. So the man with the scar had nothingto do. He walked the floor, his head down andheld a little sidewise, as if he were listening; andas he walked his eyes continually shifted from sideto side.

“I’m done,” announced the doctor at last. “Thismedicine you can give him every three hours—oneteaspoonful. It’s for the fever.”

The man with the scar came over to stand at thefoot of the bed. “Leave something that’ll make himsleep,” he said.

“All right.” The doctor had thought of askingfor coffee. But now he was eager to get away.There was that in the manner of his guide which[57]he did not like—an anxiety that seemed apart fromconcern for the sick man.

Soon they were started on the return trip, thedoctor blindfolded as before and tied by the wriststo his pommel. As they went he marked as well ashe could ascents and descents, abrupt turns, levelstretches and rough. Bobby travelled slowly, beingtired with all the long miles he had covered sincenoon; and once or twice he stumbled, jerking athis headline.

The man with the scar cursed him. “Why don’tyou ride a mule?” he called back. “A mule’s sure-footed,and he’s got more sense in a minute than ahorse’s got in a week.”

“Ain’t nothin’ the matter with this horse’s smartness,”retorted the doctor. “Bobby knows as muchas a man.”

“Oh, does he?” said the other with a mirthlesslaugh. “Well, you’d better look out or I’ll blindfoldhim, too.”

When the animals were once more brought to astandstill the man with the scar did not dismount,but rode close enough to untie the thongs at thedoctor’s pommel and to jerk away the handkerchief.

They were beside the railroad track where the dimroad branched east. The man with the scar addressedthe doctor sharply. “Doc,” he said, “ifyou know what’s good for you you’ll just forgetall about to-night.” Then: “So long.” But hestayed where he was in the road.

“So long,” returned the doctor. He headednorth. When beyond the cemetery he looked round,the mule and its scar-faced rider were gone.

[58]A milk wagon was rumbling through the town asthe doctor dismounted at the wide gate which ledto Bobby’s stable, and a boy on a bicycle was wheelingfrom house to house along the street, throwingSan Francisco papers of the previous afternoon intoeach yard. The morning of another day had come.

There was a light still burning, however, in thekitchen of the little flower-covered cottage. Andsoon Letty came hurrying out. “Have you hadany rest?” she asked. “I’ve got some hot coffeeready for you.”

He gave a tender smile. “You’ll make a finedoctor’s wife!” he declared.

“Not if I worry, though. And I have worried—allnight.” She tried to smile back at him, but herlips trembled. “Because I didn’t like the looks ofthe man that came here after you. Where was thecase?”

“I’m afraid you’ll worry worse when I tell you,”he answered. “I don’t know where I’ve been.”

“You don’t know!”

Briefly, over a cup of steaming coffee in thekitchen, he related the happenings of the night justgone. Letty listened, wide-eyed and pale. “Howdo you figger it out?” he asked her as he concludedhis story. “The Blue Top call was funny, but thiswas worse.”

The next moment she rose to her feet and let hercup and saucer fall with a clatter. “That’s whothey are!” she cried. “Why didn’t I think of itbefore! The whole thing’s out at the mine.” Thenshe ran from the kitchen into the dining-room andcame running back again, a newspaper in one hand.[59]“Read it!” she bade in the wildest excitement.“Oh, read it!”

He took the paper from her. It was the localpublication of the day before, and the article sheindicated occupied the upper half of the front page.“Laurence Eastman Kidnapped,” read a line thatreached from one side of the sheet to the other.Under this, in smaller type, was a subhead: “OutlawsDemand Five Thousand Dollars of MillionaireFather. Threaten to Kill Child if Theft is MadePublic.”

The doctor read no further. “That’s what wasthe matter with Mrs. Eastman,” he said in a lowvoice. “The boy’s out in that cañon!”

Astounded, each gazed into the face of the otherfor a moment. “You didn’t hear him?” venturedLetty. “Maybe he was hid in the brush.”

“The shanty was pretty good-sized—lookin’ atit from the outside,” returned the doctor. “Inside,the room was awful small. If that man comes afterme again——”

“Don’t go out alone with him,” she pleaded.“Let somebody trail you.”

He shook his head. “He’d find it out and shoot.No, I’ve got to take the chance. Oh, Letty, if Icould only bring that little woman her kid!”

Letty’s dark eyes were misty. “You couldn’ttelephone her, could you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “So far, everything’s guesswork.I dassent raise her hopes on that. It’s awfulwhen a person’s hopes’re raised—and then go smash.I’ve got to find out where I was. There’s a schemeI heard of once——”

[60]“Is it scattering beans?”

“No.” He laughed and reached across thekitchen table to cover a slim hand with one of his.“No”—more soberly—“it’s something different—it’sabout Bobby. You’d have to let me take careof him for a few days and treat him real bad. Iwon’t tell you what I’d do to him, then it won’t fretyou.”

“Take Bobby,” she urged. “But oh, don’t haveany trouble out there with that man!” And shegrew white and clung to his hand as she had neverdone before.

He stayed only long enough to reassure her, andwent when the sun shone against the kitchen window.He had been twenty-four hours without sleep.

It was an anxious day for Letty. The doctorspent it in work after he had had his rest, and atsix o’clock opened his medicine-case to put into itone or two things that had been lacking the previousnight. When sundown came and the long, gratefultwilight, he paid a visit to Bobby. Then he lightedthe lamp in his office and sat down to wait. Darkbrought the looked-for summons. The front gatesqueaked on its hinges. Heavy steps sounded alongthe narrow boardwalk leading up to the porch.Next, following a short pause, came a knock.

The doctor opened the door. The man with thescar was in waiting. He kept out of range of thelight that fell through the door, but the doctorcould see that the face of his visitor was again halfhidden by a handkerchief and that the slouch hatwas worn low to shadow it.

“My friend’s suffering awful,” he said by way of[61]greeting. “All over the place, Doc. I felt almostlike putting him out of his misery.”

At once the doctor went for Bobby. An eagerwhinny hailed the opening of the stable door. Butwhen the little horse was led out of his stall he hungback and all but refused to leave it. “You’ll havesome supper out yonder,” promised his rider, andtied a generous feed of oats to the thongs of the bigstock saddle.

A slender figure came swiftly across the corral.It was Letty, and she lifted her face to the doctor’sin mute anxiety. He whispered encouragement andbent to kiss her, then rode out to join his waitingguide.

The second trip to the cañon was, in every way,like the first except that it was made more quickly.When the clearing was reached and the doctor’s eyeswere unbound he saw that there was no patch oflight beyond the low shanty. “Didn’t dare leavea lamp,” explained the man with the scar ashe cautiously opened the door. After he hadpeered in; listening, he entered quietly and strucka match.

The sick man was on the floor, stretched prone.His eyes were wide, but unseeing. His breathingwas laboured.

They lifted him gently and laid him on the bed.Then the doctor, coat off, once more began hisministering, while the man with the scar seated himselfon a bench by the door and smoked. The doctorpaid the other no attention, but apparently gavehis whole thought to his patient. Nevertheless, as heworked he kept on the alert for sounds, and, when[62]his back was turned toward his guard, examinedthe wall against which stood the head of the bed.

He noticed that which made him certain that theshanty had a second, if a very small, room. Twoof the upright foot-wide boards of the wall had beensawed across at a height of six feet from the floor.A few moments later he purposely dropped the corkof a bottle. As he stooped to feel about for it hegave a quick look at the lower ends of the sawedboards. Unlike the others in the wall, they clearedthe floor by half an inch. It was probable that theyformed a narrow, blind door; that the wall itselfwas a partition. He determined to be certain aboutit. “Fetch me some right cold water,” he said tothe man with the scar.

For a moment the other remained seated and madeno answer. Then, “All right,” he said reluctantlyand, picking up a square kerosene can that had beenfitted with a handle, went out.

The doctor waited, his eyes on his patient, hisears strained for the sound of vanishing footsteps.He heard none. The other was doubtless just outside,watching. The doctor walked to the table,took a square of prepared plaster from his case and,having turned the light down a little, laid the plasterupon the top of the globe.

The light went out. He stepped swiftly to thehead of the bed and put a hand against the blinddoor. It swung inward a foot or more, then backinto place again.

“Here!” The threatening voice was at the outsidedoor, which opened and closed with a bang.“What’re you trying to do?”

[63]The doctor took one long stride in the directionof the speaker. “Got a match?” he inquired innocently.“That blamed lamp went out.”

The other muttered and struck a match. Whenits light flashed the doctor was standing beside thetable, the square of plaster in one hand.

“You ’tend to business!” warned the man withthe scar. His thin lips were parted in a snarl.

“Now, look-a-here,” returned the doctor; “I’vestood all the abuse I’m goin’ to. There ain’t anotherphysician in this county that would a-cameout here a second time with his eyes blinded andhis hands tied—not if you had ten friends dyin’.And I expect you to show me decent treatment.”He leaned forward across the table and looked theother man squarely in the face.

“Last night you wanted hot water. To-night youwant cold.”

“Wal, excuse me, but I’m the best judge of whatthe sick gent needs. If I ain’t, why the dickens doyou come after me?”

For the space of a minute they stood in silence,face to face. Then, as if partly convinced, the manwith the scar once more took up his oil can. Whenhis quick, shuffling steps had died away the doctortried another plan. He stooped over the sick manuntil his lips were close to the crack that ran downthe full length of the blind door, and began to speakthe name that the grief-crazed mother at the minehad spoken: “Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!”

He listened. There was no sound within or without.He spoke again, louder: “Laurie!”

First, a movement beyond the partition—a soft,[64]rustling, creeping movement. Then, close to thewall, a little, weak, long-drawn sob!

The doctor straightened, his heart pounding sofuriously that it hurt him, his face hot with the joyof his discovery. Smiling, he glanced down.

He looked into a pair of startled eyes that werestaring up at him. “Who are you?” came thehusky demand, and the sick man suddenly liftedhimself to an elbow, almost as if he were about toleap from the bed.

The doctor could only stare back. The man wasconscious. Had he heard him? What was to bedone?

Before he could frame any course of action theman with the scar entered.

“Your friend’s lots better,” announced the doctor,turning toward the door. “Come and see.”

“That so?” The other crossed to the foot ofthe bed.

“Nick,” began the sick man, speaking with greateffort, “don’t you trust anybody. You get out ofhere. Do you understand? Never mind me. I’mgoing to die. Look at my nails.” He put out atrembling hand.

“Don’t you worry,” answered the man with thescar. “The Doc came in blindfolded.”

“You’re taking chances,” persisted the youngerman. “Go—just—leave me—water, and—a gun.”He sank back.

“You got to keep more quiet,” said the doctor.“Here.” He lifted a cup to the dry lips.

When he left the bedside the man with the scarfollowed and leaned close. “Bill’s going to die,”he said in a low voice. “Look at his nails.”

[65]Instead, the doctor looked at the speaker. Therewas a sinister light in those little, alert eyes; acruel twist to the thin mouth. And the whole expressionof the scarred face bespoke a sudden determination—afiendish determination. Bill was pastsaving. Soon the cabin would be left behind. Andthe doctor—why let him go back to the town?

“He’s going to die,” repeated the man with thescar. “And you know it.”

“My friend,” answered the doctor, “I’ll tell youthe truth. He ain’t got more’n one chance in ahunderd—and that’s a pretty slim one. If he ain’tbetter to-morrow I’ve got to operate.” He satdown.

The man with the scar sat down in front of him.The table was between them. He leaned his armson it. “Don’t take me for a fool,” he advised.

The doctor folded his arms. “Now, look a-here,”he retorted, smiling; “don’t take me for a fool. Iknow what’s the matter with you.”

At that the man with the scar rose so suddenlythat his bench tipped backward.

“Yas,” the doctor went on. “I know why youbrung me here blindfolded and what you’re hidin’.”

The right hand of the man with the scar stole tohis hip.

The doctor ignored the action. He went onspeaking with clear directness: “You two fellers’velocated a gold mine. And you’ve got the crazy ideathat I’m a-goin’ to bring out a bunch of locators.Wal, git over it. I’m not a prospector: I’m adoc.”

The hand on the weapon rested quiet. The manwith the scar drew a gasping breath. Then long[66]and keenly he studied the face of the doctor. Aftera time he dropped his arm, picked up his bench andreseated himself.

Some little time passed. The doctor smoked andnursed a knee. Once he got up to take the pulseof his patient and again to mark the temperature.But his every movement was leisurely, and he showedno wish to leave. The man with the scar sat, leaningon the table, apparently lost in thought.

All at once he rose. “Well, come on,” he said.

Again the doctor examined the sick man. “This’llbe a bad day for your friend,” he explained. “I’mleavin’ something to chase the pain.”

When they were ready to mount the other addressedhim harshly. “Doc,” he said, “if you andme run into anybody on our way back it’ll be youthat gets my first shot.”

“That’s a bargain,” answered the doctor good-naturedly.

But, riding out of the cañon, he felt far from confident.The previous night his guide had led briskly.Now the mule was lagging. The doctor found himselfmoving his body forward in his saddle to urgeBobby on. They had gone only a small part of theway homeward when the mule came to a stop. Bobbyhalted, too, and the doctor waited like a man whoexpects a blow in the dark. He listened. The otherdid not dismount. There was no audible movementahead. But he felt that sinister face turned uponhim.

“Say, that friend of your’n has got a wonderfulconstitution,” he remarked.

There was a short interval of silence. It seemed[67]many minutes to the doctor. Then, “Get up!”said the voice ahead.

Letty was waiting for him when he turned in atthe corral gate, though it was long past midnight.He had been under a severe strain, but she had beenunder a greater. He saw that when he lifted thelantern she brought him and looked into her face.

“Good news,” he told her, speaking low. “Thebaby’s there.”

Five minutes later he was back in his office oncemore and had Blue Top on the telephone. “Come,”was his message. “I’ve got a clue, Mr. Eastman.But don’t bring nobody with you.”

It seemed to him that he had only just lain downto rest when he was up again, admitting Eastman,who had come as quick as a horse could carry him.The father was more dishevelled than ever; and onhis haggard, unshaven face stood out the sweat ofeffort and anxiety. Three days of agony had agedhim.

“Oh, my boy!” were his first words.

“I know where he is, but I don’t know how togit there,” said the doctor. Briefly he explained.

Eastman, half distracted, paced the floor as helistened. “Oh, tell me what to do,” he cried whenthe doctor had finished. “My wife—it’s killingher.”

“The medicine I left’ll keep the sick feller up tillthis evenin’.”

“I’ll follow you to-night, then. Oh, I must! Imust! The boy’ll need me. They dragged him overall those miles. Think of it! And wore out hispoor little legs.”

[68]“We’ve got to go about this thing mighty careful,”warned the doctor. “You trail me and somebody’llbe shot. Mebbe it’ll be me, mebbe it’ll beyour baby.”

The father halted before the younger man. “Buthow can you help him,” he demanded, “with yourhands tied?”

“Wal, I’ve thought of a scheme. The man thatcome after me searched me for a pistol both nights.But he’s never looked into the oat-bag. So, I’llput a gun in that bag, and when I stand up fromfeedin’ Bobby I’ll have the drop on him.”

“He may get you first. Then what? Oh, I’llnever see my boy again!”

“Wal, if you can think of a better way, go ahead.”

But at the end of an hour Eastman agreed withthe doctor that there was no better plan. “Allright,” he said, “—all right—I’ll trust to you. NowI must telephone my wife that there’s hope.”

When the doctor awoke early that afternoon itwas to learn that Mrs. Eastman had arrived andwas at the hotel. Eastman himself called the doctorup to announce her coming and the latter askedthe parents to remain secluded during the remainderof the day.

There was reason to believe that the kidnappersmight have a confederate on watch in the town.

But Eastman had no thought beyond the findingof his child. “Suppose that sick man died to-day,”he said. “Won’t the other man leave and takeLaurie with him? Doctor, I think I ought to startfifty men out on a search.”

The doctor opposed the suggestion. “Take my[69]advice,” he urged kindly. “Tell Mrs. Eastman tobe brave.”

Eastman only groaned and hung up. But lateron he telephoned again and again, always with somefresh idea that was filling the heart of the waitingmother with forebodings.

Letty telephoned, too. “Don’t go alone to-night,”she begged. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I got to, Letty,” he declared. “If Eastmanstarts men out, which way’ll they go? It might take’em a week to find that shanty.”

Night settled early, for long before twilight thesky became heavily overcast and a wind rose, sweepingthe dust up in clouds as it drove through thetown, and auguring a rainstorm. The doctor placeda light in his office, then took his station at a windowin an unlighted front room.

The minutes dragged. Eight o’clock struck, andnine.

“Mebbe that sick feller did die,” he said to Lettyover the telephone. “But——”

He hung up the receiver abruptly. There was asound of galloping in the street. It ceased at thegate, when heavy steps came hurrying to his porch.It was the man with the scar.

“Doc,” he began, panting with his hard ride,“you said you’d operate——”

“Ready in a jiffy,” answered the doctor, andturned away to pick up hat and case.

The next instant there was a choking cry fromthe porch, then loud curses and the sound of fiercescuffling. The doctor whirled.

The man with the scar was flat on his back at[70]the threshold, his wrists manacled, his shins ironed;over him stood a smooth-shaven, thick-set, middle-agedman armed with a revolver—the man who hadhalted the doctor on the Blue Top road; and Eastmanwas there.

“He stole my boy!” the father called out furiously.“I’m going to kill him!” He flung himselfforward.

The man with the revolver pushed him back.And, “No! No!” expostulated the doctor. “Eastman!You’re makin’ a mistake!”

The prisoner gave a loud, hard laugh. “You betyour life he’s making a mistake!” he declared.

“We got you just the same,” said the man withthe revolver triumphantly.

“Put him on a horse,” ordered Eastman, maddenedmore than ever by the taunting laugh. “He’lltake me to my boy or I’ll kill him.”

The captured man ignored the father. His lookwas on the doctor, and it was full of hate. “Ah,h—l!” he exclaimed disgustedly. “I could kickmyself! Last night I had my finger on the trigger.But like a fool——”

Eastman was sobbing in baffled rage. “My baby!”he cried. “Four days with this brute! Think of it!”

“No more monkey business.” The man with therevolver was speaking, and he gave his prisoner arough poke in the side with his boot. “You’re inthe hands of the Sheriff, and you’re going to takeus out to that cañon. We start right off.”

“No, we don’t,” was the answer. “You’vetrapped me, the three of you. Send me up if youcan. My word’s as good as this doctor’s, and I[71]don’t have to take you anywhere to hunt for evidenceagainst me.”

“Get up,” commanded the sheriff. He unbuckledthe irons from his prisoner’s legs.

The man with the scar rose. “Nobody’ll ever findthat cabin or what’s in it,” he said doggedly.“And when Bill dies——”

“Oh, my God!” It was the father.

The doctor was leaning in the doorway. “What’dyou do this for, Mr. Eastman?” he asked.

The tears were streaming down Eastman’s face.“We thought the Sheriff ought to come,” he faltered.“The boy’s mother is frantic. And thisseemed the surest way.” The doctor shook his head.“I’m afraid we’ve lost our best chance,” he said.

“See here, Doc,” broke in the sheriff. “I madethe capture. And I want you to understand whenwe find the boy I’m entitled to the reward.”

The other turned astonished eyes upon him.“Reward?” he repeated.

“You mean to say you didn’t know there’s fivethousand offered?”

“So that’s why you done this,” said the doctor,and shrugged his shoulders. “You know, I’ve heerdtell of fellers that put their foot in it. You’ve gotyour’n in plumb to the knee.”

“I’ll come out all right,” retorted the sheriffboastfully. “I’ll send for dogs. There’s three inSacramento. I can have ’em here in eighteen hours.”

“If I don’t git to Bill,” said the doctor, “he’llbe dead before that.” He looked at the man withthe scar.

“Eighteen hours!” repeated Eastman miserably.

[72]Now the sheriff advanced upon his prisoner.“You’re going to take me to that cabin,” he saidthreateningly. “You don’t think so now, but I canmake you change your mind. Come along.” Heseized his prisoner by a shackled arm and jerkedhim toward the gate.

Eastman started after the two, pleading incoherently.But half-way to the gate he stopped. Agirl blocked the walk. It was Letty.

“Depend on the doctor,” she said. “He tookhis life in his hands to find the boy. He was goingto risk it again to bring him to you. And he didn’teven know there was a reward.”

Eastman turned and went stumbling back.

“But he doesn’t know the way,” he protested.“He said he didn’t.”

In answer, the doctor took his arm and led himdown the street to the wide gate opening into Bobby’scorral. “I’ll have a horse here for you in a minute,”he said. “I’ll ride this one. You see, there’s anotherscheme. But it really don’t depend on me—itdepends on this little bronc.”

When Bobby was saddled and bridled Letty puther cheek against his soft nose. “Do your best,”she whispered; and to his rider: “Don’t fail.”

The doctor took both her hands in his. “I’ma-goin’ to make it,” he declared. “Stay with theboy’s maw, little gal, till we come.”

Bobby was eager to be off, pawing as the doctormounted and backing in a circle when his rider heldhim in to wait for Eastman. The reins loosened,the little horse sprang forward at a brisk canter,leading the way out of town.

[73]It was at the forks of the road that the first haltwas made. Here the doctor, having first tied thebridle reins to his pommel assumed the exact positionin the saddle that he had twice been compelled totake, and laid his hands on his saddle-horn.

“Now, Bobby,” he said, touching the mustanggently with his heels, “here we are. Go on.”

Bobby moved forward, but hesitatingly, and, whenhe had gone a few steps, stopped, looking about him.

Again the doctor urged him kindly. “Wantyour supper, Bobby? Come, now.”

The little horse made forward at a brisk walkthen, travelling straight south along the road thatfollowed the track. Presently, however, he turnedsharply to the right and entered the brush.

“Do you think he’s going right?” called out Eastmananxiously.

“Wal,” answered the doctor, “he acts like hemeans business. You see, for two days I ain’t givehim a bite to eat except when he was out yonder inthat cañon.”

Bobby was taking a westward course that wasalmost at right angles to the road he had just comedown. He wound through scrubby liveoaks andbristling chaparral, evidently along no path. Behindhim the other horse had to be urged constantly,for the undergrowth was heavy and hung across theway. But soon the brush parted to leave a straight,open track, so narrow, however, that it seemed onlya path. The doctor got down and lit a match.They were on a trail that showed recent use. Uponit, stamped plainly in the dust, were the round, eastward-pointinghoofprints of a mule.

[74]“Are we right?” asked Eastman.

“So far.”

Now both horses were pushed to a canter—untilthe path grew rough and steep. The doctor recognisedthis descent and listened for the sound of therushing stream he had crossed both times under theguidance of the man with the scar. When the streamwas washing the hoofs of their horses the doctorreached out to lay a hand on Eastman’s shoulder.

“My friend, we’re half-way!”

Eastman would have pressed ahead then, but thedoctor would not permit it.

“Leave it to Bobby,” was his counsel. “Mr.Nick didn’t blindfold Bobby.”

The path ascended the long slope of a hogback.Pine needles covered the slope, and though the doctordismounted a half-dozen times no path could beseen. But each time, as he stepped into the saddleagain, the little horse went forward eagerly.

The hogback ended abruptly. Bobby turned tothe left. The trip had seemed so short that now,as the doctor looked into the darkness below him,he could scarcely credit his senses.

“Eastman,” he said. “See below there!”

It was a spot of light.

From then on it was a wild ride. The horses didnot leave the steep path; but they stumbled, slid orscrambled for a footing down the whole of the blackdescent. The doctor kept his eyes on the light.Eastman, divided between joy and fear, shouted outfrenziedly toward the nearing shanty.

At the edge of the clearing both men flung themselvesout of their saddles, then ran. Eastman led.[75]And as he entered the low door he still hoarselycalled: “Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!”

A faint cry answered. It came from beyond thebed, on which lay a quiet form. The doctor reachedto shove at the boards forming the blind door. Theygave, disclosing a small inner room.

The next moment a little figure in soiled romperscame out of the darkness of the room, toddling unsteadilyon bare legs, for the baby stockings weredown over worn sandals. Fair hair hung uncombedabout a face that was pitifully thin and streaked bytears and dust. The doctor lifted the boy up andswung him out, and the father spread his arms toreceive him and caught the child to his breast.

The doctor laid back the rumpled covers of thebed then. “Bill,” he said kindly, and began tounbuckle the strap of his case.

“So that’s the other one.” It was Eastman, onhis knees, the child clasped tight.

The doctor laid back the bedcovers very gently.“It was the other one,” he answered.

Midnight, and the lost boy was in his mother’sarms, with Eastman hovering beside the two, and thedoctor across from him, sitting on his heels, witha baby hand in his big, gentle grasp.

“Doctor, we’ll never be able to make it up toyou,” said the father. “I don’t feel that the rewardis half enough. But I want you to accept itwith our lifelong gratitude.” They were in Mrs.Eastman’s sitting-room at the hotel. Her husbandcrossed to a desk.

The doctor stood up, colouring bashfully. “Aw,I can’t take money for findin’ the little feller,” he[76]protested; and when Eastman came back, holdingout a slip of paper to him, he shook his head decidedly.“No, sir, I just can’t,” he declared. Lettyentered then, carrying a tray hidden under a napkin.He hastened across the room to take it fromher.

“We’ll see about this later on,” answered Eastman.“You must accept it. And there’s anotherthing I want to offer. You know, Doctor Fowler’sbeen up from San Francisco to look over the BlueTop position. But he won’t suit. Do you thinkhe’s been worrying about the finding of my boy? Nota bit of it. He’s been worrying for fear the bungalowwouldn’t be big enough to please his wife.There’s one thing I didn’t realise the other day, Doc.What we need is a physician that doesn’t put onso much style—the kind of a man that can meet anyemergency, you understand—take a horse over atrail if it’s necessary.”

“Yas?” returned the doctor. The tray was stillin his hands. And now it began to tremble so thatthere was a faint clink of glass. He stood lookingdown at it.

“In fact,” went on Eastman, “we need a doctorlike you at the mine.”

The doctor raised his eyes to the girl standingat Mrs. Eastman’s side. And he saw that there wasa look of great happiness on her face, like the happinesson the face of the young mother.

“Blue Top!” he said. Then: “Letty, do youthink the little shingled house is too small?”

WHEN darkness settled a figure beganto follow Patton—a tall, ungainly,heavy-shouldered figure. It shadowedhim down the single street of the deserttown to the depot, where he bought two tickets andchecked two beribboned trunks; it lurked at his heelswhen he went back along the dirt sidewalk to Conley’srestaurant, the largest of the score of unpaintedpine shacks that made up Searles. The restaurantfaced the single track of the railroad line,and as Patton ate his supper, the figure stood onthe ties, quiet and watchful. When Patton left therestaurant for the barber-shop farther along thestreet, it moved parallel with him, and took up itsstation outside a front window of the place.

Patton entered the shop hurriedly and droppedinto the only chair. He was a man of, perhaps,forty, with black hair that was brushed away slicklyfrom a narrow forehead, and black eyes set deep andnear together. His nose was long and sharplypointed. His mouth was too full for his lean jaws,which gave his cheeks the appearance of being constantlysucked in. But he was far from ill-looking.And when he got out of the barber’s chair presently,fresh-shaven, there was a healthy glow to his darkskin under its trace of powder.

He arranged a spotless collar and a fresh tie,[78]settled his soft hat on his carefully combed hair, adjustedhis coat before a mirror, and went out. Thefigure moved with him, going toward the depot oncemore. A building beyond the station was brightlylighted. Patton made toward it, walking fast andwhistling. The figure walked faster than he—untilit was almost at his heels.

“Patton!”

Patton halted. “Hello,” he returned cheerily.“Who is it?”

The figure halted. “It’s Jeff Blandy,” was theanswer.

“Oh.” The tone showed displeasure. Pattonbacked away a step. “Well, what can I do foryou?”

Blandy did not reply at once. Then, “You can’tdo nothin’ for me,” he said. “I just want to saya word or two about—Polly Baker.”

“Yes?” inquired Patton impatiently. “Well,hurry up. The ceremony’s at nine-thirty. Thewest-bound goes through at eleven.”

Again there was a short silence. When Blandywent on, his voice was lowered. “She ain’t got nopaw nor maw, nor no brother. That’s why I’ma-speakin’ to you.”

“I’ll look after her,” said Patton coldly.

“I’d like to feel right shore of that. You see,she and me has been good friends for a long while.And I want to ask you, Patton, to play fair withher, and——”

“Say! look here!” broke in the other man.“You’re putting your lip into something that’s noneof your business.”

[79]“Do y’ think so?” retorted Blandy with suddenspirit. “Wal, out here in the West, a man’s likelyto find hull crowds that’ll make it their business ifhe can’t see his way to treatin’ a woman white.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Patton.

“Just this: I happen to know about that Galindobusiness at Paicines. There’s one place you didn’tact on the square. Wal, the Galindo girl’s a greaser,and her men folks oughta took better care of her.We won’t say nothin’ more about it, Patton. Butdon’t forgit this: A feller owes his wife somethin’more’n just the weddin’ ceremony.”

“Oh, I see,” sneered Patton. “You’re trying tokick up a rumpus. You wanted Polly yourself.”

Blandy gave a short laugh. “Me?” he said.“Me? Why, you’re crazy! All I’ve got to keep awife on is my prospectin’ outfit and a’ old mangymule. Me! Huh! No girl’d look at me—no fine,pretty girl that’s had lots of chances. I ain’t nothin’but a slob.”

To that, Patton made no comment.

“No, you’re the kind of a man that a girl likes,”Blandy went on. “And you git a couple of hunderdfrom the East every month. You can take her awayfrom this hole and make her nice and comfortable inLos Angeles, and give her a hired girl to wait onher, and decent clothes. Wal, that’s fine. But a’easy time and good clothes don’t amount to a hillof beans with a woman if she ain’t happy. So—playfair with her, Patton. In the long run, it paysto do what’s right. You know that. Nine timesouten ten, when a man picks up a club to take a’underhanded shy at another person, Mister Stick[80]comes whizzin’ right back and gives him a crack inthe head like one of them——”

“That’ll do, Blandy,” interrupted Patton. Hisvoice was hoarse with anger. “I haven’t any moretime for your damned gossip.” He turned abruptlyand strode away.

Blandy stayed where he was, his heavy shouldersstooped, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, hisweight shifted to one foot. He saw a door of thenear-by house open wide to admit Patton; heard achorus of gay voices greet the other man, and followinga short wait, heard the tones of an organ,playing a march. He waited until the organceased; then, head lowered, and hat pulled down tohis brows, he walked away slowly, going to the depot.

He halted in the shadow of the station and stayedthere until the head-light of the west-bound trainshone in the distance like a fallen star. The stargrew. And through the night air came the thinshriek of the nearing engine. It was then that alaughing, chattering group left the brightly-lightedhouse and came hurrying toward the depot. Blandyturned from the approaching light.

The centre of the group was the bride, a slendergirl in a white dress. As she stepped upon theplatform, under the station lamps, Blandy leanedforward a little to catch a glimpse of her face. Herchildish eyes, long-lashed and the blue of lapis lazuli,were bright with happiness, her cheeks an excitedpink.

She saw the tall figure standing half in and halfout of the shadow, and ran to him. “Jeff,” she[81]began reprovingly, “you didn’t come to the wedding!”

He took her outstretched hand. “No,” heagreed; “no, I—I didn’t, but——” He pausedawkwardly.

“I missed you, Jeff,” she declared. “Why, Iwanted you there more than anybody else. And Iwanted to wait till someone could go for you. Butnobody’d seen you, and they didn’t know where youwere—What was the matter, Jeff?”

“I—I had business to attend to,” he explained.

“Business! And you my best, best friend——”

The train was close. Voices began to summon herback to the wedding-party.

Blandy leaned down to her. “Dear little Polly,”he said huskily, “your old side-pardner wishes youall the luck that’s in the world.”

Then she was gone again. She smiled back at himfrom the steps of the car, and answered the chorusof farewells that was shouted up to her. The engine-bellclanged, the train moved. Patton sprangto the girl’s side amid a shower of rice. There wasmore shouting, which was answered from the carplatform, and the west-bound pulled out, the greenlights on the rear of the last coach glowing like theeyes of a serpent.

Blandy lifted a hand to his breast, then to histhroat, then to his eyes. The group of weddingguests gone, and the depot platform dark, he crossedthe railroad track, walking a little uncertainly.Out in the blackness, among the sage-brush, somethingwas moving about—an animal. He went upto it, untied a rope, spoke a word of command, and[82]started off northward—away from the town into thedesert.

Jeff Blandy, staggering across the last mile ofhis journey, directed his way over the railroad trackto Conley’s restaurant. The dust of many daysand nights was upon him, powdering hair and clothesto the colour of his grey hat. The weariness oftrudging over yielding and uneven ground was in hislong legs and in the stoop of his shoulders. And theleathern sallow of his face wore a fresh gloss ofvivid red that was like the reflection of a torch-flame.Yet in his eyes—as brown and big and appealinglyhonest as the eyes of a great, friendly dog—was agleam that neither the sand-laden winds nor thescorching sun had dulled. And there was a smilelurking among the long bristles at the corners ofhis wide mouth.

Entering the restaurant, he found it unchanged,though a year had passed since he had left Searles.There were the two oilcloth-covered tables thatreached from end to end of the room, and the counter,with its cash-register. But no one was on handto take his order. Stiffly, he let himself down upona chair at one end of the first table. Then, leaningback and dropping his hat to the floor at his side, hepicked up a knife and rang a sharp summons on therim of an empty glass.

The door into the kitchen swung open to admita young man in shirt-sleeves and soiled apron,—ashort, thick-set young man with the curly flaxenhair, full blue eyes and apple-red cheeks of a boydoll. He was carrying a pitcher of water.

[83]Blandy drained his glass before he gave the othera nod. Then, “Gimme some ham and eggs andfried potatoes,” he began. “A steak, if you got it,too. And coffee. And some pie. And fruit——”

“Oranges is the only fruit,” interrupted thewaiter.

“Orange’ll do. And could the cook mix me someflap-jacks?”

“I guess.”

“Then that’ll be all.”

The young man in shirt-sleeves went out, kickingthe swinging door open before him and shouting hisorder. Left alone, Blandy helped himself to a secondglass of water, after which he stretched his legsfar under the table, folded his arms upon his breast,and took a deep breath. Then, as he waited,the smile at the corners of his mouth began slowly tospread, until his burned cheeks were wrinkled with it,and his moistened lips were parted to show a doubleline of strong white teeth. Thus he sat, all a-grin,dreaming.

Beyond the swinging doors, dishes were clattering,and there was a sound of sputtering and frying.The voice of the waiter rose and fell, too, amidthe din of crockery and cooking; and mingled withhis voice, now and then, was the voice of a woman.Presently, the tempting smell of ham was wafted outinto the dining-room. It was then that Blandy drewin his feet and sat erect, turning his eyes kitchen-ward.

Soon the waiter appeared. Pyramided upon histowel-draped left arm were numerous plates andplatters, topped by a huge cup of inky coffee that[84]steamed as it washed gently from side to side withevery sway of the arm. As the order was placedupon the table, together with some cutlery, whichthe waiter scattered with his right hand, Blandypicked up a knife and fork, pulled a platter intoplace before him, and began to eat, ravenously.Someone—a man—entered the front door and tooka seat behind the cash-register. Blandy did notlook up. One by one the platters and plates wereemptied. At last, refreshed and satisfied, Blandypicked up an orange and began to peel it leisurely.

It was now that for the first time he chanced tolook across at the man behind the counter. Thatglance brought him to his feet, the half-peeled orangein his hand. “Harvey Patton!” he exclaimed inamazement.

“How are you?” answered Patton, indifferently.The tip of his nose moved up and down a little ashe spoke.

Blandy strode toward the counter. “What underthe shinin’ sun are you doin’ back in Searles?” hedemanded.

“Keeping restaurant.”

The other was silent for a moment, his astonishedeyes still fixed upon Patton. Then, “Where’s—Polly?”he asked.

Patton jerked his head sidewise toward the kitchen.“She’s doing the cooking,” he explained, smiling.

Blandy’s staring eyes narrowed. He turnedabruptly, crossed the room to the swinging door andstruck it out of the way before him.

Just within the kitchen, he halted. It was a smallroom, reeking with smells, and suffocatingly hot.[85]On the side farthest from Blandy was a sink. Andbending over the sink, with her back to him, wasa girl. As he looked at her, the red on his faceslowly deepened, as if he were holding his breath.After a while, his glance travelled to the stove, uponwhich some pots were steaming; to the long kitchen tablepiled high with unwashed dishes; to the heapingoil can of scraps at the foot of the table; to thefloor, spattered and unswept. When at last his lookwent back to the girl, the hairy skin at either side ofhis mouth was twitching with the effort of self-control.

“Polly!”

She turned. The perspiration was streaming fromforehead and temples, so that her face and throatglistened, as her arms were glistening with the waterthat was streaming from elbows to finger-ends. Herface was more scarlet than his own. Out of thatscarlet looked her eyes, which were shadowed bywide, dark circles.

“Why—why, Jeff!”

He shook his head, slowly and sadly. “And soyou married to come to this,” he said in a low voice.

There was a bench beside the sink. She sank toit, as if too weary to keep her feet. As she satthere, leaning on a hand, he saw her, not as she wasbefore him, tired and blowzy and wet with sweat,but as he had seen her last. He took a step towardher. “How does it come that you and Patton’rekeepin’ a’ eatin’-house?” he asked.

“We—we got short of money,” she answered falteringly.“Harvey wouldn’t work in Los Angeleswhere he’s acquainted. He’s so proud. So we came[86]back here. And—and this was all we could see todo.”

“We,” repeated Blandy.

“Well,” she answered. “Well——”

“How about that two hunderd he used to gitevery month from the East?” He watched herkeenly.

“Never comes any more,” she declared.

“That’s too bad. Makin’ any money with therest’rant?”

“I—I don’t know. Mr. Conley didn’t when hehad it. But then he had to pay his cook.”

“Huh!” commented Blandy, between his teeth,and fell silent again. “This work’s too hard foryou,” he said finally, when he could trust himself tospeak. “You’ll drop in your tracks. Why, Icould pick you up in my two hands like a rag andwring you.”

Her lips trembled. But she kept her face raisedto his. “Oh, I don’t mind a little work,” she declared.

The flaxen-haired waiter entered the kitchen bythe rear door. Blandy turned and went out throughthe other one. There was a gleam in the dog-likeeyes once more, but it was not a gleam that wasgood to see.

Patton was still seated behind the cash-register.He smiled at Blandy again, and gave another sidewisejerk of his smooth head toward the kitchen.“It’s a pretty complete plant, isn’t it?” he questionedboastfully.

Blandy made no reply, only reached a big,[87]freckled hand into a pocket, brought forth two silverdollars, and tossed them ringing upon the counter.Then he picked up his hat and went out.

But just in front of the entrance, he halted. Beforehim, across the wide, dusty street and the shiningrails of the track, lay the level desert. It wasmid-afternoon. And the grey wastes were swept bywaves of heat that sank and rose unceasingly, nowalmost as plain to the eye as flames would have been,now shadowy. Blandy measured every blisteringmile, from the rough, unroofed porch on which hestood to the distant horizon, where a mountainrange traced an uneven line upon the misty blue ofthe sky. And as he stood, his arms hanging looseat his sides, his shoulders lowered, his head sunkbetween them, he was the very figure of indecision.

Finally, he straightened, turned about, opened therestaurant door and re-entered. Patton was smoking,a long cigar in one corner of his mouth, andtilted upward; one knee crossed upon the other.

Blandy walked to the counter. “Patton,” hebegan, “this ain’t no kind of a business for you.You won’t make your salt here in Searles. Now, I’vegot a proposition to make you—you and Polly. Butit mustn’t go no further.” He gave a quick glanceabout him.

“I’m not dying to stay in Searles,” observed Patton,blowing smoke.

“Wal,”—Blandy dropped his voice—“you gointo pardnership with me, Patton, and you don’thave to stay.”

The other took out his cigar and eyed Blandy[88]half-suspiciously. “You’ve changed some,” he commented.“You didn’t used to care much about me.But—what’s your proposition?”

The gleam of triumph came back into Blandy’seyes. “I’ve made a strike,” he said.

“A mine?”

Now, Blandy straightened, shoulders back, headup, face all a-grin once more. “That’s what,” hedeclared proudly.

Patton slipped down from his stool. “Where?”he asked excitedly.

Blandy lifted a long arm to point out throughthe front window toward the north. “Four daysfrom here,” he answered.

“When’ll we go?” questioned the other. Hereached across to lay a hand on Blandy’s sleeve.“We’ve got to locate, you know. That’s the law.We mustn’t miss a trick, old man.”

“Oh, I located, all right,” declared Blandy. Hedrew back a step.

“But you didn’t locate for me,” went on Patton.“So I’ve got to go out, haven’t I? And there’sanother reason, too. You’re the only person thatknows just where the lead is. Well, suppose anythingwere to happen to you—a railroad accident,or a bad sickness. Where would I be? That’s theway all the lost mines’ve come about, Blandy.”

“We’ll talk it over to-night. Then Polly can hearabout it, too. There’s enough for the three of usout there,—and some over. So she can have a claimseparate.”

“Oh, I’ll look after her,” said Patton carelessly.

“No.” There was determination in Blandy’s[89]tone. “I’m lettin’ you in on this with the understandin’that she has her holdin’. She can lease it,or she can work it, just whichever she likes. Youknow, it’s kinda stylish for a lady to have her ownbank-book.”

“All right,” agreed Patton impatiently.

It was close upon four then. Patton was for callinghis wife in and breaking the news at once. “Andwe’ll close up and cut out supper,” he declared,“and have a little celebration.”

But Blandy flatly objected. “Don’t shut downjust a’ hour or two before a meal,” he advised. “Puta sign on the front door to-night. Say on it thatthe rest’rant is closed ’cause your wife is plumbwored out. We can’t afford to give ourselves away,Patton. There’s plenty of men in Searles that cansmell a strike forty mile. Look out or some of ’em’ll be follerin’ us.”

“You’re right,” declared Patton.

Thus it came about that Polly cooked supper inignorance of the sudden good fortune that was tomake such further toiling unnecessary. Blandywent out into the hot kitchen a second time. Buthe had little to say, and devoted his efforts to thewashing and drying of the dishes, which he receivedin pyramids from the swinging left arm of the flaxen-hairedwaiter; and when, shortly after seven o’clock,the last guest was gone, and the last dish clean,Blandy swept and mopped the kitchen floor.

At eight, by the light of a single candle, therewas a conference of three at one of the oilcloth-coveredtables in the front room. The waiter had takenhimself off in the direction of the main saloon down[90]the street, out of which were floating the strains ofa violin and the voices of singing women. Nevertheless,Blandy told his story in a half-whisper, andwithout pointing.

“The ledge is in a spur of the range back ofSalt Basin,” he confided. “And clost to—what doyou think?”

“What?” questioned Patton.

“The bowl in the rock!”

Patton turned to his wife. “That’s the springI told you about,” he explained. “I went out therefour years ago with a prospector. You wouldn’tbelieve, Polly, that water could be found in a placelike that—a regular ash-pile, you might say. Butthere it is. The bowl is hollowed out as pretty ascan be. And the water comes in drop by drop—justat night, though. It leaks in through a splitthat’s so fine you couldn’t get a knife-blade intoit. But what comes in doesn’t run out, because thebowl’s good-sized, and if the buzzards don’t drinkthe water up, the sun does.”

Polly made no comment. She sat very still, watchingBlandy steadily. Her face was as pale as ithad been scarlet at mid-afternoon.

“The lead ain’t more’n a stone’s throw from thebowl,” went on Blandy; “—to the right up the slope.Say! think of the feller’s that’ve missed it!—’causethey was so all-fired glad to find water that theyforgot all about gold. But I found it. I wascomin’ down the slope, headin’ for a drink, when mydarned feet got all tangled up and I took a double-ender.Wal, sir, when I sit up to feel if any boneswas broke, here was the blossom rock, lookin’ me[91]straight in the eye!—yeller chunks, Patton, as bigas pine-nuts!”

Patton’s black eyes were glistening. “Howhigh’ll that rock run?” he asked.

“Turrible high—even where it don’t show colour.There was a fortune right in sight—without thinkin’of what’s laying behind. There’s all we’ll ever wantout there—a chance to do a few things for ourfriends, and our relations—them that we like; andgrand houses, and outomobiles, and fine clothes, andhorses, and folks to wait on us, and travellin’, andedication, and—and what’ll make Polly a queen!”

“Did you put up a written notice?”

“Shore.”

“Have you got some specimens?”

“About a mile from here—buried.”

“A few samples aren’t enough,” asserted Patton.“Anybody can get hold of a dozen pieces of richrock. Why, there are men who make a good livingby selling ore that’s used to draw suckers on.”

“A-course, that’s so,” agreed Blandy.

“What we ought to have is about four barley-sackfuls.There’s nothing like making a great, bighit at the very start.”

“Yas, I know,” said Blandy. “But when one ofthem millionaire fellers is considerin’ a lease, he sendsout a’ expert.”

“If you have a hundred pounds of quartz andan assay, there won’t be any need of an expert,”argued Patton. “We’ll lease without a bit of trouble.Of course, we might make more by taking somerich man in as a partner, and working the mine onshares——”

[92]“Why, there’s half a million apiece in it for uswithout doin’ that.”

“Half a million,” repeated Patton. “Huh! Imean to ask one million flat for my share.”

Blandy laughed. “Oh, leave a little for the gentthat’s a-going to put up the cash,” he advised.

Patton went on arguing. “As a matter of fact,”he declared, “it wouldn’t take us any time at all toland three hundred pounds of ore at the track if weused an auto.”

“No.” Blandy was decisive. “No, I don’ttrust none of them flyshuffers.”

“But I’ll drive.”

“Take a machine and leave tracks, eh?” demandedBlandy. “Not on your life! Burros iswhat we need. A burro can travel on a washout andnever turn a stone.”

“All right, burros then,” assented Patton eagerly.“Let’s start to-morrow night.”

“Oh, what’s your sweat?” asked Blandy.

“Just this: The quicker we leave, the quicker weget out of Searles.”

“But—but maybe Jeff’s tired,” suggested Pollytimidly.

Patton gave her a warning glance. “I know he’stired,” he answered. “But we won’t have to rush.We can take it easy, and only travel at night. Ifwe wait around here, people’re sure to begin tryingto find out where you’ve been and what you’ve beendoing. The whole town knows you’ve been on along prospecting trip—I heard it when I came. So(just as you said yourself a while ago) first thingyou know, we’ll have a regular gang on our trail.”

[93]Blandy nodded, more than half-convinced.

“And when we’ve got our ore,” went on Patton,“I’ll go to Los Angeles with you. I’m theman that can advise you when it comes to alease.”

In the end Blandy agreed to an immediate trip tothe mine.

But next morning it was he who set to work preparingfor the journey. Patton made off down thestreet almost immediately after breakfast, and disappearedinto one of the half-dozen drinking-placesof the town. When he did not return at noontime,Blandy consulted Polly.

“Don’t you think I’d better go find him?” heasked. “You see he might take a glass or two andgit to blabbin’.”

Patton was found at Rourke’s. Outside the resort,Blandy turned upon him. “Say! You’re upto your old game, ain’t you, Patton?” he demandedcurtly.

Patton tried to laugh the matter off. “Oh, youdon’t understand,” he declared confidentially. Hestarted homeward beside the other man.

The leather of Blandy’s face was pale. Out ofthe paleness burned his wrathful eyes. “Don’t tryto soft-soap me,” he went on. “I know now wherethat remittance of your’n goes. But you got to cutit out! I ain’t a-helpin’ you to a fortune so’s youcan hurt Polly by slatherin’ money on some otherwoman.”

Patton gave a loud laugh. “Don’t think I’m afool,” he answered. As they entered the front roomof the restaurant, he gave Blandy a look of hate.[94]“You aren’t giving me a claim because you like me.You’re doing it on Polly’s account.”

“That’s right,” declared Blandy. “What inthunderation is there about you that’d make anyman hand you over half a million?”

“So! You admit it! Oh, I’m on to your game!This is some more of your tattle. You want tomake trouble between me and my wife!”

Blandy took a long step forward. “That’s a lie,”he said. “It’s just what I don’t aim to do. Youand me had a talk on this question the night you gotmarried. Have you forgot that? Wal, when youcash in on the claim, I’m a-goin’ to see that youcut that friend——”

The swinging door opened, and Polly came infrom the kitchen. “Harv!” she faltered. “Jeff!”Then, she fell silent, watching them with troubledeyes.

Blandy’s face broke into a reassuring grin.“Say! we’re excited over nothin’,” he declared.“Don’t you worry, Polly. Patton, I hired the onlytwo burros in town this mornin’, and bought somegrub and feed.”

There were no further words between the two men,only a coldness that was barely noticeable. Afterthe midday meal, Patton even helped with the packing.Polly, entering their bedroom hastily, foundhim standing on a bench looking at the labels ofsome bottles on the medicine-shelf.

“Be careful what you take,” she cautioned.“That bottle of mercury tablets is up there, and it’sthe same size as the one that’s got stuff in it forrattlesnake bites.”

[95]“It’s the rattlesnake medicine that I’m hunting,”answered Patton tartly.

Polly went back into the kitchen, where Blandywas busy packing the raisins, crackers and cannedbeef. She looked frightened. “Oh, I’m so sorryyou and Harvey quarrelled,” she half-whispered.“Please, please don’t have any more trouble withhim.”

From the standpoint of beauty there was little torecommend Jeff Blandy save his eyes. Now, as hesmiled down at her, his eyes made up for all the deficienciesof his rugged face. “We was hungry,” hedeclared. “That was all.”

“Jeff,” she said, “I never knew how good youwere. Oh, if girls only realised that the men thatkeep dressed up aren’t always the best men.”

“And on the other hand,” he observed, “I’ve sawsome pretty bad men in bum clothes.”

Late that night, the burros were packed, one withprovisions and feed, and enough heavy sacking for asmall sun shelter; the other with the large, flat-sidedwater canteens. When the start was made, Pollytold the two men a whispered good-bye from thefront porch. And as the burros were headed northward,Blandy leading one and Patton the other, shewatched the little pack-train leave the town. Thelight of the stars, reflected on the grey of the sageand the yellow-grey of the desert floor, made thedeparture plain for a long distance, though only asso many moving black specks. She waited until thespecks dropped from sight into a far-off swale.

Then she ran through the dining-room to her bedroom,struck a match, dragged a bench under the[96]medicine-shelf, climbed upon it and let her light shinein turn upon each of the bottles standing in a row.

The match went out. With a murmured exclamationshe got down, searched for her hat in the darkroom, found it and put it on, caught up a yellowsun umbrella, and locked both entrances to the house.A moment later, she was hurrying across the street,over the track and into the desert.

She soon came up to the men and the burros, travellingsilently forward. But at first she kept a littleway behind, like a scared child, for she shrank fromletting Patton know that she was there. Presently,however, summoning courage, she went forward tohis side. “H-Harvey,” she stammered. Her facewas white in the dimness.

He came short; Blandy, too. Both stared at herin wonderment.

“What do you want?” Patton demanded, resentmentin his tone. “It’s too late for you to be gaddingaround alone.”

“Harv, I’m going with you. Walking isn’t hardwork—not any harder than the work in the kitchenwas. Jeff, you don’t care if I come along, do you?”

“You bet I don’t,” Blandy answered heartily.“You’ll be fine comp’ny.”

“Nonsense!” scolded Patton.

“Wal, she’s the third pardner,” reminded Blandy.“When you come to think of it, she’s got a rightto look over her claim. If she gits tired, she can ridea donk. But a-course”—his tone became more serious—“there’sone thing agin your goin’: We threeis the only people that know where that strike is;if anything was to happen to the bunch of us, there’d[97]be a lost mine for shore.” He clucked to his burroand walked on.

His words produced a curious effect upon Patton,who stayed where he was, silently looking afterBlandy until the latter was well beyond earshot.

“Harvey!” Polly’s voice was tremulous with appeal,“I don’t want to be left behind alone.”

Patton gave her a quick, sidewise glance. “Allright,” he said brusquely. “You can come.”

To show that she was equal to the journey, Pollykept in the lead all the remainder of that night, flittinglight-footed, like the spirit of some good guidingangel.

Shortly after dawn, Blandy called a halt and preparedfor a rest of several hours. He fixed the squareof sacking to the ground by two of its corners.The other two corners he fastened to mesquite stakes.The result was an improvised tent which faced thenorth. This shelter was for Patton and Polly.When it was ready, Blandy took the yellow umbrella,raised it, went aside to where were the canteens, andlay down.

By noon, it was impossible to sleep because of theheat, which was so intense that the grey, incrustedground burned the hand that touched it. The travellersdid not set forth at once. Seated under theirshelters, they looked out upon a round lake thatglimmered in a near-by hollow of the desert—a lakeencircled with a beach of amethyst.

With that sheet of water glistening before him,Patton drank often and deep. And when, at four,he rose with the others to continue on, he slung oneof the large canteens over a shoulder. The glimmering[98]lake moved as the pack-train moved, occupyingone hollow, then dissolving to appear in another, andstill another. Patton lifted his canteen to his lipsevery half mile.

Blandy noted it. “Say! You’ll have to learn tobe careful about your drinkin’ if you go out muchon the desert,” he warned. “More’n one tenderfoothas gone luny for water and took to follerin’them spook lakes. Chaw on a raisin for achange.”

No halt was made for supper. The three ate asthey travelled. The sun declined. The last shiningsheet of water disappeared. Twilight came, andwith twilight, the stars, which burned large andwhite in the cloudless expanse of the heavens.Through the starlight, through the late moonlight,and through the dawn of a second day, they trudged on.

It was shortly after sunrise that a giant yuccacame into sight ahead. It was branched on eitherside; and from a distance looked like some huge figurethat had been caught in action and suddenly trans-fixed.

“Hello!” cried Blandy. “My friend John Jenkins!We’re half-way.”

“Half-way?” repeated Patton. “Why, thatspur doesn’t look twenty miles off.”

“It just happens that you’re a-rubberin’ in thewrong direction,” said Blandy. “The spur we’rea-goin’ to ain’t over that way: It’s off wherethem little, puffy clouds is. Say, you’d better nevertry to navigate this desert alone.”

Arrived at the yucca, Polly was glad enough to[99]pause, and before the two men had finished erectingthe shelter of sacking, she had crawled under it.

“Tuckered, ain’t you?” questioned Blandy kindly.“Wal, we been makin’ fine time, that’s why. We’llbe drinkin’ outen that bowl in the rock at sun-upday after to-morrow.”

He made a cache of feed and provisions, andburied two of the large canteens; then stretchedhimself with his head in the shade of the yellowumbrella, and was soon snoring.

Patton did not lie down, but sat, brooding, acanteen in his hand. And, presently, after makingcertain that Polly’s breathing was deep and regular,he rose cautiously. Some distance away were theburros, standing with lowered heads and long earsflopped to either side. Patton stole in their direction.And when he reached the animals, set to packingone. He was soon done. With a last glancetoward shelter and umbrella, he set off northwardat a good gait.

The atmosphere was unusually clear. It was thisthat had made the mountains seem such a shortdistance away. Patton had carefully marked theposition of the right spur. He tramped forwarddeterminedly, though by noon the ground underhis feet fairly scorched his shoes. The afternoondragged its length in moments that seemed, eachmore unendurably hot than the last, and with lakesglimmering from near-by hollows, he drank at everyrod. Sunset came at last, bringing a welcome coolness.Now half of his journey alone was done. Hestopped to feed the burro and satisfy his ownhunger, after which he hurried on.

[100]The sun was standing high over the mountainsthe next day when, fa*gged, but triumphant, Pattonbegan the ascent of the gentle, beach-like slope thatstretched between him and the base of the spur hesought. The range that rose ahead of him showednot even a growth of stunted sage upon its ruffledside. For here the massive barrier was like a burned-outkiln, brick-red, cinder-black and ashen-grey. Heskirted it for an hour or more, the donkey at a trot.Suddenly, ahead of him, a great, black bird rosefrom the ground with a harsh cry and an awkwardflapping of its wings. Patton ran forward.

There was the bowl, as round as if it had beenfashioned by deft hands, and nearly full of water.Patton had swallowed the last mouthful of hiscanteen supply early that morning. Now, he sankto his knees, bent his head and almost buried hisface in the pool.

His thirst satisfied, he climbed the slope beyond.Ten minutes of hot toiling, and he came uponBlandy’s location-notice, scrawled on a soiled scrapof paper, and tacked to a crooked mesquite stake.He tore up the notice, and jerked the stake loose.Then, white, for all the effort of climbing, he stoopedand pressed both palms against the outcropping ofquartz at his feet, his fingers into its crevices. Itwas as if he were clutching prey.

“It’s all here!—all here!” he said aloud, huskily.

Back at the bowl once more, he filled a canteenand hung it to the pack-saddle, took another longdrink himself, and let the donkey have all that remained.Then, reaching into an inside pocket ofhis shirt, he brought out something that was wrapped[101]in a piece of newspaper. He unwound the paper,disclosing a small bottle, which he uncorked. Andhaving measured the size of the bowl with his eye, hedropped three round, white tablets into it. Thisdone, he dampened a handkerchief from the canteenand laid it, folded, upon his hair. For the longmiles in the sun had told on him, and there was afeeling of heat and pressure at the top of his skull.

A few minutes later, he set off once more, duewest, completely avoiding the Searles route to thesouthward.

When Polly awoke, the sun was already down, andtwilight was settling. Fearing that she had delayedthe departure, she sprang to her feet. ButBlandy was still snoring. And close at hand was asaddleless burro, head lowered and fast asleep.

She began to call: “Harvey! Oh, Harv!”

The snoring ceased. The yellow umbrella toppled.Blandy’s tall figure rose. “Gosh! but ain’tI snoozed!” he exclaimed.

She called again: “Harvey! Where are you?Jeff! One of the burros is gone!”

“Oh, I guess he’s there, all right,” answeredBlandy. “You know, a donk’s the same colour asthe ground.”

“But he isn’t there,” persisted Polly. “Or Harvey,either.” And as Blandy hastened by, she joinedhim.

When they halted, each scanned the desert. Then,“You’re right,” Blandy admitted gravely. “Thatblamed burro must a-strayed. I never did like thelittle cuss. He had a bad look in one eye.”

[102]She raised an anxious face to his. “The donkeyisn’t to blame,” she declared. “Harvey’s left us.”

“No! Why? Sore about your comin’?”

“He told me to come.”

Blandy strode over to the packs. And a firstglimpse told him that Polly was right. Feed andprovisions were missing, and all but one of the uncachedcanteens.

“Jeff!” Polly had followed him, and she spokein a frightened whisper. “Don’t drink any of thiswater till you’ve given the donkey some.”

Blandy stared down at her. “Why not?” heasked, perplexed.

“Don’t—don’t ask me, Jeff.”

His face went grim with understanding. “Iguess I understand,” he said.

The canteen that Patton had left behind him wasthoroughly shaken and the donkey was given a generousdrink. Then Blandy left the camp to gathermesquite roots. When he returned, a half-hourlater, the little animal was resting, head swaggedlow. But while Blandy was watching him, theshaggy head came up and the donkey brayed—loudand long, after which he fell to yawning, earsflopped to either side lazily. Plainly the water haddone him no harm.

Blandy set to work to build a fire. “You see,”he said, “Patton might change his mind about leavin’us.”

By now, twilight had merged into night. Onevery side stretched the desert, as level, dark andmelancholy as a sea. The mountain range to thenorthward, with its charred front one great inky[103]shadow, was a dead island, rising out of a blackwaste of water. Blandy lighted the beacon, and itflamed up like the signal of someone shipwrecked.

They kept the fire burning steadily. They listenedfor far-off cries. But they heard no cries,only constant movements in the blackness about thecamp. Heretofore, the desert had withheld nearlyall evidence of animate things. Now, sitting andwaiting, they caught the soft pad, pad of dog-likefeet, the flutter of small wings.

At dawn, Blandy set off on a hunt for tracks. Hefirst circled the camp. The only outgoing trail hefound ended near by in the dry bed of a stream.He followed the stream-bed toward Searles. Whenhe had gone several miles, he retraced his steps andpassed the camp on his way toward the mountains.

It was late afternoon when he returned, tired out.But he came into sight waving his hat cheerily.“It’s all right,” he announced. “He went towardthe mine.”

While they were preparing to break camp andfollow Patton, Polly saw that Blandy was diggingup one of the two canteens he had cached.

“On the way home, Jeff, can we make it from hereto Searles on one?” she asked.

“Easy.”

“And from the mine to here, Jeff?”

“We’ll ketch a canteenful where it drips into thatbowl in the rock.”

When they started forward, they were compelledto go slowly, not only because of Blandy’s weariness,but because Polly was foot-sore, though at first shestrove to conceal the fact by keeping in the rear.[104]At the end of five or six miles, however, she foundherself unable to go farther.

“Oh, I thought I’d be all right after so muchrest,” she declared, out of patience with her ownweakness.

Blandy was all gentle consideration. “I don’twonder your feet hurt you,” he answered. “Youain’t used to so much walkin’. Now, just youwait.”

Off came pack-saddle, load and all. Then thesaddle-blanket was replaced, with the shelter sackingon top of it, folded to make a comfortable seat. Andsoon Polly was mounted on the donkey. Behind her,balanced carefully, were two large canteens, a floursack of provisions, and feed for the burro. She heldthe yellow umbrella over her head.

They travelled until darkness made it impossibleto follow Patton’s tracks, when camp was madeagain.

“But if Harvey went straight to the mine,” arguedPolly, “What’s the use of trailing him? Whynot just go ahead?”

“For the reason that yesterday Patton had themine located thirty mile left of where it is. S’posehe was to git the same idear again?”

Once more Blandy hunted mesquite roots. Andfar into the night his signal-fire lit the swells andhollows of the desert.

At break of day they took up their journey oncemore, with Polly riding again, and drowsing nowand then as the donkey picked his way along.

It was the middle of the morning when a lowcry from Blandy suddenly startled her into wakefulness.[105]He had come short, halting the donkey,and was examining the ground.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Here’s a man’s tracks and a burro’s, crossin’this trail at right angles, and goin’ west. They’refresher’n the ones we been follerin’.”

“Harvey’s?”

“Shore.”

“What’ll we do, Jeff?”

“Strike out after him. He’s makin’ for thatwrong spur!”

They turned aside, and started off in the new direction.

During the remainder of the morning, they wereheaded almost due west. But at noon Patton’s footprintsled him toward the north-west, then towardthe north—directly away from Searles.

Shortly after noon, they made an alarming discovery.It was Patton’s donkey, stretched lifeless onthe baked ground. Away from the carcass a greywolf-form raced, and was lost in the grey of sandand sage.

“Short of water,” said Blandy, and shook his head.

Polly covered her eyes. “Oh, poor little thing!”she whispered. “Jeff, give mine a good drink.”

He came to stand beside her. “Polly,” he said,“I can’t. And if we’re goin’ to keep follerin’ thistrail and locate Patton, this little animal”—he laida hand on the donkey’s neck—“has got to go.”

“Are we short of water?”

“There’s a good deal left. But I ain’t give thedonkey a swaller since yesterday noon. We got tobe savin’. It’s likely that Patton’ll need water bad.”

[106]Soon the tracks they were following turned dueeast.

“He run outen water,” Blandy explained gravely.“He’s headed back to the bowl.”

But when they, too, turned about to start back,their burro abruptly stopped, and refused to becoaxed or urged forward.

“Yas, git down,” said Blandy as Polly preparedto dismount. “And go on for about a quarter ofa mile. I’ll bring the things.”

She obeyed, fairly running to escape the sound ofthe dreaded pistol-shot. When he came trudgingup to her, carrying a canteen and the provisionssack, she was seated in a heap, her face hid in herhands.

“There! There!” he said consolingly. “Wehad to leave him.”

They hurried forward as fast as they were able,Blandy compelling Polly to take a swallow of waterevery little while, but drinking none himself. Beforelong Patton’s trail was giving them much concern.It veered to the right for a few rods, thenit veered to the left, winding crazily.

“’Fraid he was just a little off his head,” saidBlandy. “Nothin’ to worry about, though. We’llfind him.”

But their concern steadily increased as they travelled.For by late afternoon, with the bowl still atsome distance, they found no more footprints to follow—onlytwo winding marks. Patton was dragginghimself forward on his knees!

They came upon his hat next. An hour later, thesun glittered on something a short way in advance.[107]It was a canteen. Its woolen covering had beentorn from it in ragged bits that strewed the ground.And about the round opening were the marks ofteeth.

“Hurry!” breathed Blandy.

After that, neither one spoke, but stumbled on,Blandy half-supporting Polly, both watching eagerlyfor a moving speck in the narrowing stretch betweenthem and the base of the spur ahead.

At sundown, they neared the bowl. Blandy beganto call: “Patton! Oh, Patton! Are youthere?”

A few steps farther, he came short, putting outan arm to stop Polly.

For Patton was there, stretched flat upon his back,his arms thrown wide to either side. And beside him,with its black wings outspread, lay a great bird,claws up and feathers ruffled.

SCARLET fuchsias on a swaying branch freckledthe ’dobe wall behind Loretta’s perch.The parrot, her claws wide apart, her brilliantrudder tilting to balance her grey body,industriously snapped at the blossoms. One securedat last, she turned slowly about and, with infinitecare, let it drop upon the open pages of PadreAlonzo’s book.

The padre brushed the flower away and glanced up.“Buenos días, señor!” clacked Loretta; “buenosdías! buenos días! buenos días!”

“Good-day to thyself,” retorted the padre. Hespoke in Spanish, shaking a stout finger. “Andtear not the flowers again. They be the last of thekind till after the New Year. So take warning, Isay, lest thou find thyself thrust without the garden.”

Loretta recognised displeasure in his voice. Shemumbled an inquiring “Ga-a-wk! ga-a-wk!” andshifted thoughtfully from foot to foot. But, presently,the padre having resumed his reading, sheturned once more to catch at the swaying branch.

When a second fuchsia came fluttering down tohis hand, Padre Alonzo uncrossed his sandals androse. “Oh! oh! oh!” he cried, wagging his close-croppedhead so vigorously that the very beads ofhis rosary tinkled together. “Thou art the naughtiestbird in all of California! What if Padre Anzar[109]finds thee despoiling his plant? He will put theeagain where thou must fight to keep thy feathers—inthe kitchen with the cats!”

At the mention of cats a startling change cameover the parrot. Her plumage ruffled, her eyes beganto roll, she straightened on the perch, utteringhoarse cries of fear and defiance.

“Then be good,” he counselled, “be good. Or offthou’lt likely go. Me-e-ow! me-e-ow!”

And now Loretta moved nearer, anxious forfriendly terms. “Dame la mano,” she suggested;“a-a-aw, dame la mano. A-a-aw! a-a-aw!” Shebalanced tremblingly on one leg, curling the otherunder her.

Padre Alonzo put the stout finger into the profferedclaw. “So, so,” he said. “And I shall nottattle. But tell me: What wouldst make thee forgetto use thy sharp pruning shears? An apple?or seeds? or one of Gabrielda’s sweet bis—”

Loretta perked her head to one side. “To-o-ny,To-o-ny, To-o-ny,” she droned coaxingly.

The padre thrust his thumbs under the white cordof his girdle and broke into a guffaw. “Thoujade!” he teased. “Wilt have Tony, eh? Well, Igo to find him.” He gathered in his brown cassock,preparatory to stepping over the cacti here borderingthe garden path. “But look you, if he comesscrape not the gilt from the wires of his pretty cage.”

Another threatening shake of the finger, and thepadre crossed the low, spiked hedge and waddledaway through the sun.

When he came into sight a moment later roundthe dun wall of the mission, he carried a canary at[110]his shoulder. “E-oo, e-oo,” he cooed, pattering forward.“Loretta wished thy company. Sst! sst!She is bad after thee, Tony! But be wary, littleone, be wary.”

The advice was wholly ignored. For, spying theparrot, Tony was instantly transformed from asilent, dumpy ball of yellow to a slim, dapper songsterwith a swelling throat.

Loretta greeted him with uproarious laughter, anda jargon of Spanish, patois, but triumphant. Shepaced the horizontal piece that gave her perch theform of a cross. She pur-r-red and gu-r-red. Sheswung by her curved beak and one leathery foot,shrilling her “Buenos días, señor!” Then, as thepadre hung the cage to a nail in the trellis builtagainst the wall, she changed her performance tothe clamorous repeating of a mass.

Padre Alonzo was shocked. “Sst! sst!” hechided; “thou wicked big-ears!”

The noon angelus was ringing. He caught upbook and gown. But before going he pulled atLoretta’s gaudy tail not unkindly, and chuckled asshe edged toward Tony with many a naïve and fetchingco*ck of her grey head.

High at the garden’s centre, nailed to a massivetree of wood, stood out the Sacrifice. From behind,fir and pine thrust their long green boughs, as ifeager to screen that torn and unclad shape. Frombelow, jasmine and geranium, carnation and rose,sent upward an unfailing incense.

That way, in the heat of mid-afternoon, camePadre Anzar. Thin-lipped, he was, and hollow-eyed.[111]In one hand he held a trowel, in the other aknife. Down the front of his brown cassock, minglingat knee height with red brick stains from thechapel floor, were touches of fresh earth. Anzarthe priest was for the moment Anzar the gardener.

He walked slowly, here stooping to right a stalkor jerk a weed, there stretching to pick a fadingorange leaf from where it marred the glaucous sheenof its fellows. Fronting the figure, he paused longenough to whisper a prayer and make the holy sign.Then he rambled on, busy with trowel and blade.

But presently he came to a full and startled halt.He was beside the trellis up which climbed his treasuredfuchsia. The cross-like perch of the parrotwas beyond the bordering cacti, and unoccupied.Near by, upon its nail, hung the canary cage, withTony going upstairs and down untiringly, eyeinghis visitor with no uneasiness, greeting him, on thecontrary, with saucy chirps. While underneath,spotting the ground in some profusion, and cast asit were at the feet of the garden’s singer, were scoresof scarlet blossoms!

The padre’s look travelled from the scattered flowersto the vacant perch, from the perch to the nakedbranches swaying against the trellis, from thebranches to the wide, warm top of the ’dobe wall.And there was Loretta, patrolling in unconcealed apprehension.

The instant he caught sight of her he knew herguilt. He pursed his thin lips. Then, letting falltrowel and knife, he straddled the hedge.

“I’ll wring thy neck for thee!” he vowed.

A sandal in the trellis, a light spring, and his head[112]came even with her. She backed away, raising herwings a little, and gawking in protest. He took afresh grip on the wall, reached out and caught herlike a chicken—by both legs.

Wild screeches rang through the garden, screechesthat put the sparrows to flight and set the canarycheeping in fear. These were punctuated next byraucous appeals for “Tony” or gurgley parrotlanguage.

The padre was down now, and standing on thepath again. But he was not fulfilling his threat.Instead, he was viewing his captive angrily, yet inconsiderable indecision.

Loretta, on the other hand, was at no loss for acourse of action. Between cries for the canary, demandsfor a handshake, and reiterated “Good-days,”she was vigorously trying her beak upon the padre’sfist.

But now a new factor upon the scene. Round themission wall, waddling fast and propelling himselfby his swinging arms, appeared Padre Alonzo.“Is’t the cats?” he asked as he came on; “oh, la!la! is’t the cats?”

Padre Anzar half-turned, scowling. For answer,he only pointed to the severed fuchsias.

The other looked, covering any regret with simulatedastonishment. “These were dropping of themselvesyesterday,” he began between breaths. “They—theyfell fast in the night—er?” He came besidethe other now, partly to support the suspended Lorettain his hands. “I saw them—truly.”

“Bah!” And Padre Anzar gave Loretta sucha shake that she tumbled, squawking and sputtering,[113]from the other’s hands and again hung, heelsabove head, like a chicken caught for the block.

“She did but what the wind hadst done,” falteredPadre Alonzo. “Sst! sst!” (This to theparrot.) “Such language from a lady!”

“Ah-ha!” grunted Padre Anzar. “I told theenot to buy a bird that was raised in a garrison town.”

“To-o-ny! To-o-ny!” pleaded the parrot. “A-aw,To-ony!”

“Yes,” he went on solemnly, addressing her, “andthou art of the devil, and hast as many tricks. TwiceI forgave thee—once for shouting ‘Fire’ on St.John’s Day as the censer passed; again, for pullingthe feathers out of Señor Esteban’s choice hen. Butthou wilt not escape now. Now, thou’lt go to thekitchen and be shut in with Gabrielda’s black mouser.There thou shalt shed some quills.”

With this dire threat, he departed along the path,Loretta still hanging head down at his knee.

Scarcely a moment later a commotion soundedfrom the distance, a commotion muffled by ’dobe wall.First came the voice of old Gabrielda, then the clatterof an overturning pan, next the terror-strickenshrieks of Loretta. Presently, Padre Anzar appeared,his jaw set, his eyes shining with the lookof duty done.

“She will be nicely scared this time,” he toldPadre Alonzo. “She will match her busy beakwith Tomasso’s claws, and she will remember hereafterto let my blossoms alone.”

“Perhaps,” began Padre Alonzo, deprecatingly,“perhaps ’twere as well to take her out of temptation’sway, to——”

[114]Padre Anzar raised his shoulders, strode over toknife and trowel and caught them up. “Move heras thou wilt,” he said grumpily, “and the fartherthe better. Tony is proper for us, pretty and songful.But that parrot,”—he shook his tools as ifthey were Loretta—“how altogether useless andugly and noisy and blasphemous and good-for-naught!”

With this he departed into the shrubbery.

Sounds were still coming from the kitchen—Gabrielda’scracked voice, Loretta’s cries, the sullenyowling of a cat. Nodding sadly, Padre Alonzowaddled to the perch, vacant and formed like a cross.This he lifted and bore to a place along the wall oppositethe great crucifix, where climbed no flowers.Then, smiling gently, as if with some tender thought,he waddled back to the trellis, took the cage from itsnail, and, returning to the perch, hung Tony closebeside.

Late that night, on coming out of the chapel,Padre Alonzo discovered a little black somethingblocking his way along the moonlit path. As hepaused, leaning forward to peer, the black somethingsidled nearer him, and saluted.

“Buenos noches!” it said, its voice monotonousand human with grief and weariness; “buenasnoches! buenas noches!”

The padre bent lower and lifted the parrot to thelevel of his face. “Aye, good-night truly, as thousayest,” he repeated proudly. “Thou hast somewicked words of a garrison town, but thou knowestthe difference between sun and moon.”

[115]“Aw, Lora,” murmured the parrot; “aw, Lo-ra!Lo-ra!”

“Yes, Tomasso has used thee badly.” PadreAlonzo patted her head. “I shall put thee on thyperch,” he went on; “though I trust good Anzar willnot know it. But the moon is up, and my heart istender. Alas! one does many things when the moonis up. And the next day—one does penance.”

He thrust the parrot into a fold of his cassock,made along to where was the perch, and placed herupon it. Then he stood back, folding his arms.

“To-morrow is Christmas Day, Loretta,” he said.“And what wilt thou give to Tony? What can thecactus give the golden poppy? Thou hast onlylove, eh? Well, that is much, though it grows fromnaught, as a China lily blooms from a bowl of rocks.”

He turned, and found himself before the Tree.Fir and pine massed their branches behind it, makinga background of plushy green. Against that background,showing full, hung the torn and uncladshape. The moon glinted upon it, haloing the headof the Crucified.

The padre sank, bowing, and touched himself inthe sign.

“Aw, To-o-ny! To-o-ny!” came a sleepy croakat his back. The parrot was settling herself for thenight.

Padre Alonzo rose and turned, reaching up tostroke her. “Good-night, Loretta,” he said fondly.“There were none too lowly for His gift of love.It was spared to thee, a yawping fowl, a talker afterthe manner of the lazy Mexicans that bred thee.”

He turned back upon the path, sighing and raising[116]his eyes once more. “But for high or low,” he said,musing aloud, “the fruit of that love is sacrifice.”

Out of the chapel came the sounds of the noonservice—the level intoning of prayer, the rumble andswell of the padres’ voices. From her place beforethe great crucifix Loretta mocked it, only ceasingnow and then to answer Tony’s warbles with littlewhistles of delight or to run her open bill up anddown the bit of vertical pole dividing her perch.Yesterday’s bout in the kitchen, yesterday’s hungerand fear, the lonely night ramble along the path,the lack of her preening friend—all these were forgottenin to-day’s safety, sunlight, plenty, and companionship.And so she gurried and purred, a-a-awedand ga-a-awked, shrilled her “Buenos días!”across the garden, laughed uproariously, or dronedthe familiar mass.

In reach of her pacing, in touch of her very tail,was the gilded cage, with Tony darting upstairsand down, yet sparing time now and then for a sipor a seed or a saucy chirp.

But of a sudden the happy cries of both birdswere changed to notes of alarm. The canary, itsround eyes starting like two polished shots, flutteredhigh and low, beating its yellow wings against thewires; while Loretta squared her rudder, spread herpinions and squatted belligerently. For on theground, advancing that way by soft steps, and withthe gloating look of the hunter fixed upon the cage,came Tomasso, the cat.

Quickly the parrot rallied from her panic. As ifshe knew that her arch-enemy was not seeking hernow, but the precious bit of fluff at her side, she began[117]a series of terror-inspiring performances learnedin the profane garrison town of her hatching; shegave tongue to dire words that had long since goneout of her repertory. Ruffled to twice her size, shestrutted along her perch, shrieking angry orders tomount, flinging out “Vuelta! vuelta! vuelta!” inhusky trooper tones, and whistling the bugle calls.

It failed to scare Tomasso. Within the cage, asit gently danced from its spring, was a temptingmorsel, one that lured all the more through its effortto escape. The cat crept steadily forward, velvetfoot following velvet foot, across the shifting dapplebefore the great crucifix, across the packed gravelof the garden path, to the near shade of a gold ofOphir. There, under the roses, he paused, ambereyes glowing, whetted claws slipping in and out expectantly,muscles rolling and flexing with the measurementof the leap.

Then, with the cunning of the wild mother, Lorettaadopted new tactics, seeking to divert him. Shewobbled upon her perch, giving vent to bursts ofhysterical laughter; she got between him and thecage and railed at him.

His unblinking eyes did not leave his quarry, hismuscles kept their quiver of preparation. At theend of his sleek body, his long tail swept, to and fro,like a furry pendulum marking off the dread time.

By now other inmates of the garden were alarmed.A blue jay scolded from the terra-cotta roof of thechapel. From the cross-piece of the tree a line ofsparrows gave over their squabbling to look down.

Loretta’s excitement grew wilder. Out of herbeak poured phrases not of mass or military, not of[118]good-days or -nights. For under the gold of Ophirthe furry pendulum was standing out straight andthe moving muscles down Tomasso’s length weretight and still. Her instinct knew the signs, andagain and again she quavered out the “Fuego!”that had disgraced St. John’s Day.

No one heard. From the chapel still sounded theintoning of prayer, broken by the rumble and swellof the padres’ voices.

A moment, and she acted. With a “Ga-a-wk!”of defiance, she aimed her flight for the ground, tookit in all but a somersault, and landed herself directlybefore the astonished Tomasso. Then once againshe spread her wings and squared her rudder, makingready for a clash.

Tomasso’s eyes fell to her, he relaxed, body andtail, spitting resentfully.

Quickly emboldened, she came a hand’s breadthnearer him, snapping at the black tip of his nose.

He retreated to his haunches, but directed a swiftcuff her way.

To this she responded with hoarse laughter andyells of “To-ony!” as if she summoned the canaryto witness the encouraging progress of the fight.Then she stalked forward once more.

Tomasso wrinkled his face. Their positions wereunpleasantly reversed. In Gabrielda’s domain itwas she who backed off or sought the safe places,and he who sallied out from his cosy nook by therange to scare her into noisy protests. While hereshe was bristling to him. His paw poised itself inmid-air.

Loretta grew reckless. Fanning her wings, in[119]one lightning stroke she bit him between his flattenedears.

The pain of it enraged Tomasso. With a jump,he met her.

Then ensued such a scene as the kitchen knew.There was mewing and spitting and yowling; therewas gawking and squalling and a rending cry for“Tony!” All the while, close to the gold of Ophir,the cat and the parrot went dizzily around andaround, a whirligig of grey, scarlet and black—thattossed off fur and feathers.

It was over in a moment, when Tomasso fled, overpath and grass, and into a dusky recess between thetrunks of fir and pine. There he lay down, sulkingand grumbling and licking his paws. But Lorettastayed where she was a little, holding her head sidewisein the attitude of a listener.

“Lora,” she murmured presently, her voice inquiring,“Lora, Lora.”

Then, slowly and clumsily, she made her way to thebase of the perch, and with beak and talons climbedit.

It was past the noon angelus when Padre Alonzocame waddling along the path, and he found thegarden still—still, and filled with the sun-drawn incenseof trees and flowers.

“Sst sst! Tony will be too warm, I fear,” hewas saying aloud as he neared the cage. “The littleone shall go to a cooler spot.” And with thisconclusion, he halted beside the perch of the parrotand lifted the chirping canary down to his knee.

“Buenos días,” he said to Loretta, pausing a[120]moment: “a good-day, truly, but over-hot, so thatmy cassock makes of me a living olla, for I ambeaded with water drops from top to toe.”

The parrot shifted a little, and again set her headsidewise, as if she were puzzled and listening. Next,she edged toward him, and uncertainly, putting afoot down, clasping and unclasping the pole, tryingit cautiously. Against the vertical piece that madeher perch like a cross she teetered awkwardly andstopped.

“Loretta,” said the padre, in some concern, “hastanything in thy craw? Well, gulp down a stoneand grind thy grist. What one swallowest thatmust one digest.”

The gravel crunched behind him. He glancedback, to see Padre Anzar advancing, brown cowlshading hollow eyes.

Padre Alonzo coloured guiltily. “Tony must goto the shade,” he said. “The sun is hot to the cooking-point.”

Padre Anzar paused a moment, glowering up atLoretta. “Then may it singe the plumage of thatvixen,” he answered. “She desecrates our garden.”Another frown, and he passed on.

Padre Alonzo watched him out of sight before heagain addressed the parrot. “I fear thou mustmend thy ways, Loretta,” he said. “Here it isChristmas Day, and yet Anzar has no good wordsfor thee. But see,”—he held up a plump hand, displayingone of Gabrielda’s sweet biscuits—“riotousas thou art, I have remembered. And now tell me,what has thou given Tony?”

As though in mute answer, the parrot suddenly[121]lowered her head toward him, and he saw that overthe grey of her feathered face was a splash of scarlet,as if a vivid fuchsia petal had fallen there.

“Loretta!” he cried anxiously; “Loretta! thineeyes!”

She lifted her head until her beak pointed past thegiant crucifix and straight into the glaring sun.

“Buenos días,” he prompted tenderly, alarmednow at her unusual silence and the indifference shownhis offering; “Loretta, buenos días.”

But she was settling herself upon her cross-likeperch as if for the night. “A-aw, To-o-ny!To-o-ny!” she returned with a little sleepy croak;“buenas noches! buenas noches!”

PICKED from among the litter by the slackof his neck, the coyote whelp opened roundeyes of greyish amber and blinked into theface of the Old Woman. The Navajo lookedback at him, noting with satisfaction that he didnot wriggle. Then she put him carefully to oneside and leaned over the other cubs, whimpering andcrawling about in their shallow burrow like so manyhelpless puppies. These she caught up, one by one,and gave each a swift flick against a stone.

But with the baby she had chosen, she was mosttender, holding him tucked in a fold of her bright-stripedblanket as she descended the steep trail fromthe butte. When they came out upon the level below,she made at once toward the goats, which werepasturing at some distance, and from the flock drovea young female, fat, and black as the coal streakthat furnished her cooking fires. Still carrying thecoyote, she led the goat by a riata to the corral atthe foot of the mesa precipice, tied her to a cedarpost, and promptly put the whelp up to the udderfor his first meal of goat’s milk.

He was a wee ball of downy, mouse-coloured furthen, with soft ears, a head shaped like a peach, anda mere wisp of tail. At night, he slept near theOld Woman in the dirt-covered hogan, his bed asquare of red flannel on the bottom of a great, olla-likebasket which he could neither tip over nor crawl[123]out of. In the daytime, riding in the crook of theaged squaw’s arm, he accompanied her to the desert,where she went to herd, or he lay beneath a brushsun shelter while she worked in the cornfield.

But soon, well suckled by the she-goat, he beganto grow amazingly. First he found his legs, andwas able to go wabbling after his foster mother asshe lonesomely circled the corral. Next, the wabblebecame a stout little trot. And now the Old Womanfound no need of holding him up for his dinner.The goat, when heavy with milk, stood without beingtied, and even uh-uh-uhed to him invitingly if he wasslow to come; while he had so lengthened and heightenedthat he was able to drink without aid. Hegave over the olla-like basket, therefore, and thecorral became his home. Here he showed an increasinglove for the she-goat by yelping mournfully ifshe started off down the enclosure, and by barkingin noisy delight at her return. The squaw still sawhim often, and stroked him much so that he mightnot become hand shy.

Changed in looks he was by now. The black-tippednose was longer and more pointed; the greyishamber eyes were paler and narrowed in theirslits; the head was flat; the ears were upright; thehair was not downy, but coarse to wiriness, blackishand brindled along the back and mane, striped burro-wiseacross the shoulders, elsewhere of a dusty, sunburned,tawny grey.

With his change in looks there came a change inappetite. He began to crave other food than milk,when the Old Woman gave him to eat of waferbread and let him lap from a gourd shell filled from[124]her wicker water bottle. Later, the she-goat havinggone dry, and there being no second foster motherfor him, she fed him with other things—the bean ofthe mesquite and the sweetish fruit of the pricklypear. One day, he tasted blood. The squawbrought him in a linnet, all plump and juicy beneathits feathery coat. He lay down, holding thetiny thing between his forefeet, and tore at it greedily,with little throaty growls. When he was finished,she tried to pull away the bits of plumagecaught in his paws. And for the first time he showedhis teeth.

Then the Boy came. Having got the man scentbefore he reached the hogan, the young prairie wolfwas not frightened at the stranger whose blanketwas as bright with stripes as the Old Woman’s, andwho was otherwise very like her in appearance—exceptthat a gay banda kept back the hair from hisforehead. On the other hand, the Boy was startledas, on entering the low hut, he saw two eyes burningout at him from a dim corner.

“What is it?” he asked the Old Woman, speakingin the Navajo tongue.

“It is Little Watcher,” she answered. “For soI have named him. The kids were all stolen away bynight. When I prayed to Those Above, I was biddento do what my father had done—fight poisonwith poison.”

With the Boy’s coming, the coyote had muchmeat. For every day the Boy took bow and arrowsand climbed to the mesa top. Here grew juniper,piñon, and cedar, and here rabbits were to be found,and reptiles, ground squirrel, buzzard, and hawk.[125]Returning, the hunter threw the whole of his quarryto Little Watcher, who was easy to please but hardto satisfy. The coyote dragged the game out ofreach and then fell upon it as if he feared interruption,mumbling his delight.

Meanwhile the Old Woman was not neglecting totrain him. When the sunrise sheen was on the desert,and the squaw, singing the early morning song, drovethe flock to its scant feeding, she took Little Watcheralong. And as the goats slowly travelled, browsing,she taught him to follow and round them.

By the end of twelve moons, what with no longruns and plentiful food, Little Watcher was largerthan the wild of his own kind and as big as hiskinsman, the grey wolf. Now a wren was not amouthful for him: a snap, a swallow, and it was gone,and the amber eyes were pleading for more. Yetfor all his gorging and his hankering after flesh, hewas no less a friend to his foster mother, the she-goat,than before, and having skirted the flock, likedto sprawl near by her, and perhaps tease a lizardby way of entertainment.

There came a night when for the first time hisstrength, his training, and his affection for her wereput to the test. Enemies came.

Only the stars were shining, and the corral lay inthe heavy shadow of the precipice. But LittleWatcher needed no light to tell him that dangerthreatened. He lifted his muzzle to the rough pathfrom the mesa, perked his ears, and snuffed noiselessly.Then, as noiselessly, he rose.

Presently, along the foot of the precipice, cameseveral forms like his own. He was down the wind[126]from them, and they skulked forward with no halts,their feet softly padding the sand. Soon the foremostwas beside the enclosure and reared upon hishind legs.

Once more Little Watcher rose—his body rigid,his head stretched out, his brush on a stiff line withhis back, and from crest to tail his hair stood upbelligerently. Then, with a shrill yelp of defiancehe leaped forward and caught the other by the throat.

His fangs were sharp, his hold was a vise. Onerending pull, and the strange coyote pitched endfor end between his fellows. They smelled the warmblood—and leaped upon him with a wrangle of exultantcries.

Out of her hogan rushed the Old Woman wavinga pine torch above her head and shrieking to scarethe intruders. They ran to a safe distance, fromwhere they stopped to look round. The Old Womandid not follow them nor trouble to wake the Boy.When she had gone among the goats to see that nonewas hurt or missing, she dragged the dead coyotesome rods away, and returned to give Little Watchera caress.

But there was no rest for Little Watcher. Stillbristled, he stayed inside the corral, now skirting thegoats on fleet foot, now pausing beside his black fostermother, but always licking his chops and mumblingcrossly.

It was then the season that follows the first rains.A haze of green lay on the desert—a haze touchedhere by the yellow of sunflower and marigold masses,there by the purple of the larkspur’s slender wand,again by a fleck of gleaming alkali.

[127]But all too soon that haze was gone again, meltingaway with the hot kiss of the sun. Greasewood andmesquite showed the only verdure now, and the flockfound the picking poor.

So, one dawn, a burro was loaded with blankets,the cooking pottery, and some water bottles filledat the precious spring. Then the squaw said farewellto the Boy, who stayed to tend orchard andcorn strips, and drove her bearded company out ofthe cedar corral. Soon she was well on her way, andthe grey and the red sandstone ribbons of the mesaprecipice were blending and fading behind her.

Finally, when more than a score of camps hadbeen pitched and broken, the goats were stoppednear the cottonwood-lined bed of a dry stream. Herethe burro was unloaded, the Old Woman made asun shelter of boughs on the bare gravel of thearroyo, and dug for, and found, water.

Grazing was good, and the goats fattened. Sodid Little Watcher, who fared well on the daily spoilof the squaw’s snares. Here, too, almost in theshadow of the wooded Tunicha Mountains, was peace—fora period.

Each night the goats were driven in to the lineof cottonwoods, where, bunched together, they laydown. On one side of them was the shelter of boughs,where the Old Woman slept, rousing occasionally toput a length of mesquite root upon her torch fire;on the opposite side, close to his picketed fostermother, dozed Little Watcher, flat upon his belly,his hind legs stretched out straight with his tail, hismuzzle on his forepaws. But, like the squaw, hewaked now and again, and listened—head high, ears[128]upright and moving, amber eyes glowing in the dark.And he often heard what the other did not—thefar-off staccato yip! yip! yip! of the prairie wolfon a scent.

Then, for a second time during his term of guarding,enemies appeared—boldly, in broad daylight,when the Old Woman was away looking to her traps.It was now the season when the coyote runs in pairs.And but two appeared, out of a patch of cactus tothe mountain side of the goats. From the cacti,they came darting down upon the nearest of the flock—LittleWatcher’s black foster mother.

But before they could reach her, a streak of tawnygrey shot between. And as the she-goat scrambledup, bleating in terror, to join the herd, LittleWatcher, all bristled from crest to tail, met the maleof the coyote pair and buried his teeth in his flank.

They fought furiously, rolling over and over, sendingthe sand into the air, tearing up the greasewood,mingling their cries of pain and rage. From theedge of the cactus patch, the female watched them,rather indifferently, however, and with frequenthungry glances in the direction of the goats.

The gaunt stranger was no match for the guardianof the flock. Very soon the battle was over. ThenLittle Watcher looked up, and at the female. Thereshe was at the summit of the gentle rise, apparentlywaiting, and turning her head prettily this way andthat. Little Watcher loped toward her. She lethim come close, then wheeled and sped away throughthe cacti. He followed.

He was back before nightfall, and lay down at thefeet of the aged Navajo, his eyes furtive, as if he were[129]conscious of neglected duty, his tongue lolling witha long, hard run. Alternately scolding and caressinghim, the Old Woman gave him a few laps fromher gourd shell, and presently he sought out his fostermother and rested beside her until the goatssought the cottonwoods.

But thereafter he often left his charges to gobounding away toward the mountains, and not eventhe proffering of food could tempt him to stay.Sometimes of a night he would rise and sneak off.Sometimes of a morning he would trot to the top ofa near-by rise, stop, look round upon the goats, givea troubled whine—and disappear.

Then, one day, as suddenly as these excursions hadbegun, they came to an end. He was returning tothe flock after a long jaunt, when, not far to hisright, there appeared a moving figure, wound in ablanket and topped with white. It was not unlike ayucca, crowned by a cream-coloured bloom. Now,in a new posture, it was not unlike a stumpy saguarowith one outspread branch. The curiosity ofhis kind impelled him to halt. As he did so, placinghis forefeet on a rock, the better to see, he caughtthe familiar scent of the Boy, and saw that the latterwas holding out toward him a long, strange somethingupon which the light glinted. The next momentthere was a puff of smoke—a report—and LittleWatcher fell to the sand.

He lay flat upon his side for a short space, histail limp and thin, his eyes closed. Then, strivingto rise, he found himself able only to control hisforelegs, for his hinder ones would not obey his will,and at the small of his back was a spot that stung.[130]This he could reach, and he alternately snappedround at it with a doleful cry or licked it tenderly.

It was early morning then, and he did not mind theheat. But later, as the sun mounted and burnedthe sand, he pulled himself along to some spiny buckbrush, and spent the rest of the day in its meagreshade. He knew the flock was not far, for theirrank odour was borne to him on the wind. And so,the sun gone, leaving only great strokes of orangeupon the sky and a fire-edged hill where its last lightrested, he took his way toward home, dragging hishind quarters.

Twilight was yet on the desert as he came in sightof the goats. There they went, trailing across thepurple levels to the long, black, wavering line ofcottonwoods, behind them, two herders. Faster hepulled himself along, giving a quick little bark, nowand then, that ended in a howl. But he was notable to cross the summit of the ridge from which helooked. And so he dropped down upon a red-blackstretch of glassy lava. For hours thirst had cruellyassailed him. As often in times past he had drunkfrom rain-filled pockets in the sandstone, he nowlicked feverishly at the still blistering rock.

There night found him. Between his lappings, helay flat, being too hurt and weary to hold himselfup. His muzzle was toward the flock and he couldsee the place of its lying down. For there burnedthe evening fire, a dot of light on a vast sheet ofblackness. He shivered, giving puppy-like barks, aswhen, a whelp, he tagged his foster mother, the she-goat;he lifted his muzzle to the stars and mourned.

[131]Behind him, other cries answered—faintly, againstthe wind. He perked his ears, listening.

Yip! yip! yip! yip! yip!—the running cry ofprairie wolves on a scent!

He looked down upon the level, where sparks wereflying up from the Old Woman’s fire. Once more,rallying all his strength, he tried to make headwaytoward the goats. Once more, he could not crossthe ridge. He whined helplessly.

Nearer and nearer sounded the coyote cries behind,dulling a little as the pack descended into adraw, redoubling in strength when they came outupon higher ground.

And now they were so near that Little Watchercould hear their short pantings as they loped forward.And now he could see them coming his waythrough the dark. With a growl, he sat up, earslaid back, hair on end.

Yip! yip! yip! yip! yip!

Up from behind the pine-covered Tunichas rosethe moon—full, white, spreading a day-like radianceupon the great slopes and levels of the desert.

From the brush shelter among the cottonwoods,the Old Woman and the Boy lifted their eyes to look,and saw, silhouetted against it, at the summit of thelava stretch, a lone coyote, seemingly seated uponits haunches.

The squaw got to her feet, wristlets and chainstinkling, and leaned to peer among the goats. TheBoy sprang up, too, his gaze toward the ridge top.

“Little Watcher!” he called anxiously; “LittleWatcher!”

Then into the moonlight on the distant summit[132]they saw other wolf forms race; and as these centredto where the lone coyote sat, saw him struggle forwardto meet them. And through the desert night,there came a shrill yelp of defiance—then a wrangleof exultant cries.

IT all happened after Missy and I arrived fromSan Francisco. I was taken to Hart’s (which,as you must know, is one of the most perfectlyappointed boarding-places for horses in NewYork) and given a roomy box-stall toward the frontof the stable. Across from me was another box, justas large and loose. In it was a stylish black geldingwith docked tail and hogged mane. That wasThunderbolt.

I was very car-stiff. For though I came by expresson the same train with Missy, it had taken sixdays. My first day at Hart’s, as she was in mystall, petting me and giving me nice bites of carrot(it was a Wednesday, Wednesday being my day forcarrots), a man came down the row of stalls withMartin, the head-groom. As he turned to openThunderbolt’s box, he looked at me—or Missy—(hislook was admiring, anyway) and raised his hat.That was Thunderbolt’s master.

Missy bowed back, sweetly, but gravely, and wenton feeding me.

I did not know he was Thunderbolt’s master then.But later, before Peter, one of the under-grooms,took me out for an airing (I was not fit, Missy said,to be ridden—but I noticed Peter rode me when hegot me out of sight of the stable), I nickered overto Thunderbolt to ask him who his visitor was.

[134]“That is my master,” said he, putting his headover the side of his box. “And he is one of the bestmasters I have ever had.”

I gave a good horse laugh at that. “One of thebest,” I said. For I had never belonged to anyonebut Missy, and I think that a first-class animaldoesn’t keep changing quarters.

Thunderbolt put back his ears. “That is whatI said,” he went on, “and I’m not going to turna hair over it, either. A change of monogram canhappen to anybody.”

“Of course,” said I, taking particular pains toshow mine. It was on my best dress-blanket, whichPeter was putting on, and which was made to orderfor me in Missy’s father’s woolen mills. “Buthow did it happen that you—eh——”

Thunderbolt’s eyes showed a rim of white—a bad-tempersign that no thoroughbred (and no partthoroughbred) allows himself to make. “‘You’re assilly as a filly,’” he quoted. “A horse may justbe off his oats a little—that was my case—or home-sick.”

“I can understand that.”

“Any crow-bait could. But now that I’mhere——”

“Lucky nag!” said I.

“Bet your bridle!” returned Thunderbolt. “Mymaster comes in with his pockets fairly sticking outwith good things. Have you noticed?”

“No, but I will,” I promised.

And I did. The very next morning, here cameThunderbolt’s master again. I put my nose out[135]when I saw him. He stopped and smoothed myneck. And, meanwhile, I found a pocket jammedwith grass.

As Thunderbolt saw the grass disappear, he laidback his ears. “The Dealers take you!” he grumbled.

“Don’t get ugly,” I said. “I’ll divide my tidbitswith you. To-day I’ll get an apple.”

“How do you know?” he snorted. He was carefulto appear on his best behaviour, however, for hismaster was looking at his hoofs.

“Monday, sweet biscuit,” I began; “Tuesday,sugar; Wednesday, carrots; Thursday, an apple;Friday, cracked corn; Saturday, stale bread andmolasses; Sunday, marshmallows.”

“What are marshmallows?” asked Thunderbolt.“Do they grow in a meadow?”

“They don’t,” I answered. “They come inMissy’s handkerchief. As near as I can make out,they are sweet chunks of bran mash.”

We stopped talking then, for Missy came, dressedfor a canter. She didn’t see Thunderbolt’s masterat first, for he was still stooping over. And afterI had a bite of apple, she held out a piece to Thunderbolt.

“You pretty fellow!” she said.

At that, up popped Thunderbolt’s master. Andthey bowed, and said good-morning, and he pointedout Thunderbolt’s good points—deep chest and boldeye, and Missy followed with mine—tapering ears,broad forehead set with a star, and long, archedneck. So it was quite a bit before I was ready to[136]go out. Thunderbolt’s master put Missy up anddrove his trap beside us so that they could chatall the way to the Park.

“Did you notice?” asked Thunderbolt when wewere both in again and John and Peter were groomingus.

“Did I notice what?” I asked, licking my salt.

“You haven’t good horse sense,” declared Thunderbolt.“A flea-bitten screw with co*ckled hockswould see more. Didn’t you notice how nice my masterwas to your Missy?”

I fairly pawed with delight. “Of course I noticedit,” I answered. And until the next apple-dayI was careful to do my part. I nosed Thunderbolt’smaster when he came in, I picked up my feet in mybest style when I went out beside his trap, and Ipranced. And when Missy wanted to turn me intothe bridle-path, I passaged and champed.

Thunderbolt’s master and Missy spent an hourin our boxes every day. They fed us dainties andtalked to each other, and he was especially kind tome, patting me a lot and praising me. And I saw—well,I can see farther than my muzzle—and I wasas happy as a Grand Prix winner.

And then one day—something seemed wrong withMissy. She arrived earlier than usual, and hadnothing for me. When she entered my stall, shethrew her arms around my neck. “Oh, Hector!Hector!” she whispered, so sadly. And I saw shehad a letter crumpled up in one hand.

When Peter took off my sheet, she stepped backand looked me over. “You dear darling!” she said,just as if she were going to cry. “Peter, isn’t he[137]beautiful? I’ve had him ever since he was a colt.”And she laid her pretty cheek against me.

“Oi never seen a foiner, miss,” said Peter. “Up-headed,an’ wid a mouth that ud drive on a t’read.”

Thunderbolt’s master came in then, and when he’dsaid good-morning he sent Peter away for somethingand stepped over into my box. Missy turnedaway from him, and he couldn’t help but see thatshe wasn’t acting as usual. But I don’t believe heunderstood it any better than I did. For he lookedpuzzled, and then he raised his hat again.

“Do you know,” he said, “it’s just occurred tome that I’ve been very remiss. I’ve never even introducedmyself properly to you. And I haven’t thepleasure of your name, either.”

“If people are fond of horses——” began Missy.She fell to patting my nose.

“My name is England,” went on Thunderbolt’smaster, “Edward England.”

Instantly, I felt Missy’s fingers tighten, and I sawher face grow white. “England!” she said underher breath; “Edward England!”

She was standing on my off side now, and Thunderbolt’smaster could not see her. “I presume it’sa name you’re not unfamiliar with,” he went onagain. “But don’t mistake me for dad. He’s beenmanipulating wool lately, and the press keeps prettyclose track of him.” And he laughed.

“Yes—I—I have heard,” answered Missy, slowly,and as Peter led me toward the runway, she followed—withoutanother word. She walked unevenly,as a horse goes when he’s got the blind staggers.

[138]I was sorry she hadn’t told him who we were.For I must say that, on the Coast, no family standsbetter than the Sanborns. But Missy was changed—somethinghad happened to her.

The very next day, something happened to me.Peter came down the stalls with a strange groombehind him and stopped at my box. For the swishof a tail, I didn’t think anything of that, for weoften have new grooms. But when Peter put on myhalter, and then my hood and dress-blanket, and theman took my leading-strap, I knew I was to betaken away somewhere.

I felt so startled and excited that I am sure Imisbehaved. But the groom talked kindly to me,and Peter slapped me on the flank, and so I triedto go quietly. I think the other horses knew I wasleaving—that strange groom gave them the hint.They looked around at me, and one whinnied to askme what was the matter. They were all stall boarders,and of course I didn’t know them. And I wastoo unhappy to answer, anyway. For Thunderboltwas out in the trap, and, if I was going, I could nottell him good-bye.

“What if I’m sold?” I kept saying to myself asI went down the runway and out to the street.“What if I’m sold?” I shivered, for all my covering.“Oh, Missy, you wouldn’t do that!”

Then another terrible thought: Is Missy goingto get an auto? But that couldn’t be—Missy hatesautos.

Soon enough, I found out what had happened.The strange groom led me toward the Hudson, thennorth again—I am never mistaken in directions—and,[139]finally, into a good-sized stable that stood midwayof a block. Here, I was led upstairs—andinto a standing-stall.

It made me cross, and I tried my hind shoes onthe mats in short order (a blooded horse is expectedto be nervous and impatient at times). But theplace was clean and comfortable, and the double lineof horses were, I must say, a very decent lot—notshow horses, but good of their kind. All were freshlittered and well blanketed, and seemed contentedenough. “This is where I’m going to live, I guess,”I thought to myself. Pretty soon I was sure of it.For here came Missy in her riding clothes.

“It’s all very nice,” I heard her tell the strangegroom. “And I want you to give him every attention.”She opened one hand. There was a greenpiece of paper in it, and he bobbed his head as hetook it. Then she opened her other hand—andthere was some cracked corn. So it was on a Fridaythat I came to my new quarters.

It was three days later before I saw Thunderboltand his master. We all met in the Park.

“They tell me Hector’s left Hart’s,” said Mr.England to Missy. “Now, Miss Sanborn,—you seeI’ve found out who you are—it really wasn’t fairof you to go without letting me know about it.We’re both wool people, you must remember.” Hespoke jokingly; but he looked a little worried.

Missy straightened in her stirrups (she rides cross-saddle)and tightened my reins. I felt them tremble.“I’ve moved,” she said, “and so, of course,Hector had to come nearer me.”

“I see—of course. Where are you now?”

[140]“At Hawley’s, uptown—a nice stable.”

“Oh, yes.” (Mr. England looked hard at thedog’s head on the butt of his whip.)

There was an awkward silence. Then, “Good-afternoon,”said Missy, and went on.

It didn’t take me long to realise one thing aboutmy new home. It was not so good as the old; inthe main comforts it was, but not in little ones.We got two groomings instead of three; the litterwas not deep, as at Hart’s; we were not watered sooften; there was no more briny hay, and no flaxseedjelly. Several times, too, I saw delivery horses comingup a runway from the basem*nt, and being putto heavy wagons. The horses on my floor, whenthey went out, were wickedly checked to make themhold up their heads.

Their treatment of me was always the perfectionof good stable manners, and among the whole lotthere was only one that especially irritated me. Hewas a bay with black points, one of those under-sized,jack-rabbity little nuisances called a Shetland.

“My! what airs!” he exclaimed one day as hewas passing me in his governess’s cart. “I presumeyou’re much too fine to take hay-tea with the restof us.”

“Don’t class yourself with the others,” I answered.“You remind me of nothing so much as aflea drawing a wash-basket.”

After that brush, he let me alone. And I triedto be contented at Hawley’s. I must say that Missywas kinder than ever to me. On apple days I gotseveral, and on Saturdays a double quantity of stalebread and molasses. So why kick?

[141]But very soon my dainties began to dwindle, andoften Missy gave me none at all, so that I lost trackof the days. And I noticed, when we went out for ourregular gallop, that Missy never hummed to herselfas we went along, or stopped to let me crop a littlegreen, or nodded pleasantly to the mounted policewe passed. She rode slowly, with her head down, orset me going at a run.

Then, when I had been at the new stable not morethan two weeks, a strange groom came down thestalls to me for a second time. Again my hood anddress-blanket were put on, and I was led down andout. The groom was a hang-dog looking fellow.Still, I went with a prancing step. For I knew whatit meant. I was going back to Martin and my box-stall!

But I wasn’t. We turned north again, going upa cobbled street that rang with clanging cars. Overhead,the Elevated roared and banged till my earsached. And everywhere, on sidewalks and in thestreet, herds of noisy children shrieked and raced.My heart began to fail me. Under my blanket, Ibroke out in a cold sweat.

Too soon I knew the worst. Down a crowdedstreet we turned, going eastward until I could see,ahead, a blur of green that was the Park. Then Iwas led into a low, ill-smelling, steaming building,around the door of which slouched a half-dozenrough-looking men, all smoking—smoking, mind you,in a stable! They looked me over as the groombrought me to a stand. And their eyes actuallyrolled at sight of me. It was plain they were notused to seeing my kind there.

[142]They were not. Down a runway I went, andinto a cellar, where there were fifty or so horses, alllooking around and moving restlessly, as if theywanted feed or water. And here I was led into anarrow stall with little bedding—and that bad—anda sour feed-box. Oh, what an awful night Ispent! My dress-blanket had been taken off, andmy sheet not put on. So the mosquitoes tormentedme every minute. But I was not the worst off.Near me were horses that had plucked manes andbanged tails, and no sheets. They couldn’t defendthemselves, and rubbed from side to side in theirstalls in a very panic of pain. That terrible banging,hour after hour, and the foul state of my stallkept me from lying down. The groom had givenme no water when he brought me in. And untilmorning I suffered terribly.

I plucked up courage when I was groomed andwatered, though I must say I could not eat all ofmy oats. Somehow or other, my appetite was gone.But Missy came, and we went out together. Notas I would have liked, for my coat was not so shiningas usual, and some of my mane hung over thewrong side. And, worse than all, some straws weresticking in my tail!

Missy noticed nothing, not even the howls of thechildren in the street. In the Park she did not reinme to drink at the stone troughs along the bridle-path,or to crop. But there was one thing that,more than anything else, took the spirit out of me.Going south beside the East Drive, I saw ahead ofus—Thunderbolt coming! Instantly, I neighed.[143]Missy looked up, and then, as quick as she could,whirled me and started back, circling the reservoirthe other way. So I did not have a chance to seemy friend, or Mr. England. I went into the stablewith my head hanging.

Things went along that way for a week. Meanwhile,I was not so well as usual. I caught a cold,for the stalls were hot and the air in the streetchilled me to the bones. And I coughed, and mythroat got so sore that I quidded my feed andsplashed the water instead of drinking. I thinkMissy saw how it was. For one day, as we weregoing along, I felt a drop of water fall upon mywithers—then another, and another. The sun wasshining, there were no clouds. I turned my head alittle. It was Missy—in tears!

I was so unhappy that I snapped at the next horsethat went by.

But that morning ended happily, at least for me.Rounding a bend, we came close to a drive. Andthere was Thunderbolt and his master. I was soexcited that I interfered.

They seemed as pleased as I at the meeting. But—Missydid not. Missy was nervous—she telegraphedthat down the reins.

“Miss Sanborn,” said Mr. England, half as ifhe were going to scold, “you’ve been neglecting toride lately.”

“Oh, no,” declared Missy; “I ride. But possiblynot so long as usual. You see, I’m—I’m verybusy.”

“Doubling your painting lessons?”

[144]“No—n—no.”

“Ah,” said Mr. England, watching her narrowly,I thought. That was all he said. Then Missybowed, and we galloped away.

I had had no chance to gossip with Thunderbolt,for we were not permitted to stand close or to touchnoses. But I did notice that he looked me overcarefully—and then his upper lip curled like thejockeys on my saddle.

But I forgot his treatment. For soon I had worseluck than ever, and much poorer care. For the thirdtime, a strange groom came for me. I knew betterthan to expect a return to a good stable. And Iwas right. We went two blocks toward the Hudson,and through a wide gate leading into a lot—a lotfilled with wagons and little shacks of the kind thatChinamen live in on the Coast. It took me a minuteto realise what was going to happen. “It can’tbe!” I said to myself. “Oh, Missy wouldn’t!” Butit happened. I was led into a dark stall in one ofthose shanties!

There was a rough-coated lot in that yard, notsociety for a horse like me. Some were scrawny andspindle-shanked, with dull eyes and staring jackets.Some were stout and blocky—beer-jerking stock,but not nearly as well kept as brewery horses. Someshowed pedigree. But these were poor, old, broken-down,mutilated things, badly used on pedler’swagons. The three in my shanty bolted their foodas if they never expected to get any more. It wasall bloating stuff—chaff and straw—and about aspalatable as hoof-dressing. As for grooming, noneof us got any. It was just a jerk or two of the[145]curry-comb, and it was over. And this among along-haired lot that looked as if they had neverknown a blanket!

I could see, when Missy came, that she didn’t likethe place. And on one of her visits I found outjust how she felt. It made me decide to put mybest foot foremost, to act spirited even if I didn’tfeel like it, and to stop biting my crib. She cameto my head, a sugar lump in one hand. And as Itook the dainty, she held me about the withers withher pretty arms. “Oh, Hector! Hector!” she whispered.“You’re all that’s left. I can’t do withoutyou—I can’t! I can’t!”

Dear Missy!

We didn’t see Thunderbolt or his master for weeksafter that. Missy avoided them. I knew it, andit added to my unhappiness. For I had seen howMr. England liked me—and Missy, too. And Imissed the nice things I always found in his pockets.And though I went out poorly groomed, I wouldn’thave minded Thunderbolt’s snorting. I’ve got betterblood in me than he has any day. I know thatby his cobby build.

Those were days when I often felt teardrops onmy withers. And I couldn’t help but see that Missywas faring no better than I. Then I began to lookand look and look for Mr. England. “Missy’s notgetting all she needs to eat any more than I am,”I said to myself. And I was determined that if everMr. England gave me an apple or a sweet cakeagain, she was to have it.

Well, one day as we were posting along close tothe West Drive, who should I spy but Mr. England[146]and Thunderbolt with the trap—Martin on the rumble.I whinnied, and Missy gave me a smart rapfor it that made me fairly dance. But neither Martinnor Mr. England saw me. As for Thunderbolt,if he did, he gave no sign, but stepped outwith his high knee-action, making a good pace uptown.

It may have been acting like a skate. Certainly,I had never treated Missy that way before. ButI decided to do it on the instant, and I took theblow she gave me as an excuse. For, with the bitsheld so that the curb-port couldn’t hurt me toomuch, I started to run with all my might, beingcareful not to stumble and make Missy come a cropper.Out upon the driveway I raced, and straightfor Thunderbolt!

The clatter of my hoofs made both Mr. Englandand Martin glance back. They saw Missy comingafter, pulling me in with might and main, and fairlystanding in her stirrups. Mr. England gave Martinthe reins and sprang to the ground. The trapwas turned squarely across the drive. And I camebouncing into it, Mr. England catching at my bridle.

Missy dismounted, breathing hard.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said. “What possessedyou, Hector? Oh, there’s something the matterwith the darling!”

At that Thunderbolt turned his head. “Overfeeding,”he snickered. The hide-bound spavin!

“I think,” Mr. England was saying, “that you’dbetter not ride to the stable. Martin will driveyou home, and I’ll take charge of this chap. He’sstill excited.”

[147](I was only out of temper with Thunderbolt.)

But poor Missy! She lowered the nigh stirrupquick as a wink. “No, no, it really isn’t necessary,”she said; “Really it isn’t. I wouldn’t for the worldlet Hector think he’d scared me. It would spoilhim. I must ride him right away, and conquerhim.” And she mounted.

Martin had turned the trap by now, for othervehicles were passing. But Mr. England did notget up.

“You’re right, of course,” he answered. “If hethinks he beat you out, he’ll only bully you everychance he gets after this. But still I must insist ontaking you to the stable. We’ll go slowly, and youput his nose close behind the rumble and keep itthere.”

I felt the reins tremble dreadfully. It wasn’tfear, either. Then Missy bent over, speaking low.

“Mr. England,” she said earnestly, “not Martin.Won’t you send him home with Thunderbolt?Please.”

Mr. England saw that she was troubled aboutsomething and he gave her her head. “Martin,”he called to the groom, “you take the trap in.And attend to that thong on the whiffletree—itdoesn’t hold the trace.”

Thunderbolt went trotting off. Mr. Englandturned back to Missy. “Hector seems a littlequieter now,” he said.

Then I saw that Missy wasn’t going to let Mr.England come with her any more than she had Martin.“There isn’t any reason for your coming,”she said. “Hector’s like a lamb.”

[148]For a second, I thought he hesitated. But I settledthat. With a little squeal and a shake of myhead, I reared—just a trifle.

Quick as a fly, Mr. England had my reins. “Heisn’t over his tantrum yet, you see,” he said quietly,but very decidedly. “I can’t think of letting youtake him in alone.”

Well, Missy protested. But he was firm. Andwe started for the entrance, with him at my bridle.

As soon as I saw he was really coming, I hungmy head and went along like a case of chest-founder.When we reached the street, he took to the sidewalk,watching me every instant though, and watchingpoor Missy. She was hanging her head, too.

At a corner, Mr. England turned north, expectingus to follow. For that was the way to Hawley’s.Missy reined me up and called to him, and he cameback.

I could see her face was dreadfully pale. Butshe was just as straight in her saddle as she couldbe. “Not that way, Mr. England,” she said.

He didn’t show the least surprise. (He is athoroughbred, too.) “You lead,” he said; “I’llfollow.”

And so we went on—to the wagon-yard, Mr. Englandlooking at the sidewalk, Missy looking straightahead.

The gate was open. I went in, not stopping tillI reached the door of my shanty. There, Missygot down. She was standing beside me as Mr. Englandcame around the corner, and leaning a littleupon me, one gloved hand reached up to the saddle.

[149]Mr. England strode close up to her, and theystood for a moment, her face raised bravely to his,his eyes searching her.

“Oh, little woman!” he said, and his voice shook;“oh, little woman!”

She took her under lip in her teeth. “There’s—there’sno reason for me to conceal anything,” shesaid. “Matters were a little tight at home, and Ihad to be economical.”

He was looking at her as if he was bewildered.“Matters tight—at home——” he repeated. Then,of a sudden, he seemed to know what it all meant,and his face got as white as Missy’s. “Your father—then,your father——?” he began, almost chokingly.

Missy looked straight back at him, and there wasno more leaning against me. “Yes. And now youknow why I didn’t want you to come here. It wasn’tbecause I was ashamed of this. It was because Iknew you’d find out. And then you might think—mightthink that I felt there was something personalabout it. You see, I realise there wasn’t. Fathermade contracts to deliver. Afterward, wool wentup——”

Mr. England groaned. “To think it reachedyou! That you had to suffer.”

“But I haven’t suffered. Work was offered mehere,—work in an art line. I have felt no hardshipfrom it. In fact, there is happiness in earning aliving. I am learning so much. The only disappointmentI’ve had was about Hector. He’s notbeen quite as comfortable——” She stopped andcaressed my shoulder tenderly.

[150]Something got into my wind-pipe then, and I hadto mouth my bits to keep from coughing.

“And where do you live?” asked Mr. England.“Not where you did. I went there—more thanonce.”

“Well,—no-o—. But in a very nice place. Itake my meals across from the store.”

“The store?”

“Yes. I am painting Christmas things—cardsand so on. It’s pleasant work. And my room looksout on the side of a church. And there’s a stained-glasswindow there, and ivy all over the church wall.”

Mr. England began again, low and deep andearnestly. “Once in a lifetime,” he said, “a manmeets a girl like you—sweet and sensible and good,that can take a blow like this without a word, findher feet again, and begin her fight bravely, doingwithout things that are second nature to her, andgoing without comforts for a friend, even when thatfriend is only a horse!”

“But I couldn’t do without Hector,” Missy declared.“I love him too much.”

(I rubbed my nose against her sleeve.)

“Sometimes I’ve had a terrible thought,” she said,half in a whisper. “It was that I might be forcedto part with him. And—and I’ve wondered—oh,you’ll forgive me, I hope—if I have to, you’ll takehim, Mr. England? He’s a perfect lady’s saddler.”

“You mean,—I may need a lady’s saddler?”

“Well, you—you might.”

“I shall—if I have my way about it.”

Dear Missy turned to me again, and put her arms[151]about my neck. “I’m not brave about this,” shewhispered, and hid her face in my mane.

All of a sudden he pulled her hands free andturned her toward him. “You love him,” he said.“I wonder if there’s room in your heart for anyoneelse, dear little woman?”

And just at that moment that ragamuffin of astable-boy popped into sight. Of course, I was ledaway.

I don’t know how I ever lived through the nextfew days. No Missy, no dainties, nothing but ashort airing each morning to take me out of thatterrible shanty. Ah, I knew what had happenedto me this time. I was out of the Sanborn family.I was somebody else’s lady’s saddler!

Then, one morning, when the boy led me outthrough the gate, he started off south along theBoulevard. I had on my dress-blanket and hood.Behind me came another boy, carrying my saddleand bridle and the rest of my clothes. This wasgoing somewhere.

“They can’t find any place in New York worsethan that shanty,” I said to myself. And for thefirst time since leaving California, I completely lostheart. I put my head down and just stumbled long.

And then—I suddenly found that we had passedthe Circle, turned east, and were in front of Hart’s!We mounted the runway. And there it was—theroomy box-stall across from Thunderbolt’s, deepwith sweet bedding, and matted in Peter’s best style.And there was Missy, looking so pink and pretty!And there was Mr. England, smiling so hard hecouldn’t talk!

[152]“Dear Hector!” cried Missy. “Oh, Martin, bevery good to him while we’re away!”

“Yes, mum,” said Martin.

“And to Thunderbolt, too,” said Missy.

Martin bobbed, and tugged at his cap.

Then Missy reached up and pulled my head downclose to her. “Darling Hector!” she whispered.“We’re home to stay!” And she kissed the starin my forehead.

“I ’M homely,” said Sue, smiling and pulling thegrey pony down to a walk; “I’m the homeliestgirl to be found at the Brampton Country Club.Why, even plain young married women askme to their houses on protracted visits.”

As he reined his own horse, Philip Rawson turnedupon her a look of reproof. “Ridiculous!” he exclaimed.“The first time a fellow meets you, maybehe only does remember your hair or your eyes. You’vegot awfully attractive eyes, Sue. But the secondtime he sees how nice you are. And the third timehe’s sure to look forward to meeting you again.But by the fourth or fifth time! Well, by gad!by the fourth or fifth time there’s no half-way aboutit—he thinks you’re a dandy!”

Sue laughed teasingly. “You’ve grown up withthose ideas,” she declared. “Do you remember thatonce—you were twelve, Phil,—you gave Len Hammondthe nosebleed because he called me ‘cotton-top’?”

“Your hair is stunning,” said Phil defensively.“And no girl could look better than you do on ahorse.”

“But imagine riding a horse to a dance,” saidSue.

“Who wants to go to dances?” demanded Phil.[154]“The idea of wasting hours getting togged for aconfounded silly affair and then more hours attendingit—when there’s all outdoors to enjoy!”

“Don’t scold,” said Sue. “It’s been ages sinceI’ve ‘wasted hours’ at a dance. And yesterday Iwore out two horses.”

Phil suddenly brightened. “Let’s go to WheatonHill some afternoon,” he suggested. “And up toHadbury another day. I want to see the polo-field.Brampton’s going to play Hadbury soon. Andthere’s a new litter of collies at the St. Ives kennels.We’ll canter over and see ’em.”

“How I’ve missed you these two years!” saidSue. “I’ve ridden a lot, of course. But my tennishas suffered. And not a single fish have I caught.The other men—even Bob and Courtney and Len,too—all wait on me when I ride with them or fish.I hate that: I hate being treated like a drawing-roomornament. Now, you, Phil,——”

“Can be pretty nearly as rude and selfish as abrother,” broke in Phil.

“You’re more like a—a chum,” said Sue. “Andso I’m awfully glad to get you back, not a bitspoiled, and not—married.”

Phil stared. “Married!” he repeated. “Me?”

“Hillcrest needs a mistress, Phil.”

“Suppose I were to pull a long face and say:‘Sue, Arbor Lodge needs a master’?” He drewoff his cap and stuffed it into the front of his shirt,shook his head vigorously, so that the morning windcould catch at his hair, and rolled his sleeves up tohis elbow, showing two stout arms as brown as thepony under him.

[155]“I’m so homely,” said Sue, “that I’m marriage-proof.”

“Sue,”—very earnestly—“I didn’t see a singlegirl on the other side that I could fall in love with.I guess it’ll have to be an American that takes mymother’s place.”

Sue waved her whip. “Down with foreign alliances!”

“Oh, there wasn’t anything patriotic about it,”said Phil. “I just didn’t see the girl.”

“You’re calloused,” asserted Sue. “You’veplayed polo so long that you’ve got a basswood ballfor a heart. Here you are, twenty-six, handsome——”

“Loyalty, thy name is Sue Townsend!”

“And wholesome and good and awfully popular;and rich, too, with such a place, such woods andstreams!”

“And such a blarney of a little friend,” addedPhil.

“It’s not blarney,” Sue declared. “No; I leaveall that for Larry. Phil, where did you pick himup?”

Phil gave a quick glance round at the red-cheeked,red-haired groom riding at the prescribed distancebehind. “He was born in Dublin,” said he, grinning,“and I got him in Hongkong. He hasn’tbeen twenty feet away from me since. The fellowscall him my ‘shadow.’”

“But, of course, you’re sure to meet your fatesome day,” went on Sue. “And your kind, whenthey do fall in love, get fearfully hard hit.”

“Huh!”

[156]Sue nodded wisely. “I don’t believe you’ll evensurvive what’s in store for you this very week,” shedeclared.

“No? What is it?”

“She’s coming to The Lilacs to-day to stay amonth—Mrs. Vander Laan knew her mother. Lastyear she visited me. She’s tall and slender, and hasthe most beautiful eyes, and hair, and nose, andmouth, and complexion——”

“Hold! Hold!” cried Phil, in mock alarm.

“She’s perfect, in fact. Let’s take this dapplyroad.”

“Haven’t time—the fellows expect me at practice.Go on about the goddess.”

“She is a goddess. And everybody worshipsat her shrine. You’ve heard of faces thathaunt?”

“Creditors?” suggested Phil.

“I met her first at Miss Pendleton’s. She ruledthe school, she was so beautiful. No man’s everseen her without capitulating.”

“Number one,” announced Phil, pointing at hischest. “What’s her name?”

“Genevieve.”

“I never cared for it.” He looked at his watch.“If I get to the field in time I’ll have to turn now.Want to come along?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.” Sue wheeled the grey.“Grandmamma hasn’t been well lately. I shall staywith her to-day. Let’s race home.”

Galloping level, the grey and the brown made backalong the shaded road, with the wind tugging harderthan ever at Phil’s hair, and blowing out wisps[157]against Sue’s pink cheeks. At the wide, stone gateof Arbor Lodge they drew rein.

“See you to-morrow?” he asked.

“Telephone me,” said Sue. “Meanwhile, youmay meet Genevieve. And I warn you——”

“Rubbish!” said Phil.

The polo enthusiasts of the Brampton CountryClub were in despair; in particular, three membersof the team reserved for the Hadbury game werepulling their hair wildly. But the fourth memberwas apparently indifferent to the awfulness of thesituation—a situation of which he was himself thecause. And the reason for his indifference was notfar to seek. The majority of the club knew it quiteas well as if he had put up blue-and-white enameledsigns beside the advertisem*nts of automobile tireson every fence in that part of the country, and onthe signs one line: The Brampton’s Captain is——But wait.

In their anxiety, the trio who were to go againstHadbury called in solemn conclave upon Sue Townsend.Not that Sue was in any way implicated—Suehad never been concerned in an affair of thisparticular sort. The three players wished to statethe case to her and ask her immediate aid.

“We shan’t keep you a minute,” began LeonardHammond, when Sue greeted her visitors in thelibrary at Arbor Lodge, “I see you’re going out.But”—his tone was mournful—“it’s somethinghorribly serious.” (Mr. Hammond had constitutedhimself the first spokesman because, playing NumberOne in the team, he realised his Captain’s value.)

[158]Sue was very smart in a linen habit, and she gavethe three glum faces an encouraging and hospitablesmile. “Oh, it won’t matter in the least if you keepme a few minutes,” she declared, shaking handswarmly. “Do sit down.” She indicated the librarycouch. “You see, I’m only going for a ride, andPhil hasn’t come yet.” She took a plump chairwhich was in front of the couch and leaned back torecover breath after her tripping rush down thestairs.

“Phil!” repeated the three in chorus, and droppedrather precipitately upon the couch. Then: “Weare just in time!”—this from Mr. Hammond.

Sue leaned forward suddenly. Her eyes weredark-blue and heavy-lashed, and now they lookedher solicitude. “Is something—wrong with Phil?”she asked.

Mr. Courtney Graves, Second Forward of theteam, almost stared at her. “Wrong?” he repeated.“Haven’t you heard?”

“No.” She looked from one to another, the colourgoing from her cheeks. “Bob! What is it?”

Mr. Robert St. Ives, Half-back, began: “It’sa mess, Sue, hanged if it isn’t!—a confounded mess.Phil was to play against the Hadbury team, youknow, and reserved us for the game.”

“Yes.” With one hand Sue smoothed a roundgold locket that hung between the lapels of her coat.

“Now,” continued Mr. St. Ives, biting each wordshort to give it full significance, “—now, all at once,he’s dropped off in his practice, says he doesn’t wantto go to Hadbury, wants me to be captain—rot!And he spends his time in his car, while his ponies[159]hammer their legs to pieces in their boxes. We gotthat much from Larry.”

She leaned back once more, relieved and smiling.“Why has Phil changed?” she inquired in mild surprise.

“Because he wants to stay at Brampton,” answeredMr. St. Ives forcibly, “and motor when hecan, or hang out on the club veranda when she won’tmotor. That’s why.”

“She?” said Sue, under her breath. “Who?”

Mr. Courtney Graves stood up and pointed, firstto the fireplace, then to a writing-desk, last of allto a panel between two bookcases. Above the fireplace,on the carved mantel, was the full-length portraitof a beautiful girl—a dark, imperious, queenlygirl in ball dress. On the writing-desk, in delicateframes of hand-wrought silver, were two other photographsof the same girl. One of these showed her ina trailing carriage-coat, with furs; the other was alake scene, and she was seated in a drifting boat,with a ruffled parasol shading her lovely face. Inthe panel between the bookcase was a fourth pictureof the selfsame subject—an etching done with greatskill and effectiveness. The dark girl, gowned inclinging white, was shown against a massed background.A flowered hat rested upon her poisedhead; one hand was outstretched to feed a fawn.

“He has it!” announced Mr. Graves portentously;“he’s another added to the epidemic. Sue,Phil Rawson’s in love with Genevieve Unger.”Whereupon he sank between his companions.

Sue did not speak, but sat regarding them fromthe depths of her chair.

[160]“It’s a particularly bad case,” said Mr. Hammond,“and we fear the worst.”

“The worst?” questioned Sue in a low voice.

“You know Miss Unger. Is she going to let Hillcrestslip through her fingers? Hang these visitinggirls, anyhow! They always create trouble.”

Sue put up a gloved hand quickly. “Please don’tcriticise Genevieve to me, Len,” she said. “She’smy friend.”

“Just the same, you know what she’ll do,” persistedMr. Hammond. “She’ll keep Phil danglingas long as she can—perhaps one month, perhapstwo—then she’ll haughtily accept him. Meanwhile,what’ll he be good for? Polo? And the Hadburygame comes off in just ten days. We’ll lose it withouthim.” He nursed a knee disconsolately.

“We thought,” began Mr. Graves, taking up thematter where Mr. Hammond had left off, “that youmight be able to shorten the period of agony—thedangling period, I mean. If Miss Unger imaginedthere was the least danger that she’d lose him, why,she’d grab him.”

“Yes, she would,” declared Mr. St. Ives. “Hervisit at The Lilacs is up pretty soon. Where’ll shego next?”

“Here,” said Sue quietly, “—if anyone is speakingunkindly of her.”

“That’s lucky for her,” went on Mr. Graves.“Your hospitality isn’t to be sneezed at by a girlwho likes to spend all of her income on her duds.”

Sue rose. “Really,” she said, “I can’t listen anylonger. Genevieve is the handsomest girl in theState of New York. She’s a darling to boot. And[161]you gentlemen”—this with studied candor—“wouldhave less to say if each and every one ofyou had not been given your—your——”

“Mitten?” suggested Mr. St. Ives politely.

“—Last year,” concluded Sue. “I’m sorry I’velistened to a single unkind thing about her. I insistthat you talk of something else while you remain.”

“We’d better go, then,” said Mr. Hammond, hisface eloquent of woe. “We came to talk about justthat, you see. There isn’t a dashier player, or astronger hitter, or a better shot at goal in WestchesterCounty. Of course, there’s Tommy Watts.He could sub. But none of us want Tommy, he’sso wild with that whippy stick of his. Oh, why—why——”

“I haven’t seen Phil for nearly two weeks,” saidSue. “Grandmamma has been quite ill.”

“How is Mrs. Townsend?” inquired Mr. St. Ives.“Pardon our forgetting to ask. We’re so confoundedworried——”

“Phil’s happiness must come before polo,” wenton Sue very decidedly. “Surely you didn’t thinkthat I would conspire against him.”

“Oh, nothing of the sort!” cried Mr. Graves.“Our hope wasn’t that you would butt in—thatis, interfere unpleasantly—and break things up.On the contrary, we wanted you to—er—well, tosort of stampede Genevieve so that she’d say ‘Yes’at once, or maybe elope. Oh, if Phil only had anold cat of a mother who would oppose the match!”

Sue looked down at her boots. Then, after a moment’sthought: “If you like Phil, and think so[162]badly of Genevieve,” she argued, “why should youwish to see them marry? I refuse to be the cat.”

“The Hadbury game!” cried Mr. Hammond.“Sue, we want to win that game!”

“Well,” she said, “if Phil really loves Genevieve,and if Genevieve loves Phil, I’ll try my best to—to—butI make you no promise. I shall think onlyof their happiness, of course.”

The three filed to the door. There they turned.“Point out to Genevieve,” suggested Mr. St. Ives,“that Hillcrest is an ideal place for entertaining.”

“And mention,” added Mr. Graves, “that Phil’sincome is in the first flight—oh, don’t omit that.”

“But, above all things, cut down the dangling,”—thisfrom Mr. Hammond. They shook hands withher impressively and filed out into the hall.

Sue returned to the plump chair and sat down.Directly before her was the writing-desk with itspair of silver-bordered photographs. She studiedthe pictures earnestly for a while. And when sheturned from them it was to go to a mirror and lookat her own reflection—long and keenly and withhonest eyes. There were her horseback freckles,dotting her nose as the stars dot the sky, and hersquare, little, undimpled chin, and her sunburnedcheeks, roughened by all the winds of spring. “Ah,”she said at last, “she is so beautiful. I love her forher beauty, too. I don’t blame anybody for lovingher.” Then she left the mirror and went back tothe chair before the couch.

Many another person had contrasted the two.And not a few of the Country Club members openlyasserted—and with wrath—that Genevieve Unger’s[163]desire for Sue Townsend’s society lay in the factthat Sue, with her wisp of a figure and her irregularlittle face, served as a contrast to the other girl’sstateliness and radiant beauty. But there wereother striking contrasts between the girls, apartfrom the one of looks. As one club wag put it, amere comparison of their footwear accounts for theyear presented the essential difference between them.During the season, Sue wore out two pairs of riding-boots,tan; one pair of riding-boots, black; one pairof boots for climbing; three pairs of stout shoesfor morning wear; six pairs of sandals suitable foruse in the surf; ten pairs of tennis shoes, and twopairs of slippers; while Genevieve’s list for the samelength of time included six pairs of boudoir slippers;six pairs of carriage shoes—to match as manygowns; one pair of high-heeled shoes unsuitable forstreet wear; and twenty-two pairs of slippers in velvet,satin and kid.

But to Sue, ready for her ride forty minutesahead of the appointed time, only one contrast appeared.And when Mr. Rawson was announced shesprang from her chair, bade the servant tell himthat she would be down in one moment, and fled upthe stairs to her dressing-room, where she dabbeda bit of powder upon the offending nose, fluffed outher hair at either temple, and donned a white chiffonveil.

But Phil barely glanced at her as she came outto her horse. His eyes, blue like her own, had a far-awayexpression in them, and he answered her greetingabsent-mindedly. When he had put her up andmounted his own pony he rode away beside her at a[164]walk, his look fixed ahead of him eagerly but unseeing;his lips parted in a faint smile. Behindthem, at the prescribed distance, followed the red-cheeked,red-haired groom.

Sue said nothing, letting her companion have allhis thoughts for himself. Every now and then shegave him a quick, inquiring glance.

When he broke silence at last he spoke musingly—almostas if to himself. “What a day to be atthe dentist’s,” he said. “I hope he won’t hurt her.”

“Dentist’s?” inquired Sue. “Who’s gone?”

“Why—Miss Unger.” He coloured self-consciously.

“Oh, has she?” went on Sue, surprised. “Areyou sure? I thought this was the date for thatlawn fête at the Fanshaws’—Greenwich, you know—forthe benefit of something or other. Genevievetelephoned me she’d promised to go and sell fudge.”

“But she went to town instead,”—this with finality.

At this point, Sue thought of Messrs. Hammond,Graves and St. Ives, and of the oncoming contestat Hadbury. “Did you play this morning?” sheasked. “I suppose the team is getting splendidlydrilled.”

“I suppose so,” he answered vaguely. He waslooking far ahead once more.

“I think I’ll ask Genevieve to drive to Hadburywith me the day of the game,” resumed Sue.

He turned toward her, then, undisguised pleasurebrightening his face: “How you always thinkof doing nice things for others!” he said. “Go,Sue. It’ll be a corking match.”

[165]“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. And, of course,I’d take Genevieve. One can’t help doing nice thingsfor her. Isn’t she beautiful, Phil!” She said itearnestly.

“So beautiful that most of the girls aren’t especiallykind to her,” Phil answered. “Just this morningElizabeth Carlton had to throw out something—anasty hint, you understand. It was aboutValentine, that English chap who’s been at the clubso much lately.”

“I really don’t know him,” returned Sue. “ButI’ve heard——”

“Yes, and I’ll wager it’s all true,” went on Philhotly. “He isn’t the sort of a man you’d like tosee her marry.”

“Phil, you’ve fallen a victim, too,” said Suegently.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Well, I told you you would.”

After that the conversation was still of Genevieve,until the gates of Arbor Lodge were passed again—ofGenevieve, the queenly; Genevieve, the faultless;and (with a little embarrassment on Phil’s part) ofGenevieve, the trampler of hearts.

“You’ll be at practice to-morrow morning, won’tyou?” asked Sue, from the terrace steps. “Letme know when you can ride again. I hate goingout alone.”

Phil headed his horse toward home. “Oh, yes,I’ll play in the morning,” he answered; “but I’lltake a car out in the afternoon, probably. Good-bye,Sue.” And with Larry following hard on histracks he galloped away.

[166]Sue drove over to The Lilacs immediately afterbreakfast, the day of the Hadbury game—to findGenevieve still in a soft dressing-gown of cobwebbylace and pink ribbons, lazily sipping her chocolate.She held up a satin cheek to be kissed.

“I’m on time, you see,” laughed Sue. “But don’thurry. I’ve got the Lenox wagon and the bayponies, and we’ll go a-zipping. How did the lawnfête turn out?”

Genevieve did not look up, but broke her toastwith tapering fingers. “I didn’t go,” she said carelessly,after a moment of silence.

“Oh!” Sue’s tone was one of relief. “So youwent to town, after all—Phil said you had. Wehoped the dentist didn’t hurt you.”

A shade of annoyance crossed the face of theother girl. Then, “He didn’t, thank you,” she saidshortly, and got up to make ready for the drive.

The two arrived at Hadbury in plenty of time.It was a perfect morning—the sun warm, the airsoft and still, the sky cloudless—and the scene atthe polo-field was a gay one. On one side of therectangle rose the “ladies’ stand,” a grassy slopeoccupied by little groups of people who had come onfoot; on the other side, at a discreet distance, wasa line of vehicles. Sue guided her scampering poniesmidway of the line, between two other teams. Philcame over to them for a moment. Others gathered,too, until there was a man for every spoke of thenigh front wheel, and dark-eyed Genevieve held alittle court.

There were no callers at the off wheel, and Suehad all her attention for the lines. So she protested[167]to Phil against his having sent the red-haired, red-cheekedShadow to stand at her horses’ heads. “Idon’t need him,” she said, “and it makes the poniescross to be held.”

“Larry came of his own accord,” whispered Phil.“He’s an obliging lad, and he likes you.”

At that, Sue brightened and observed the red-hairedlad pleasantly. But Larry did not see herkindly glance. Standing straight, with heel to heeland a hand at either bit, his gaze was fixed in open,undisguised wonderment upon the beautiful MissUnger.

Soon the match began—and went superbly. Toquote Mr. Hammond, it was “the greatest ever sincethe Persians played polo, by Jove!” Upon the vividgreen of the field went the teams, playing a hard-galloping,hard-hitting game, in which Phil particularlydistinguished himself. He rode the brownpony, and his sleeves were rolled up, his head wasbare, despite the heavy sticks that described circlesabout him, his hair flew in the wind like a youngIndian’s. Now his orders rang out sharp and clear—“Takethe ball!” or “Back-hander there!” or“Ride the man and leave the ball!” And his mountsped up and down; his square-headed stick did skilfulwork.

“It’s an education to watch him,” declared Sueenthusiastically, as a rousing bravo from a groupof onlooking men went up, for Phil had just dashedin, changed places with Number Three and made abrilliant stroke.

Genevieve did not answer. She was talking to atall man with a face the approximate shade of[168]Larry’s. “May I present Mr. Valentine?” sheasked presently, with some affectation, “—late ofthe English Army, you know.”

Sue bowed.

“Churmed,” observed Mr. Valentine, in what was toSue an entirely new British mode of pronunciation.

At the end of the first period Phil came over tothe wagon a second time and chatted with Genevieve,who was looking particularly handsome in amauve linen and a tailored hat—so handsome thatSue, dressed in less striking colours, seemed white andtired in comparison. Again a group was gatheredat Genevieve’s side of the wagon, but Sue, morequiet than was her wont, had no smiles for them.She looked away between the paper goal-posts that,painted in wide cream-and-blue bands, loomed upnear by like giant sticks of candy.

“This afternoon he’ll motor”—it was Mr. St.Ives who was talking; he was standing beside Phil.“To-morrow afternoon he’ll motor. The next afternoonhe’ll go out in his car.” Then he made a wryface and reached over the back of the seat to seizeSue’s fingers and squeeze them gratefully under apretext of shaking hands.

“Will you go this afternoon, Miss Unger?”asked Phil. “My ten minutes are nearly up, aren’tthey, Sue?”

“Sue’s only got her locket,” said Miss Unger witha lazy smile.

“Well, what’s the time by your locket, Sue?”demanded Mr. St. Ives, and reached for it.

Sue slipped the locket inside her shirtwaist.

“Say yes, Miss Unger,” urged Phil.

[169]“I’m fearfully sorry—I really can’t go thisafternoon.” Genevieve gave a quick glance pastPhil to the man behind him—Valentine. “I havean engagement.”

At that, Phil fell back, his face suddenly grave,lifted a hand in a gay salute and strode away.

But throughout the remainder of the game heplayed harder than ever, and with such coolness,resource and accuracy that there was frequent hand-clappingfrom the line of vehicles, and even Hadburyparasols were waved from the ladies’ stand;while to one side, where the extra ponies waited,groom leaned to groom, commenting excitedly. Butwhen the match was done, with the Brampton teamvictors, he disappeared, and Sue did not see himagain. She got away as soon as she could manageit, and turned the bays homeward at top speed.

“Don’t you think Mr. Valentine handsome?”asked Genevieve, as they rolled along. “Soldierly,I think.”

“Bob doesn’t believe the man has ever been inthe army,” said Sue. “And he says Mr. Valentineowes everyone in Brampton.”

Genevieve opened her eyes. “Why, Sue!” sheexclaimed. “I’ve never heard you repeat thingsagainst anyone before. Mr. Valentine has plentyof money. And shopkeepers always gossip to curryfavor with servants.”

“And Bob says he gambles,” persisted Sue. “Ilike you too well to see him claim any of your attention.”

“Don’t all men gamble?” demanded Genevieve.

“Not professionally—that’s common.”

Genevieve put up her pretty chin. “It’s hardly[170]any commoner than gossip,” she answered. “However,I’ve noticed that if a man is distinguished hegets a lot of criticism. But”—with a shrug—“onenever minds the criticism of kids.”

Sue said nothing.

She left Genevieve at The Lilacs and went home.But she had only arrived when she was summonedto the telephone. As she took the receiver shecould hear sobbing. Then, “Sue!” wailed a voice—Genevieve’s;“l-look in the wagon, Sue. I—Ilost my p-purse this morning.” She began to sobagain.

Sue gave a prompt order. “Dear Genevieve,”she answered back, “don’t worry. The purse issure to turn up.” A few minutes later she was inthe carriage-house, dressed for riding. And whenshe learned that no purse had been found, telephonedGenevieve again before mounting the grey to rideto The Lilacs.

Genevieve was gone to Hadbury when Sue arrived,Phil having urged that an advertisem*nt be placedat once in the Star, together with the offer of a suitablereward.

“Then Phil came, after all,” said Sue. She waswalking to and fro in the old-fashioned drawing-room.

“I called him,” answered Mrs. Vander Laan, whowas a little old lady with an enthusiastic liking foryoung people. “When he got here he telephonedto have the field searched; then started. The rewardis to be one hundred dollars.”

“That much?” asked the girl. “The pursemust have contained a good deal.”

[171]“Exactly seven hundred,” said Mrs. VanderLaan; “all of her month’s allowance. Wasn’t shefoolish to be carrying so much about with her! Butthe sweet child was so pretty as she wept.”

“Seven hundred!” exclaimed Sue. “Has sheany idea where she lost it?”

“She thinks it was when she was just starting forhome. She remembers having the purse when shewas still at the polo-field. She says you drove sorapidly——”

“I did,” admitted Sue, conscience-stricken.“Oh, I sha’n’t let her lose it, Mrs. Vander Laan.It was my fault. Why didn’t she deposit it in abank that day she went into town?”

Mrs. Vander Laan was embroidering. Now shesuddenly stopped and looked up at Sue. “But shehasn’t been to town,” she declared.

“Not to the dentist’s?” asked Sue, “—the dayof the Fanshaw garden fête?”

“No, dear. She went driving with Mr. Valentine.”

“Oh.” Sue began to walk the floor again.

She was still walking when Genevieve and Philcame in. “Genevieve, I’m so sorry,” she cried, givingher hand to the other girl. “Tell me somethingto do.”

Genevieve met her sympathy ungraciously. “Oh,don’t bother,” she said with a little irritation. “I’drather not have such a fuss made about it.” Then,to Mrs. Vander Laan: “May we have tea, mütterchen?Sue, take Mr. Rawson home with you andjolly him up with some tennis.”

But Phil did not look like a candidate for “jollying[172]up.” He turned to Sue. “To think that MissUnger carried the money all around New York thatafternoon in a hand-bag that anybody might havegrabbed,” he said, “and then lost it at the polomatch.”

Mrs. Vander Laan had stopped to look up again.Sue was close by, suddenly pink with embarrassmentfor Genevieve, who was rattling the cups and saucersat the tea-table.

“All around New York?” repeated Mrs. VanderLaan. “Why do you say that, Mr. Rawson? Genevievehasn’t been to New York.”

Genevieve whirled toward them now, anger flamingin her cheeks. “Oh, please, please let the matterof the money drop!” she exclaimed. “If I’dstaked it at bridge and lost it you’d have all thoughtit a good joke.”

“Indeed not,” replied the little old lady, suddenlysitting up. “I think gambling——”

But what she thought was left unsaid. For atthat moment the drawing-room door was openedby a maid and Mr. Aubrey Valentine was announced.

Phil went home in the wake of Sue’s pony.Once she glanced round at him as she galloped. Hislips were set, his feet were braced, his cap was pulledfar down. He circled his machine into the drivewayleading up to Arbor Lodge with preciseness.

They were out in the wicker chairs at the tennis-courtbefore he spoke. Then he faced her squarelyand blurted out one sentence: “Sue, she lied tome.”

“Now, Phil,” began Sue, “didn’t you ask hersomething you had no right to ask? You met her[173]two weeks ago—just two weeks. Since then you’veclaimed her time pretty steadily, haven’t you? Shedidn’t want to go out with you that day; she wantedto do something else.”

“She lied to me,” repeated Phil.

“She may have fibbed. Most women do that.You cornered her, probably.”

“It wasn’t necessary to lie.”

“She thought it was.”

“Where did she go?” His eyes narrowed.

Sue shook her head smiling. “Have you anyright to know, Phil? Now, think?”

“No. But you remember Elizabeth Carlton’snasty hint? I spoke of it. Is it possible——” Heturned away impatiently.

“Listen, Phil,” she begged. “I’ll ask Genevieveabout it, and then tell you what she says. She’llexplain it all satisfactorily, I’m sure. The deargirl is so worried to-day, Phil, she’s likely to sayalmost anything. Seven hundred is a lot to lose.”

“Oh, never mind asking her,” said Phil. “Isuppose you’re right.” He chose a racquet andplayed until early twilight. Then, bareheaded andsmiling once more, he went chugging away downthe drive.

Larry met him as he turned in at the gate of hisown estate. The man was not in his wonted livery,but was outward bound along the drive, dressed ina Sixth Avenue copy of Phil’s newest Fifth Avenuelounge suit—a copy that had exaggerated scallopscut out of cuffs and pocket-flaps. “I’ve got news,sir,” he announced, holding up a hand.

“News?—about what, Larry? Jump in.” The[174]car came to a stop under the arc-light at thegate.

“Jim come home from Hadbury at six, sir,” beganLarry, his red face blowzier than usual and hiseyes wide with excitement; “and he says to me,‘Larry, the Princess’ (that’s what we call MissUnger, sir)—‘the Princess lost seven hunderd-dollarbills at the Hadbury polo-grounds to-day.’ Ikicked my heels clean into the air, sir, I was thathappy——”

“Why, Larry!”

“I found ’em, sir.” Now his face was fairlypurple with joy.

“You found them!” repeated his master. “Well,that is luck!”

“Here, sir.” Larry produced a slender purseof brown seal from the inside pocket of his coat.“You was gone before I could tell you.”

“Are you sure it’s Miss Unger’s?” asked Phil.

“I haven’t looked into it, sir.”

Seated, heads together, they opened the purse.“Two, four, six, seven,” counted Phil, lifting thecrisp bills when he had flattened them out. “Sureenough! Well, Larry, you light the lamps, andwe’ll make The Lilacs two-forty. I’ll wait at theside gate; and don’t you say anything about mybeing there. I couldn’t go in. Just ask for MissUnger and hand her the purse.”

“Me, sir?” asked Larry. “Me take it to thePrincess?”

“Yes. We won’t let her stay worried a secondlonger than we can help. Here—put the purse intoyour pocket again. Miss Unger has offered areward, Larry, but I’ll give you the hundred myself.[175]I’d rather. Are we ready? Good!” The carwent forward at a bound.

“Bless you, sir, I don’t want no reward,” theman answered. “Why, it’s reward enough just tohave her talk to me, sir, for ten minutes, maybe, andthank me, and—and smile. Many’s the time I’velooked at her, sir, like I’d look at a beautiful star,and I’ve said to myself, ‘I’d like to have a missislike her.’”

“Oh, you would.” The car came to a stop atMrs. Vander Laan’s side gate.

“Yes, sir—you’ll excuse me, sir,” added Larryquickly. The gravity and thoughtfulness in theother’s tone seemed very like reproof. Then thegroom sprang down from his seat and was off towardthe house at a run.

He was breathless when he reached the servants’entrance. But while he waited he recovered hisbreath instead of imparting his good news to themaid who welcomed him. Also (that same maidremarked upon it afterward), he twirled his hatconstantly, refused to sit down, and kept wettinghis lips as if he were nervous. Then—he was in theold-fashioned, dimly-lighted drawing-room, his hatrevolving steadily and his tongue cloven to the roofof his mouth.

She came presently, sweeping through a door atthe farther end of the long, high room. She wasin pink—a cloudy pink that set off her lovelinessmarvelously. And as she advanced toward himLarry forgot to do anything but look.

“You wish to see me?” she asked.

“Y-Yes, Miss. You lost a purse this mornin’.”

“Yes.”

[176]“I found it, Miss.”

She gave a cry of delight. “You found it! Oh,I’m so glad!”

Larry hung his hat between his knees, despitethe fact that these were trembling. Then he heldout a coat-lapel with one hand and reached into aninner pocket with the other. “Here, Miss,” he saidproudly, and laid the purse upon the table besidewhich she stood; after that he recovered hishat.

She caught the purse up with another little cry—aninarticulate cry. Then she turned and walkedswiftly to the yellow-shaded candelabrum on a secondtable at the farther end of the long room. Hereshe opened the purse, leaning down with her backtoward him.

It was fully a minute before she straightened andturned and came toward him once more, slowly, thebills in her hand. As she paused near him, something—achange in her carriage or her look—madehim retreat a step.

“Where did you find it?” she asked brusquely.

“Not ten feet from where the wagon stood, Miss.It must ’a’ fell in turnin’.”

She was silent a moment. Then, “So you knewwhere the wagon stood,” she commented. Therewas no attempt to hide the meaning in her voice.

“I—I seen where you was,” stammered Larry,shifting from one foot to the other.

“Indeed! You were present at the game, then?”

“Yes, Miss. After the ladies and gents went Igoes across to that side—ridin’. There she laid,big as life.”

[177]“I see.” She walked to and fro a few steps.After a little she paused in her walk and spokeagain: “You know of the reward, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes, Miss, but——”

She interrupted him. Her eyes were angry, herslender figure was rigid, as if with some suddenresolution. “Why did you wait until now?” shedemanded. “It’s after seven o’clock. You knewit was mine.”

“When Jim told me about the advertisem*nt Idid, Miss, and I says to myself, ‘Wasn’t you acrazy not to guess whose it was?’ I says. But, yousee, I was on the other side of the field most of thetime.”

“Most of the time,” she repeated, a little sneeringly.“Were you near the wagon at all?”

Her reference was plain. He rubbed at his chinwith the back of a shaking hand. “Well, I—I heldMiss Townsend’s team a bit,” he admitted huskily.

“Oh, you did!” There was a triumphant ringin her voice. “Then I think you have impudenceto dare to come to me. If you didn’t take thepurse——”

“No!”

“—You picked it up knowing it belonged to me.And you held it until I offered a reward, insteadof coming straight here to give it back. What isthe difference between that and theft?”

He made no reply, only stood, his back againstthe door, and stared at her.

“I shall not pay you the reward,” she went on.“I found out something about you when you firstcame in. I counted the money there at that table”—she[178]pointed to the other end of the room—“andthere weren’t seven bills in the purse. Look!” sheheld six out to him.

His jaw set. He stood upon both feet, bringingheel to heel, his arms at his side.

She flung up one hand. “Don’t deny it!” shecried. “I gave you a chance a moment ago to saythat you’d helped yourself to the reward. You keptstill. One hundred wasn’t enough. You wantedtwo—for hanging about and pilfering.” Shestopped, panting with excitement. Presently shecontinued, crumpling the bills in her fingers: “Youthought because I’m a woman that I wouldn’t countthe money. You thought you could take advantage.I ought to put you under arrest.”

To that he said nothing.

“But I won’t—I don’t want the notoriety. I’vegot the purse back and all the money I expected.But who are you? You sha’n’t leave this room tillyou tell me that.”

“As long as you think the way you do, it don’tmatter who I am.”

“Ah! So you daren’t tell your name! But Iknow your face—now that I’ve looked at you well.And I’d know you again anywhere. You’re employedabout here. You’re a groom.”

“Yes, I’m a groom,” he answered; “I’m Mr.Philip Rawson’s man.”

Now there was a long silence. He rested hisweight on one foot again, and folded his arms, withhis hat under one of them. He was pale, and mether look with resentful calm. She stood, swayinga little and swallowing.

[179]“So you work for Mr. Rawson?” she said finally,her voice uneven. “He’s a friend, and I don’tintend that any friend of mine shall keep a man likeyou in his employ. I shall see him about you. Thatis all. You may go.”

The young master of Hillcrest was out of hismachine and pacing the walk impatiently whenLarry came into sight, and he advanced a few stepsto meet the man, scarcely able to restrain his eagerness.“Well, Larry,” he began, “was the Princessmade happy?”

Larry did not reply at once. But as he pausedin the light of the automobile lamps his face lookeda deathly white, and his red hair seemed to be standingout straight and stiff, like bristles.

“Larry!”

“She ain’t no princess!” said the man. “AndI don’t think her beautiful no more. If you coulda-seen her, sir,—why, she crumpled up, her face did,like the money in her fingers. She was afraid I’dwant that hunderd, you see. So I hadn’t been inthe room two minutes before she’d slipped a bill andthen called me a thief.”

“For Heaven’s sake, man!”

“A thief!—as if I’d chance bein’ let out by you,sir, for the sake of a hunderd dollars! I knowedthat minute how I’d been mistaken in her—terrible.She ain’t no thoroughbred, sir. There’s Miss Townsend—fifteenhands and ev’ry inch a lady—wouldshe a-done me like that? This is bold talk, andyou’ll feel like kickin’ me from here to Brampton.But I’m thinkin’ too much of you to pick words—I’mthinkin’ so much of you I’d hate to see you[180]marry her. And, now, I’ve got you down on me,sir. She’ll tell you I lied for spite because I didn’tget the money. It ain’t spite—nothin’ like it, sir.But you won’t believe me against her—I know that.And it means I’ll have to leave Hillcrest. Well, I’llgo, sir,—I’ll go. I couldn’t work for her, anyhow,you see, sir. So—good—good-bye, sir.”

It was a week later before Sue heard the story ofLarry and the seven one-hundred-dollar bills. ThenPhil told it to her—one afternoon when he came tojoin her in a horseback ride. After he had told it(they were in the library at Arbor Lodge), heleaned back in his chair, his crop across his knees,and studied her face.

Sue looked troubled. “Oh, I think there mustbe some dreadful mistake about the whole thing,”she said. “I don’t mean that Larry isn’t honest—Ithink he is. He’s got a nice face, and I simplycouldn’t lose faith in a red-headed person.”

Phil smiled. “And you simply couldn’t say anythingagainst anybody,” said he; “I know that.But this involves theft, Sue.”

Sue looked more troubled than ever. “We’ll allsteal if we’re sufficiently tempted,” she declared.“Isn’t that so? You or I wouldn’t steal money.That’s because we don’t need it.”

“Larry was entitled to the reward; but he didn’thave the slightest idea of accepting one cent. Whathe did expect was—Gad! what a backhander!”

“But, Phil,” she said, “you mustn’t let the wordof a groom make any difference between you andGenevieve.”

[181]“I won’t.”

“Genevieve wouldn’t be so tricky, Phil.”

Phil said nothing.

“She must have thought Larry guilty if she wasso severe with him,” persisted Sue. “She’s so just.And generosity itself.”

Phil looked at his boots.

“My servants adore her.”

Phil examined the end of his crop.

“Give her a chance to explain, Phil, at the Carltons’to-night.”

“I’m not going. Are you?”

“No. I’ve planned an early canter for to-morrow.”

He leaned forward. “Am I included?” he asked.

She regarded him critically, and reflected that helooked pale. “Would you like to go—this afternoonand to-morrow, too?”

“I’d like to go,” he declared. “There’s WheatonHill, too; we haven’t been there yet. And thosecollies of Bob’s—if we don’t watch out they’ll begrown dogs before we see ’em.”

She hesitated a little. Then, “I wouldn’t careto have Genevieve think,” she began, “that I’dstayed away from the Carltons’, and that you stayedaway, too, and that we——”

“May I come?” he persisted, and rose.

Again she looked at him critically. His mannerwas not cheerless—yet what pain might not be hiddenby bravado? “Yes, come,” she said.

Looking down at her, he saw that her eyes werefull of pity and sympathy and tender appeal—yes,and tears. He came to stand in front of her. “Do[182]you know,” he said, “I think Genevieve is an epidemic.We’ve all had it, by Jove, just as if it werecontagious. But, luckily, it’s not incurable.”

“Let’s not criticise her, Phil.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You’ve got thedisease worse than anybody,” he declared. He sweptone arm about the room, pointing—to the pictureof Genevieve on the mantle; to the two pictures ofGenevieve on the writing-desk; to the panel betweenthe two bookcases, where Genevieve was feeding thefawn. “One, two, three, four,” he counted. Thenhe looked at the round gold locket hanging betweenthe lapels of her coat. “And I’ll bet a pony thatthere’s a picture of Genevieve in that locket,” headded.

She blushed, hastily hid the locket in the palmof a hand, and stood up. “The brown pony?”she said.

“Books, gloves, cigars, ties,” enumerated Phil,“I don’t care what you bet. Come!”

“I like that brown pony. But—I shan’t bet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m betting about something that Iknow about, and you’re betting about somethingthat you don’t know about. It would be taking advantageof you.”

“Is it that, or is it that you don’t want to admitthat you’ve got the Genevieve epidemic?”

Two spots of scarlet brightened her cheeks. “I’llwager a box of gloves with you against the ponythat Genevieve’s picture isn’t in this locket; but onone condition: Grandmamma must look at the locketand tell you Yes or No.”

[183]He shook his head. “I won’t agree to that. I’vegot to look at it myself.”

Sue also shook her head. “The bet is off,” shesaid. “Sorry.”

“Oh, come on!” he entreated. “I’ll never throwit up to you—honest.”

Sue moved away to the hearth. “No,” she saiddecidedly.

He followed her, laughing, and pried open herfingers. She seized the chain and pulled back. Heheld on to the locket and stood his ground. Thenext moment the chain broke and slipped throughSue’s fingers, and the locket was in his hand.

Sue sprang forward and tried to regain it. “Oh,Phil, don’t look!” she pleaded. “Please, Phil,please. You——”

But he had fled to the other end of the room,pressed the locket-spring, looked, caught his breath,stared at her in amazement, backed a step——

She covered her face with her trembling fingers.“Oh, Phil!” she whispered tearfully; “Oh, Phil!”

He ran to her then and caught her to him.“Sue!” he cried tenderly. “My girl! How couldyou keep it there—when I’ve been such a fool! Butthis whole thing has taught me what your dear comradeshipmeans to me, and just how much I loveyou.” And he drew her trembling hands away whilehe kissed her.

She clung to him, crying, and hid her face; thensmiled up at him through swimming eyes, and drewhis face down to hers.

“Where did you get it, Sue?” he asked.

“You remember the party your mother gave for[184]your sixteenth birthday?” she whispered. “Well,that night this was in her dressing-room. And—and—youknow I said either one of us would doif we were tempted just right—Phil, I—I stole it!”

Opening his eyes in mock displeasure, Phil heldher at arm’s length for a moment. Then verysolemnly, he led her to a window. “You stole it?”he said; “you—fifteen hands and every inch a lady?Well, let me warn you never, never to let that manknow!” And he pointed down to the edge of theterrace where, waiting, with one hand at the bit ofa grey pony, and the other at the bit of a brown,stood a red-haired, red-cheeked groom.

A FLUFF of brown hair through which ranunexpected glints of yellow; unforgettableviolet-blue eyes, curtained by black lashesthat were long and upcurling; a straightnose of a much-approved size, with delicately thinnostrils; a small, very red, and somewhat poutymouth; a determined chin; rounded cheeks justbrushed by scarlet and punctuated by a pair of busyand bewitching dimples; a slender throat; a svelte,girlish figure in a smart, linen trotteur; the verynewest—and tiniest—thing in sensibly stout tanwalking-boots; and, lastly, to top the rest, an irresistiblemillinery confection in tones of buff andcrocus, with feathers to dance against the fluff ofhair below—all this was Agatha Kerr, beautiful,adorable, spoiled Agatha Kerr.

At the moment, she was seated in a high-backedchair in the inner law-office of Avery & Avery. Herface was flushed with annoyance, and she was pokingviciously at her boots with the point of her parasol.“A woman of twenty-two,” she burst forthpresently, with a resentful toss of her head, “a collegegraduate, should certainly be able to go outof the house by herself.”

Close beside her sat her aunt, a lady whose chinwas quite as unyielding as her own. At this point,[186]Auntie rolled her eyes at Mr. Avery and sniffedaudibly.

“And conduct her chosen life’s work,” resumedAgatha, striking a higher key, “without being constantlyharassed!”

“You are to be protected,” contradicted her aunt,crisply serene. “Mr. Avery, this child is studying—er,what do you call it, Agatha?”

“Sociology,” again attacking her boots.

Mr. Avery looked incredulous. A young womanwhose thoughts turned to philosophy should be ahomely and angular female with large feet, a thinnedcoiffure, no waist-line, and a general appearanceof having dressed overhastily. But here——

“It is a study that takes her into places,” continuedthe elder woman, “where a young lady shouldnot be seen alone.”

“Methods of study have changed,” said Mr. Avery.“I discover that in discussions with mynephew.”

“Geoffrey?” questioned Auntie. “Isn’t he upat Columbia?”

“No, he has graduated and is here with me, readinglaw.”

“Auntie,” began Agatha pityingly, “doesn’t realisethat a young woman meets with far morecourteous treatment on the East side than she doeselsewhere in town.”

“I regret to admit,” said Auntie with polite heat,“that to me her sociology, so far, has seemed nothingbut—but——”

“Say it! Say it!” cried Agatha.

“Well, then, madcap gadding.”

[187]Agatha rippled out a laugh. “Auntie doesn’tunderstand. I am working on a thesis for my master’sdegree—‘The Influence of Alien Immigrationupon the Metropolitan Body Politic.’”

Mr. Avery nodded. “My dear Miss Connaughton”(Auntie was Miss Connaughton), “what haveI to do with Miss Agatha’s thesis?”

“A suitable person,” answered Miss Connaughton,“a gentleman, of course—for no woman, howeverquick on her feet, could ever keep up withAgatha—must be found who will act as her escort.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Avery, smiling. “A gentlemanin waiting for the princess!”

Agatha’s lip curled. “Oh, no,” returned sheironically; “an attendant for the lunatic.”

This Miss Connaughton ignored. “I came toyou, Mr. Avery,” she said, “hoping you could recommendsomeone.”

Mr. Avery pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“I want an educated mind for this particularduty,” added Miss Connaughton, with meaning.

Agatha rippled another laugh. “Auntie wantsa nice, little tattletale to listen and report—a sortof afternoon-tea Pinkerton.”

“I still insist,” declared Miss Connaughton.

Agatha’s wrath blazed up anew. “Very well,”she said decisively. “If I must have someone taggingat my heels night and day, night and day”(jab, jab), “the only escort I shall accept will bedeaf and dumb.”

Miss Connaughton threw up her hands. So didMr. Avery: he clapped one over his mouth.

[188]“Deaf and dumb!” gasped Miss Connaughtonweakly.

“Yes,” said Agatha triumphantly. “On thatcondition, I’ll agree.”

Mr. Avery, now unable wholly to contain himself,indulged in a broad grin. “The idea isn’t half bad,”he said.

“Thank you,” from Agatha.

Miss Connaughton returned to the contest. “Butthe newspapers would surely get it!” she wailed, suddenlyaware of the dramatics of the situation.

Agatha put out one small, gloved hand towardher kinswoman. “My aunt,” said she, “lives indaily horror of having the proud name of Connaughtondragged into the vulgar press. Well, I canjust see the headlines: ‘Miss Connaughton’s WardHas Softening of the Brain!’ Oh, it will be thelimit!”

“Agatha!” groaned Miss Connaughton.

Mr. Avery interrupted hastily. “The suggestionas to a deaf-and-dumb attendant,” he began,coughing professionally, “is I think, an excellentone. Such a person would fulfil your requirements,madam.” This to Miss Connaughton, who had sunkback, chin on breast, in what was almost a state ofcollapse. Then, to Agatha, “May I ask if thereare other specifications?”

“Well, yes,” drawled she teasingly, a roguishtwinkle in those violet-blue eyes, “he must be good-looking”(Miss Connaughton’s brow clouded) “andsmart in appearance. Why,” with an experiencedair, “there isn’t any part of New York so quick tonote the difference between real and sham people as[189]the East Side, and the children have a most embarrassingway of throwing valuless etceteras.”

Mr. Avery picked up a pencil. “Deaf and dumb,good-looking, young, smartly dressed,” he enumerated.“Anything else?”

“Let—me—see,” pondered Agatha. After amoment, “I think I shan’t bother to stipulate thecolour of his eyes and hair.”

“Huh!” observed Auntie.

“I shall have no difficulty in finding a personvery soon who will fit these requirements,” said Mr.Avery briskly.

Agatha rose, gave him a dainty curtsy, and approachedthe door. It was just at this point thatshe got a bad start. Miss Connaughton was besideMr. Avery’s desk imparting something in confidence.Agatha, twirling her parasol and proudly ignoringher aunt’s whispering, dropped into a chair andwas making a leisurely survey of the room,when——

She had not particularly noticed, before this, thelong, high reference table that occupied one wholeside of the office and was piled with books. Underit now, against the claw-feet of a revolving chair,she spied something—a pair of neat, brown half-shoes!Above these were a few squares inches ofhosiery—plaid hosiery. There was a man behindthat table!

It was the plaid that caught Agatha’s eye: itwas so absolutely out of the ordinary, and, in fact,noisy—broad blue and green stripes at right anglesacross a drab ground. It betokened importation.“And from France,” concluded Agatha shrewdly;[190]for on the drab ground, between the stripes, werecunningly worked French knots.

There was another member of the firm of Avery& Avery—Mr. Avery, Jr. Perhaps this was he—eavesdropping.But, no; he was a gentleman witha grown son. The plaid-hosiery person was a youngclerk with loud taste, and he was really not worth asecond thought. “Come, Auntie, please,” saidAgatha, with all the dignity she could command.Then she swept out.

It was quite wonderful how promptly Mr. Avery,Sr., disposed of the matter of the escort. The verynext day Agatha was informed that the attorneywished to speak with her over the telephone, and nosooner had she popped the receiver to her pink earthan a man’s voice hailed her with a brisk “Good-morning”that bespoke success. And how nice anddeep his voice was over the wire! Why, not at alllike his usual, every-day voice!

“Good-morning,” returned Agatha. “I hopeyou’ve found someone. I wanted to attend a meetingof the Cigarette Makers to-day. But” (a littlesulkily) “the moment I mentioned it Auntie developeda case of ocular neuralgia.”

There came back a hearty laugh, then, “Oh, say,Miss Agatha, I can settle that neuralgia.”

“You mean you’ve found him?” asked Agatha;“so soon?”

“He’s a fellow that I know very intimately—betterthan anybody else. Known him for twenty-fiveyears.”

“Oh, how old is he?”

“Just twenty-five. I’ve known him since he wasa baby.”

[191]“Is he deaf and dumb?”

“He won’t listen, and he won’t gossip,” declaredMr. Avery.

“Graduate of an institution?”

“Yes.”

“But,” objected Agatha, “uniforms are so conspicuous.”

“He doesn’t wear one,” answered Mr. Avery.

“Does he talk on his fingers?” asked Agatha.

“Yes; but if he bothers you (because he’s an absent-mindedfellow anyhow), why, you just tell himto muffle his hands in his pockets.”

Agatha sent one of her gay ripples over the wire.“But I can’t read finger-talk,” she protested.

“I’ve presented him with a pad and pencil. Ifhe wants to scribble too much just give him the pocket-sign.Oh, don’t say you won’t take him,”pleaded Mr. Avery.

Agatha covered the transmitter with one hand fora moment. How—er—feelingly he said everythingthis morning! He didn’t at all sound like himself.

“When he comes,” continued Mr. Avery, “don’tforget to smile at him. The kinder you are thehappier it’ll make him.”

“I won’t. The poor fellow!”

“Ah, Miss Agatha, he is a ‘poor fellow.’ Sokeep him with you just as much as you can. Havehim show up before breakfast, and work him all day.He’s an accommodating duck. He wants to comeright up.”

“Very well,” said Agatha. “Good-bye.”

Half an hour later Miss Connaughton and herniece met the escort in the library. For the elderlady it was a moment rich with satisfaction. By[192]now she had forgotten any concessions in Agatha’sfavour, and felt that she had brought that wilfulyoung person to terms. As for the tall, good-looking,well-dressed young man who awaited their entrance,he was plainly discomfited. For he wasred.

“It is gratifying,” said Miss Connaughton, addressinghim, “to know that my niece is to haveyour companionship and protection on her scholasticpilgrimages.”

Agatha bowed prettily. Then she rememberedMr. Avery’s advice. She smiled up at the youngman. He took her hand and bent over it, lookingdown at her intently—perhaps rather too intently—andretaining her fingers a second too long.

“Auntie,” reminded Agatha, “he didn’t hear asingle word you said.”

The next moment the escort drew forth a long,pink-covered pad to which was hung a lead-pencilpatriotically wound with the Stars and Stripes. Uponthe first clean, white page of the pad he wrote thesewords, “I understood something of your cordialgreeting, madam, because I read the lips.”

Agatha stared at the sentence over Miss Connaughton’sshoulder. Then a swift flush of annoyancedyed that particular rounding of her cheekswhere her dimples were. He could read the lips!She felt herself tricked. And it was on the tip ofher tongue to say, “Auntie, is this your work?” orsomething equally severe, when she had an inspiration.Up came the dainty square of her handkerchief,to swing as a guard by a thumb and a forefinger.

“His reading the lips,” she said with airy indifference,[193]“doesn’t matter in the least. I have onlyto do this.” Which announcement was calculatedto take the starch out of any fell designs of Auntie’s—ifshe had them.

“But, Agatha,” cried Miss Connaughton, seizedby a terrifying thought, “if the man is deaf, howis he going to protect you from the surface cars?”

A succession of spasms crossed the face of theescort; his lips moved spasmodically. Then he beganto write. When he had finished, he offered MissConnaughton the pad. Upon it was: “Madam, Iguessed rather than read your concern. Let meassure you that when cars approach me I feel thejar.”

Auntie sank back, somewhat eased in her mind,but Agatha read the words with staring eyes. Thenup came the handkerchief again.

“Why,” she exclaimed, “he’s a regular professorof lip-reading!”

“Perhaps it’s just as well that he can read thelips,” said Miss Connaughton. “An exigencymight arise, dear.” She leaned forward and touchedthe young man’s arm. “What—is—your—name?”she asked, articulating with exaggeratedprecision.

“If he understands, he’s as bad as a man thatcan hear,” put in Agatha, from behind her handkerchief.“And I won’t have him.”

But the escort was looking from aunt to niece ina puzzled fashion. Finally he shook his head.

“Your—name,” repeated Miss Connaughton.

Now sudden comprehension illumined his wholeface. With an eager nod he seized the pencil andwrote, “In Yonkers.”

[194]“You see?” said Miss Connaughton. “Hedoesn’t always understand.” She graciously wrotethe question.

Again his face lit up, and he looked a smilingapology. Then he hastily scribbled, “John McVicar.”

“Agatha,” said Miss Connaughton, “he’s a littletoo—er—actory-looking, according to my idea. But,being deaf and dumb, he will never presume——”

“Put up your handkerchief,” warned Agatha, colouring.

Just then the young man produced his own handkerchief,and began to cough violently into it. (Itwas a smart affair with a blue-dotted border.)

“Don’t cut me off in the middle that way,” saidMiss Connaughton petulantly. “There is danger,Agatha, in bringing a strange young man into suchclose association with you. Have I ever seen anyyoung man spend two hours in your company without——”

“Boo!” said Agatha, her dimples playingagain.

“But,” said Miss Connaughton, “I shall engagehim.” So thoroughly satisfied was she with thewhole outcome of the matter that she even omittedto call up Mr. Avery to thank him.

A few minutes afterward Agatha and the escortwere proceeding down Fifth Avenue. It was a walkAgatha always took when opportunity afforded.She liked the shops; she liked the moving lines ofvehicles; she liked the swarming humans.

Just before the two reached Twenty-third Street,the escort drew to one side for a moment, and wrote[195]something on the pad. It was: “As I do not hear,I must put you to the annoyance of taking my armwhen we cross the streets.”

“But,” Agatha scribbled back, “I thought youcould hear rumbles.”

“Not wagon rumbles.”

Agatha took his arm—and kept it. She foundthe going noticeably pleasanter. He walked withhis chin in, his shoulders back, his look straightahead. Every now and then she glanced up at him,sidewise, from under the dancing plumes of the crocusconfection. After which she always shook herhead sadly. “What a pity he is d— and d—,” shesaid to herself. She could not bear, somehow, tosay the whole words.

They were threading their way slowly along AvenueA when the escort was saluted by a friend—quitea presentable young man, who gave Mr. McVicara resounding slap upon the shoulder. (Agathahad been separated from her escort by strugglingpedestrians.) “Hello, Cub!” sang out the presentableyoung man.

Mr. McVicar turned with a start, glared for asecond, went white and red by incredibly swift turns,and then—strode on.

“I say, Cub!” persisted the other. “Cub!Where you steering?”

The escort now halted abruptly, excused himselfto Agatha by a bow, led the young man away a fewsteps, produced the pad and pencil, and inscribeda line. Whatever the statement was, the youngman met it with relish and composure. He had,by now, caught sight of Agatha. So he removed[196]his hat and swept the air with it. Then, grinning,he pulled off a glove and made a few, swift finger-signs.

He must have signalled something rude, for asMr. McVicar wheeled abruptly and joined Agatha,his expression was furious. And presently, havingtorn away a leaf of the pad, he wrote: “Morrisonis a rank idiot. Known me a long time, but alwaysforgets my infirmity.”

Infirmity! Agatha, as she tripped along, sawbuildings and people suddenly reel and blur—througha mist of tears. His society had beenthrust upon her: she had rebelled at it. Yet herswas a tender little heart, and that tender little heartached to think how frankly he referred to whatwould have been worse than death to most men. Ah!that was the kind of bravery she liked! (They hadcome to a crossing where the pavement was torn up.She took his arm again.)

She resolved not to make his first day a difficultone, so she hailed a cross-town car that would carrythem near to Macdougal Alley. She had promisedto see a certain painting in one of the studios there.When they had seen it Agatha was thirsty. Theysought a drug-store and had, each, a glass of stickylemon-soda. Next, Agatha was tired. They madetoward the nearest square and sat down.

It was one of those late summer days that suggestthe nearing autumn: the sun was not too warm,the breeze was not too cool, and there was a deliciousleafy smell in the air. Agatha leaned back, anddilated her nostrils to drink it all in.

Mr. McVicar, however, drove his pencil busily.[197]“That picture you selected,” he wrote “—youthought the subject good?”

Agatha looked at him in grave astonishment. “Ithought the picture dreadful,” she answered, “butthe artist needs money. It’s the third I’vebought.”

He gave a hearty laugh. (She was relieved tofind it clear and pleasantly modulated.) “I thoughtyou were a sociological student. Do you favour indiscriminatecharity, Miss Agatha?”

“I am opposed to it, theoretically, but we cannotjudge the failures and condemn them and denythem help unless we first know what has been theirmilieu.”

“What a generous, womanly thought!” he commented.Presently he added, apropos of nothing,“You would be all forgiveness.” His expressionbecame more grave than her own.

Agatha might have thought him too personal,even impertinent, but there was that level gaze, allhonest admiration. Auntie herself could not havetaken umbrage. Nobody could have. His eyeswere grey—a very dark, expressive grey. Shemet them steadily for a moment. Then her ownfell, and those long, up-curling, black lashes swepta cheek which had grown suddenly rosy.

He was writing again. “I can understand almostevery word you say when your face is near.”

“Really?” she asked him.

He had leaned toward her. “Really,” he answeredon the pad.

So Agatha moved close. “I—am—so—glad,”she said, articulating carefully. Her eyes grew[198]moist with earnestness. He lived in a world of silence.Oh! the tragedy of it!

He looked his gratitude. It was strange howperfectly he seemed to know what she had said; forhe had not watched her lips: he had watched herdimples.

It was so slow and difficult putting things downthat soon he devised ways of conversing more readily.He formed swift letters in the air with oneforefinger, or scratched them in the dirt with herparasol.

Five o’clock found them still in the square.Agatha was surprised when she discovered how lateit was. She signalled a passing taxicab, and theywere whirled home together.

“Aren’t we going somewhere to-night?” he askedas they neared the end of their ride.

She looked rueful. “I’m—afraid—I—can’t,”she said. Her face was lifted. His head was loweredattentively, so that his hat-brim touch the fluffof her hair. “I’ve—promised—to—see—a—play—with—Auntie.But—after—this—I—shan’t—make—engagements—that—will—conflict—with—mywork.”

When they entered the library Miss Connaughtonhad fresh tea brought. “I trust,” said she, “thatnothing unpleasant happened to-day.”

Agatha pondered, the tip of her teaspoon againstthe tip of her chin. “No,” she said. “Only, wemet a friend of Mr. McVicar’s. But he was notd— and d—.”

“D— and d—!” Miss Connaughton was horrified.“Hush, Agatha! It sounds profane.”

[199]But Agatha was smiling into her cup. Therewas a “to-morrow’s visitor” floating in it—a tallvisitor. She lifted it to the back of one hand andstruck it smartly with the back of the other. Ittransferred itself. She gave Mr. McVicar a swiftglance.

He was holding his cup aloft. Across its rimhis grey eyes were watching her.

She held up the “visitor” triumphantly.

He nodded.

The following day the “tall visitor” came again,and he and Agatha took their second walk downthe avenue. Agatha had on a blue linen. It enhancedher colour charmingly. Mr. McVicar carriedher parasol, a new one with a brass tip. She wasin the best of humour, and stood on her toes nowand then while she said something. He was in thebest of humour, too. But of a sudden his face becamevery sober, even anxious. He began to takelonger steps.

Agatha remarked his nervousness. She lookedround. There were three young men close at handwho seemed to be observing Mr. McVicar. Theywere well-groomed young men. “Collegy,” wasAgatha’s verdict.

Just then a young man approached them, goingthe other way. He took off his hat politely withone hand; with the fingers of the other he signedthe escort an elaborate good-day.

Mr. McVicar gave him a cold stare.

Scarcely half a block farther on, a second youngman lifted his hat with a bow and—wiggled hisfingers!

[200]Mr. McVicar glared.

When a third young man passed them, with awell-bred smile, a bared head, and a mute greeting,Mr. McVicar’s face became almost distorted.Agatha heard him gurgle.

Not a minute later, a fourth young man advancedtoward them, one hand rising to his hat as he cameon. Mr. McVicar, guiding Agatha, abruptlystepped aside into a shop and made a quick purchase.When they had gained the street again bya side exit, he wrote: “I have a headache. Do youmind if I wear these?” “These” were colouredglasses.

“Not—in—the—least,” she declared.

The morning was given over to tenement-houseinspection, and Agatha was a fairy-figure amid thesordid gloom of it all. Mr. McVicar kept besideher (the inspector led), helping her up long, darkstairways, and down into pit-like cellars, and throughdank halls full of poor, little gaping children. Whennoon came they sought a near-by café.

It was while they were here that an extraordinarything happened. They had gotten comfortablyplaced, both on the same side of a table—so that hecould understand what she was saying (his glasseswere off now)—when there entered, in single file,one, two, three, four, five, six, seven well-dressedyoung men. They seated themselves oppositeAgatha and the escort. And, presently, after eachhad given the menu a casual glance, all began totalk at once—on their fingers!

Agatha opened her eyes. “Everyone of them d—and d—!” she said to herself. “Is this a d— and[201]d— café?” Her eyes roved from waiter to waiter.

But the seven young men were evidently from Mr.McVicar’s institution, for they caught sight of hima moment later, bowed to him in great surprise, andbegan to make him finger-signs.

He bowed in return, but he regarded them darklyand made no return signs.

Agatha reflected that there were more d— andd— people in the world than she had ever imagined.Presently she noticed that Mr. McVicar was noteating. “Don’t you like the goulash?” she wrote.

“I have a headache,” he answered.

“You must go home, then.”

“But the Amalgamated Shirt-Makers?”

At this juncture the seven young men oppositegot up and filed slowly out, each working a righthand in what seemed to be a friendly adieu.

When Mr. McVicar rose his lips were pressed togetheras if he were striving to master himself. Herefrained from looking at Agatha and fiddled withhis hat.

She saw how ill he was. Her expression grewtroubled and wistful. “A hansom,” she said to thehead waiter. But she did not send Mr. McVicarhome. She let him drive to her aunt’s with her.

On the way, for some reason or other, Mr. McVicargrew much brighter. “Where do we go to-morrow?”he asked.

Agatha stole a glance toward him. “To-morrow,”she said, “I—shall—devote—to—automorphic—deductions—and—to—the—correlation—of—all—the—new—concrete—examples—I—have—noted.”

[202]“Then you’ll need me,” he declared.

“Will—you—be—well—enough?” asked Agatha.

“Why, I’m well now.”

“Come—then—in—case—I’ve—forgotten—any—of—the—examples.”

The following morning they did not go down theavenue, but turned into Central Park at the Shermanstatue instead, and out of it again at the WestSeventy-second Street entrance. Then they headedtoward the Hudson.

It was a day even more perfect than the last.The wide topaz river sparkled in the sun. The shadedwalks wound invitingly between leaf-strewn stretchesof green. There were children at play along thesmooth crescents of the drive, and sparrows dartedto and fro, chirping.

Thus far Agatha had walked, head down andbrows puckered—evidently concerned with “automorphicdeductions.” (They had gone, in all, sometwenty blocks, which was a sufficient distance forany number of deductions.) But now she rousedfrom her thoughts and looked up at Mr. McVicar.His chin was on his breast, his eyes were lowered,and his manner was undisguisedly dejected.

She touched his arm. Then she stopped and stoodon tiptoe. “Aren’t—you—well—to-day—either?”she inquired, her red mouth very close, so that hewould be sure to understand.

He looked down at her for a long moment. Thenhe wrote, “I never felt better or happier in all mylife.” When he took the pad again his hand coveredhers for a second. Of a sudden her mannerbecame distinctly reserved.

[203]Presently they reached a shaded bench. Hedusted a seat for her, and they sat down, when hewrote: “But I know my happiness can’t last. Imeant to tell you last night. You see, I have anuncle—a lawyer—who thinks I’m wasting my time.I must quit.”

Agatha coloured painfully. Mr. Avery had drivena close bargain with him! She hastened to writein return, “You shall get what your uncle thinks isfair.”

“There’s another reason, little woman. You sawmy friends yesterday. They’re inquisitive. I’mafraid they’ll annoy you. So this is my last day.”He gazed across at the New Jersey shore.

She moved nearer, touching his arm ever so lightly.“Is—that—the—real—reason?” she asked.

He watched her red mouth frame each word, andhis face lowered, as if irresistibly drawn toward hers.Then his head sank to a hand. He studied the path.Soon, “No,” he wrote, “it isn’t. The real reasoninvolves a great happiness that I daren’t hope for.”

Agatha leaned even closer. “There—is—a—possibility—of—your—speech—returning?”sheguessed. She held her breath at the very thoughtof it.

He nodded. “Yes, it’s very likely that my speechwill come back.”

Agatha turned away, and glad tears swam beneaththe black lashes. He would speak again! Hewould be like other people! Oh, how good! Presently,she blinked the tears away. “You—haven’talways—been—this—way?” she said.

“Not always.”

“When—did—it—happen?”

[204]“Quite recently.”

Her face was sweet with pity. “Were—you—struck—dumb?”she asked.

He observed her steadily for a moment. “I wasterribly hard hit,” he wrote.

“It—affected—your—hearing—too?”

“It even affected my heart.”

“Will—these—both—improve?”

“It depends on just one person.”

She gave him a smile full of cheer. “Doctors—do—wonderful—things—these—days.Is—this—one—homeopathic?”

“No, magnetic—awfully.” His grey eyes searchedhers again. “Would you advise me to hope?”

“Oh—yes! Just—hope—has—wrought marvels.”Her face shone with earnestness.

“Bless you. But you don’t know that this is allthe result of my own wickedness.”

“You—have—been—more—than—punished—then.”

He clenched his two hands. “Yes, I have beenpunished,” he wrote. “If you ever have to passjudgment upon me, remember that.”

“Was—it—so—dreadful—what—you—did?”

He thought a moment. “Not when you considerthe temptation.”

“What—was—the—temptation?”

He hesitated so long that she believed he had notunderstood her. So she wrote the question, “Whatwas the temptation?”

“A girl.”

Agatha shrank back in sudden, inexplicable indignation.Then she rose abruptly. She had meant[205]to tell him that if he were to regain both speech andhearing it would make no difference in their arrangements.But now——

He rose, also, and dropped the pad into a pocket.Then he handed her the parasol. His attitude wasone of resignation.

Walking homeward, Agatha looked straightahead, and two bright, red spots burned in a circleabout her dimples. At the bottom of the Connaughtonflight, she gave him a dignified good-morning.He held out a card to her. Then he raised hishat.

All that afternoon Agatha wandered about thelibrary. She felt a surprising indifference toward herthesis. Every little while she drew forth Mr. McVicar’scard. It contained, in addition to his name,a line written in pencil, “Telephone, River 0630.”Why had he written that? She had no further needof him!

But as tea-time neared she remembered a placethat she felt absolutely called upon to visit in connectionwith her work: a narrow down-town street,with its hosts of children all a-dance on the gas-lightedpavement. Could she visit the crowded blockalone? And was Mr. McVicar’s time up for thatday before, say, ten or eleven o’clock? Certainlynot. And if she paid for his time was she not entitledto his company She asked central for Rivero-six-three-o.

A maid’s voice answered the telephone. “Tell Mr.McVicar,” said Agatha, “that Miss Kerr will wanthim this evening at eight.”

“Very well, miss.”

[206]Agatha, smiling and rosy faced, made her waytunefully up the staircase.

“What! Going out at night?” demanded MissConnaughton, from the drawing-room.

“Of course,” said Agatha; “what have I an escortfor? Oh, tra-la-la, tra-la-la,” and, singing, shedisappeared.

Agatha had promised to telephone Miss Connaughton,so she rang up directly they stepped from thecars at the down-town station. “I can’t possiblyget home till eleven, Auntie dear,” she announced.“It took us forty minutes to come just this far.”

“Oh, Agatha!” came back the reply. “Comehome—awful news—Mr. Avery——”

“I can’t hear you,” cried Agatha. “The elevatedis making such a noise. Rattle your ’phone.”

“Insolent trick,” went on Miss Connaughton.The remainder was a jumble.

Agatha told Mr. McVicar about it. “I—can’t—go—home,”she said. “This—evening—is—dreadfully—important.Don’t—you—think—so?”

“YES,” he wrote—all in capitals. Offering herhis arm, he hurried her away.

It was not an ideal evening for Jones Street.There were clouds overhead in massive motion beforea hot wind. The gas-jets leaped and hisseddown the narrow streets, which looked particularlydark and forbidding. Perhaps the children wouldnot dance on the pavement that night. Agatha didnot care.

Mr. McVicar obviously did not feel as cheerfulas she. It was as if all the heart had gone out of[207]him. And he kept looking back. It made Agathanervous. She took to glancing behind also. Whatwas he expecting?

They approached the lone figure of a man—a forlornfigure that slouched into the entrance of a buildingjust ahead. Mr. McVicar crossed the street.They passed other figures. He looked each overkeenly. She shivered a little. Oh, she was gladhe was so big!

They hurried forward. Each thoroughfareseemed to grow narrower and gloomier than the last.They turned innumerable corners, Agatha clingingto his arm with increasing timidity. All at once,on turning another corner into a street that lookedvery much like one they had already traversed, theycame face to face with two swarthy-skinned persons,a man and a woman. The pair were evidently gipsies,for the woman wore a red handkerchief uponher head, while big, gold earrings swung againstthe neck of the man. The latter carried a monkey.He did not get out of the way. Instead, leering,he held out a hand.

“Give me da mon for da monk!” he cried.

“Hurry!” Agatha entreated. Oh, for Auntie’sbrougham now!

Instead of hastening, Mr. McVicar faced the manand gave him a resounding cuff upon the ear.Agatha, the sociologist, became that moment justa normal, terror-stricken girl. She screamed. Withher cry mingled the raucous protests of the man andthe hoarse commands of the woman, for Mr. McVicarnow had the former by the shoulders and wasshaking him fiercely.

[208]The hubbub brought aid. Around the nearestcorner came a well-dressed young man, piloting apoliceman on the run. A moment, and around anothercorner came another well-dressed young manwith another policeman.

Next, “Cut for it!” Agatha heard a voice exclaim—adeep voice. But, strangely enough, thegipsies did not attempt to get away. They stoodand grinned at the little crowd that had gathered.

Mr. McVicar sprang to Agatha’s side. He waspanting and—could it be true?—gurgling whatsounded like words!

Agatha smiled at him through the dim light. Hehad protected her. Her hand crept into his. Thenshe gave a fresh cry of fear. His fingers were wet—withblood.

“Oh, he’s wounded!” she called.

“Did he bite you?” demanded one of the policemen—theone who had the man-gipsy by the coat.“Well, here—bite him back! The dog!”

“I did not bite him,” protested the man-gipsy.“It was the monkey.”

“Where is that monkey?” shouted the woman-gipsy.“Say, you fellows, hunt him up. If welose him we’re out twenty plunks.”

Three or four of the onlookers scattered in differentdirections, searching.

“Shut up, you she-devil!” ordered the secondofficer.

“How can we thank you?” said Agatha.

“No thanks, miss,” said officer number one. “Justcome along, please, for to testify.”

At that Mr. McVicar took one of the little fingers[209]that were resting between his and deliberatelypinched it! Agatha understood. To go with theofficers meant a police station; a police station meantpublicity, sniffy servants, hysterical aunt.

Agatha was, at times, a girl of resources. Sheknew they must get away, and she was quick to devisehow. “I must help find that poor, little monkey,”she said. “You go on. We’ll follow.”

But the officer shook his head. “If you was tomiss the station,” said he, “we’d have a poor case.Forget the monkey, miss.”

Agatha grew desperate. She resolved on flight,so she seized her skirts in her two hands, turnedlike a flash, and with her escort fleeing besideher, and almost carrying her along, she racedaway.

The officers were in a predicament. They yelled,they whistled, they beat on the pavement. Thenone handed over his prisoner to the other and gavechase. After them, in loose order, came the onlookers.

Up one street went Agatha and her escort, turneda corner, rushed down another, turned another corner.Luck was against them. A third officer metthem squarely as they came. His arms were out,made longer by his leather-bound stick. Gasping,they fell into them.

The next moment the pursuing officer had themin his grasp. “Thank you, Sheehan,” said he.“Face about, you!” This to Mr. McVicar. Theybegan the return march, everyone panting. Countingthe onlookers, they made quite a procession.

The other officer met them half-way, a gipsy in[210]either hand. “Say, Flynn,” said he, “they’s somethingcrooked about that young couple.”

“Crooked!” burst forth Agatha, with suddenrage. “I ran because I don’t want to be draggedinto a police station. Please let go of my sleeve.”She could hear the onlookers whispering amongthemselves. Oh, it was too mortifying!

She clung to the representative of the law, andbegan to sob. Her tears had instant effect upon thelittle crowd. “Oh, let the young lady go, officer,”said one voice. “Yes,” chorused others. “Butpinch the tall gentleman,” added the man-gipsy.

The inexorable officers moved forward. Presentlythey all trooped into a police station, andthe principals came short in an uneven line before abattered desk.

A blowzy Celtic visage was lifted to regard them.Beneath that visage was a wide, open book. Itseemed the very Book of Judgment to poor Agatha.She glanced at Mr. McVicar. He was watching hersorrowfully, his face startlingly pale, his whole attitudewoeful.

“Hello!” said he of the wide book. For Mr.McVicar, his look was casual; for Agatha, it wasmore prolonged, yet not unkind—though the buff-and-crocusconfection was tipped rakishly to oneside; for the gipsy twain, however, it was condemnatory.

The gipsies smiled up at him. “Hello, Lieutenant!”returned they audaciously.

At this there was some small commotion and ageneral giggling in the rear of the room. Agathapeered swiftly round, and beheld five young men[211]who were ranged against the rear wall. They werewell dressed. They were grinning. They all worecoloured glasses.

Officer Flynn was talking. “I was comin’ alongmy beat,” said he, whereat there began an astonishinglytruthful account of the late mêlée. It wasinterrupted by wild yowlings from a room evidentlynear at hand.

“Ah!” said the man-gipsy; “the monkey!”

“Th’ dhrunks in Noomber 3,” explained the lieutenant.

Officer Flynn continued, “And we was ready torun the gipsies in when the young gent up and skedaddled.”

“So did I,” protested Agatha, but the lieutenantscowled only at Mr. McVicar. “I made him,”added Agatha stoutly, after which she resolved intotears again.

“Now, now,” comforted the lieutenant. “Till me,how come y’ t’ be down in this ind of th’ town, anyhow?”

“I am concerned,” sobbed Agatha, “with the phenomenaof social evolution.”

“Ah!” said the lieutenant; “sittlements.”

“So—so,” she struggled on, “to-night I startedfor Jones Street——”

“Jones Street!” said the lieutenant. Again hisscowl was fixed upon the escort. “Young man,phwat was y’ doin’ in Greene?”

All eyes were upon Mr. McVicar—the lieutenant’swith suspicion, the gipsies’ with bold delight, thepolicemen’s curiously, Agatha’s in appeal. Mr. McVicarwas now all tints—even those uncertain, elusive[212]ones that are so much affected in nouveau art.His lips moved spasmodically, uttering inaudiblewords.

“SPEAK!” thundered the lieutenant impatiently.

“Yes, speak.” This from the grinning gipsies,sotto voce.

Agatha stepped forward. “Officer,” she said,“he’s deaf and dumb, but he reads the lips.”

“And writes with his toes,” announced the man-gipsy.

Agatha cast him a withering glance. Then shelifted her face to the escort. “Why—were—we—inGreene—Street?”

He was now startlingly scarlet. After a little indecisionhe took out his pad and wrote, “I was tryingto shake the gipsies.” He showed the page toAgatha.

“Of course,” said she. Then, to the lieutenant,“He was trying to shake the gipsies.”

“He succeeded,” cried the man-gipsy. “Heshook loose my four-dollar earrings and a twenty-dollarmonkey.”

This statement was hailed with mirth from therear. The maudlin occupants of Number 3 joinedin noisily. Even the policemen smiled.

The next moment one of the latter gave a shoutof triumph. “Lieutenant,” he announced excitedly,“this dago is wearin’ a wig!” He pointed at theblack mop of hair that hung down over the templesof the man-gipsy.

The man-gipsy drew himself up haughtily. “Iam not a dago,” said he, with dignity. Then, tothe lieutenant, “Your eminence, he insults me.”

[213]Agatha’s eyes were keen. “The other one, too,”she whispered.

Officer Flynn seized the wide, scarlet kerchief onthe gipsy woman’s head and gave it a jerk. Itcame away—with it a full and ropy coiffure.

“Stung!” cried the woman.

Now, shorn of its late protection, her head wasmasculine in appearance, the short, brown hair showingitself to be well cut and carefully kept. WhenOfficer Flynn had plucked off the man-gipsy’s wigthere was disclosed another head no less modishlybarbered.

The lieutenant was a man of long experience.

“College,” said he.

The woman-gipsy bowed. “You are inspired.”

From behind them came sounds of suffering—thefive gentlemen in the rear were bent to the floor.Seeing them, the gipsies fell to chortling shrilly.

The lieutenant was turning the leaves of the book.“Inspired nothin’,” said he. “Whin Oi see a youngstermakin’ a jackass of himself——”

And it was then that something dawned uponAgatha: these were all friends of Mr. McVicar’s,and this was what he had meant when he spoke oftheir “annoying” her. But she was a college girl,and knew just how much fun could be gotten out ofa lark—even a silly, sophom*oric lark. She glancedover at Mr. McVicar and dimpled.

“An’, mebbe,” went on the lieutenant, almostagreeably, “this is a’ inittyaytion?”

“Something on that order,” said the woman-gipsy.

“It was all in the interest of science,” added the[214]man-gipsy. “We were endeavouring to make thedumb speak.” Here he began to make finger-signsat Agatha’s escort.

Agatha, shocked by the cruelty of the jest, fairlywhirled round upon the offender. Her reproof,however, remained unspoken; for there, between thegipsies and the door, advancing on quick foot, wasan open-faced, shrewd-eyed young man. This personhalted at the lieutenant’s elbow, and took thecompany in with swift comprehension. At the sametime he drew a pencil from a breast pocket and a yellowpad from a sagging pocket lower down.

Agatha had only a second in which to wonder ifhe, too, were d— and d— when, “Aloysius,” said heto the lieutenant, “what’s doing?” He pointed atthe wigs.

It was then that Agatha realised that she was inthe presence of the danger that she (and Auntie)so much feared. The shrewd-eyed young man wasa reporter! She turned helplessly to Mr. McVicar.

“But he sha’n’t have my picture,” she muttered.

Mr. McVicar looked down at her quickly—almostas if he had heard. Then his grey eyes went backto the lieutenant and the newspaper man. His handswere twitching.

The lieutenant glanced up. “Aw,” he said disgustedly,“it’s only a fool thrick.” Then, to thewaiting line, “Ye kin all go.”

At this the reporter became excited. “But itought to make a story. Have you got theirnames?” He sprang to the side of the woman-gipsy.

It was now that Mr. McVicar did an extraordinary[215]thing. Without a moment’s hesitation he steppedbetween the reporter and the woman-gipsy and gavethe latter a shove that sent her spinning backward.Then he turned to the desk.

“It is a trick,” he declared, “a mean, contemptibletrick, and I am mostly to blame for it. But ithas gone far enough.”

Agatha gave a cry of amazement. It was thedeep voice she had heard when the officers were approaching.And it was his! This was not gurgling:this was speech! She sank upon a bench, herface hidden in the crook of one trembling arm, andbegan to sob wildly.

“Lieutenant,” went on the deep voice, “I ask youto save this young lady from notoriety.”

The lieutenant promptly leaned far over and addressedthe woman-gipsy. “Ye git,” said heharshly, “an’ yer gang wid ye. An’ if Oi hear ofy’ givin’ anny names——”

The woman-gipsy held up a defensive hand. “Nowthat the dumb hath spoken,” said she, “far be itfrom me to bring grief——”

“Hike!” interrupted the lieutenant.

The gipsies stole out, after them the five well-dressedyoung men. Next the officers saluted thedesk and passed Agatha with pitying glances. Onlythe reporter remained.

“Say,” said the lieutenant to him, “Oi’ve give y’manny a scoop, ain’t Oi?”

“Yes,” said the reporter, “you have.”

“Wull, thin. An’ d’ye know yere missin’ th’ storyof yer loife this siccond?”

“For heaven’s sake! What is it?”

[216]The lieutenant leaned toward him, dropping hisvoice dramatically. “Hist!” he exclaimed. “They’sa man dead in Brooklyn!” He gave a prodigiouswink.

“Oh, I see. All right,” said the reporter. Hewaved a hand and went out.

Then Mr. McVicar began to speak again—toAgatha, and so quaveringly that the lieutenant knewthe tears were close there, too. The lieutenant turnedhis back and fell to studying a map.

“I’ve been a coward and a cad,” said that quaveringvoice, “and you’ll never forgive me. But, honestly,I did it all because I—I wanted to be withyou. So I pretended I was—was—uncle that morningthat I telephoned. Every day I thought thetruth would come out. And lots of times I camenear skipping town. The fellows wouldn’t let mealone a minute—from the time I had to tell one of’em (you remember) that I was deaf and dumb.The fiends! Oh, don’t cry so! I’d—I’d die if it’ddo any good.”

Agatha raised her tear-wet face. “I’m not c-r-cryingbecause I’m angry,” she sobbed, putting outher two hands to him. “I’m c-c-crying becauseyou’re not d— and d—.”

His strong arms caught her up then and held herclose, and for all the silent, pent-up hours he hadspent with her there now gushed forth a thousandwhispered words of rapturous endearment. And hekissed her poor, trembling lips, her chin, her black-lashedeyelids—even the fluff of her hair.

“Dearest,” he whispered, “I loved you the secondI spied you from behind that reference table.”

[217]Agatha suddenly stopped her sobbing. Then sheleaned away from him—and looked down. The plaidshe saw above his half-shoes was red and brown atright angles upon a French-knotted ground of blue.It was not exactly the plaid that had been displayedthat other day, but it was a full cousin to it.

The sun broke through the clouds then, for as shelooked up once more a smile lit all that scarletrounding of her cheeks where her dimples were.“Then, d-dear,” she began, both gloved handscreeping up to rest on his shoulders, “wh-what isyour tr-truly name?”

FONG WU sat on the porch of his littlesquare-fronted house, chanting into thetwilight. Across his padded blouse ofpurple lay his sam-yen banjo. And as,from time to time, his hymn to the Three Pure Oneswas prolonged in high, fine quavers, like the uneven,squeaky notes of a woman’s voice, he ran his lefthand up the slender neck of the instrument, resteda long nail of his right on its taut, snake’s-skin head,and lightly touched the strings; then, in quick, thintones, they followed the song to Sang-Ching.

The warm shadows of a California summer nightwere settling down over the wooded hills and rockygulches about Fong Wu’s, and there was little buthis music to break the silence. Long since, thechickens had sleepily sought perches in the hen yard,with its high wall of rooty stumps and shakes, andon the branches of the Digger pine that towered besideit. Up the dry creek bed, a mile away, twinkledthe lights of Whiskeytown; but no sounds fromthe homes of the white people came down to thelonely Chinese. If his clear treble was interrupted,it was by the cracking of a dry branch as a cotton-tailsped past on its way to a stagnant pool, or itwas by a dark-emboldened coyote, howling, dog-like,at the moon which, white as the snow that eternally[219]coifs the Sierras, was just rising above their distantcobalt line.

One year before, Fong Wu, heavily laden with hiseffects, had slipped out of the stage from Reddingand found his way to a forsaken, ramshackle buildingbelow Whiskeytown. His coming had proved ofno small interest. When the news finally got aboutthat “a monkey” was living in “Sam Kennedy’sold place,” it was thought, for a while, that laundrying,thereafter, would be cheaply done. This hope,however, was soon dispelled. For, shortly after hisarrival, as Fong Wu asked at the grocery store formail, he met Radigan’s inquiry of “You do mywashee, John?” with a grave shake of the head.Similar questions from others were met, later, in asimilar way. Soon it became generally known thatthe “monkey at Sam Kennedy’s” did not do washing;so he was troubled no further.

Yet if Fong Wu did not work for the people ofWhiskeytown, he was not, therefore, idle. Many asunrise found him wandering through the chaparralthickets back of his house, digging here and therein the red soil for roots and herbs. These he tookhome, washed, tasted, and, perhaps, dried. Hismornings were mainly spent in cooking for his abundantlysupplied table, tending his fowls and house,and in making spotless and ironing smooth variousundergarments—generous of sleeve and leg.

But of an afternoon, all petty duties were laidaside, and he sorted carefully into place upon hisshelves numerous little bunches and boxes of driedherbs and numerous tiny phials of pungent liquidthat had come to him by post; he filled wide sheets[220]of foolscap with vertical lines of queer charactersand consigned them to big, plainly addressed, well-stampedenvelopes; he scanned closely the last newspapersfrom San Francisco, and read from volumesin divers tongues; and he pored over the treasuredTaoist book, “The Road to Virtue.”

Sunday was his one break in the week’s routine.Then, the coolies who panned or cradled for gold inthe tailings of near-by abandoned mines, gatheredat Fong Wu’s. On such occasions, there was endless,lively chatter, a steady exchange of barbering—oneman scraping another clean, to be, in turn,made hairless in a broad band about the poll and oncheek and chin—and much consuming of tastychicken, dried fish, pork, rice, and melon seeds. Tosupplement all this, Fong Wu recounted the news:the arrival of a consul in San Francisco, the raidon a slave- or gambling-den, the progress of a tongwar under the very noses of the baffled police, and thegrowth of Coast feeling against the continued, quietimmigration of Chinese. But of the social or politicalaffairs of the Flowery Kingdom—of his ownland beyond the sea, Fong Wu was consistentlysilent.

Added to his Sunday responsibilities as host andpurveyor of news, Fong Wu had others. An ailingcountryman, whether seized with malaria or sufferingfrom an injury, found ready and efficient attention.The bark of dogwood, properly cooked, gavea liquid that killed the ague; and oil from a diminutivebottle, or a red powder whetted upon the skinwith a silver piece, brought out the soreness of abruise.

[221]Thus, keeping his house, herb-hunting, writing,studying, entertaining, doctoring, Fong Wu livedon at Whiskeytown.

Each evening, daintily manipulating ivory chopsticks,he ate his supper of rice out of a dragon-borderedbowl. Then, when he had poured tea froma pot, all gold-encrusted—a cluster of blossoms noddingin a vase at his shoulder, the while—he wentout upon the porch of the square-fronted house.

And there, as now, a scarlet-buttoned cap on hishead, his black eyes soft with dreaming, his richlywrought sandals tapping the floor in time, his longqueue—a smooth, shining serpent—in thick coilsabout his tawny neck, Fong Wu thrummed gentlyupon the three-stringed banjo, and, in peace, chantedinto the twilight.

Flying hoofs scattered the gravel on the strip ofroad before Fong Wu’s. He looked through thegloom and saw a horse flash past, carrying a skirtedrider toward Whiskeytown. His song died out. Helet his banjo slip down until its round head restedbetween his feet. Then, he turned his face up thegulch.

Despite the dusk, he knew the traveller: Mrs. AnthonyBarrett, who, with her husband, had recentlycome to live in a house near Stillwater. Every evening,when the heat was over, she went by, bound forthe day’s mail at the post-office. Every evening, inthe cool, Fong Wu saw her go, and sometimes shegave him a friendly nod.

Her mount was a spirited, mouse-dun mustang,with crop-ears, a roached mane, and the back markings[222]of an Arab horse. She always rode at a run,sitting with easy erectness. A wide army hat restedsnugly on her fair hair, and shaded a white foreheadand level-looking eyes. But notwithstanding thesheltering brim, on her girlish face were set the glowingscarlet seals of wind and sun.

As he peered townward after her, Fong Wu heardthe hurrying hoof beats grow gradually fainter andfainter—and cease. Presently the moon topped thepines on the foothills behind him, bathing the gulchin light. The road down which she would comesprang into view. He watched its farthest openpoint. In a few moments the hoof beats beganagain. Soon the glint of a light waist showedthrough the trees. Next, horse and rider roundeda curve at hand. Fong Wu leaned far forward.

And then, just as the mustang gained the strip ofroad before the square-fronted house, it gave a sudden,unlooked-for, outward leap, reared with a wildsnort, and, whirling, dashed past the porch—riderless.

With an exclamation, Fong Wu flung his banjoaside and ran to the road. There under a manzanitabush, huddled and still, lay a figure. He caught itup, bore it to the porch, and put it gently down.

A brief examination, made with the deftness practicegives, showed him that no bones were broken.Squatting beside the unconscious woman, he nextplayed slowly with his long-nailed fingers upon herpulse. Its beat reassured him. He lighted a lampand held it above her. The scarlet of her cheekswas returning.

The sight of her, who was so strong and active,[223]stretched weak and fainting, compelled Fong Wuinto spoken comment. “The petal of a plum blossom,”he said compassionately, in his own tongue.

She stirred a little. He moved back. As, reviving,she opened her eyes, they fell upon him. Buthe was half-turned away, his face as blank and lifelessas a mask.

She gave a startled cry and sat up. “Mehurtee?” she asked him, adopting pidgin-English.“Me fallee off?”

Fong Wu rose. “You were thrown,” he answeredgravely.

She coloured in confusion. “Pardon me,” shesaid, “for speaking to you as if you were a coolie.”Then, as she got feebly to her feet—“I believe myright arm is broken.”

“I have some knowledge of healing,” he declared;“let me look at it.” Before she could answer, hehad ripped the sleeve away. “It is only a sprain,”he said. “Wait.” He went inside for an amberliquid and bandages. When he had laved the injuredmuscles, he bound them round.

“How did it happen?” she asked, as he worked.He was so courteous and professional that her alarmwas gone.

“Your horse was frightened by a rattlesnake in theroad. I heard it whir.”

She shuddered. “I ought to be thankful that Ididn’t come my cropper on it,” she said, laughingnervously.

He went inside again, this time to prepare a cupfulof herbs. When he offered her the draught,she screwed up her face over its nauseating fumes.

[224]“If that acts as strongly as it tastes,” she said,after she had drunk it, “I’ll be well soon.”

“It is to keep away inflammation.”

“Oh! Can I go now?”

“Yes. But to-morrow return, and I will look atthe arm.” He took the lamp away and replaced hisred-buttoned cap with a black felt hat. Then hesilently preceded her down the steps to the road.Only when the light of her home shone plainly aheadof them, did he leave her.

They had not spoken on the way. But as hebowed a good-night, she addressed him. “I thankyou,” she said. “And may I ask your name?”

“Kwa”—he began, and stopped. Emotion foran instant softened his impassive countenance. Heturned away. “Fong Wu,” he added, and wasgone.

The following afternoon the crunch of cart wheelsbefore the square-fronted house announced her coming.Fong Wu closed “The Book of Virtue,” andstepped out upon the porch.

A white man was seated beside her in the vehicle.As she sprang from it, light-footed and smiling, andmounted the steps, she indicated him politely to theChinese.

“This is my husband,” she said. “I have toldhim how kind you were to me last night.”

Fong Wu nodded.

Barrett hastened to voice his gratitude. “I certainlyam very much obliged to you,” he said. “Mywife might have been bitten by the rattler, or shemight have lain all night in pain if you hadn’tfound her. And I want to say that your treatment[225]was splendid. Why, her arm hasn’t swollen or hurther. I’ll be hanged if I can see—you’re such agood doctor—why you stay in this——”

Fong Wu interrupted him. “I will wet the bandagewith medicine,” he said, and entered the house.

They watched him with some curiosity as hetreated the sprain and studied the pulse. Whenhe brought out her second cup of steaming herbs,Mrs. Barrett looked up at him brightly.

“You know we’re up here for Mr. Barrett’shealth,” she said. “A year or so after we weremarried, he was hurt in a railway collision. Sincethen, though his wounds healed nicely, he has neverbeen quite well. Dr. Lord, our family physician,prescribed plenty of rough work, and a quiet place,far from the excitement of a town or city. Now, allthis morning, when I realised how wonderful it wasthat my arm wasn’t aching, I’ve been urging myhusband—what do you suppose?—to come and beexamined by you!”

Fong Wu, for the first time, looked fully at thewhite man, marking the sallow, clayey face, with itsdry, lined skin, its lustreless eyes and drooping lids.

Barrett scowled at his wife. “Nonsense, dear,”he said crossly; “you know very well that Lordwould never forgive me.”

“But Fong Wu might help you, Anthony,” shedeclared.

Fong Wu’s black eyes were still fixed searchinglyupon the white man. Before their scrutiny, soul-deep,the other’s faltered and fell.

“You might help him, mightn’t you, Fong Wu?”Mrs. Barrett repeated.

[226]An expression, curious, keen, and full of meaning,was the answer. Then, “I might if he——” FongWu said, and paused.

Past Mrs. Barrett, whose back was toward herhusband, the latter had shot a warning glance.“Come, come, Edith,” he cried irritably, “let’s gethome.”

Mrs. Barrett emptied her cup bravely. “Whenshall we call again?” she asked.

“You need not come again,” Fong Wu replied.“Each day you have only to dampen the bandagesfrom these.” He handed her a green-flowered boxcontaining twelve tiny compartments; in each wasa phial.

“And I sha’n’t have to take any more of this—thisawful stuff?” she demanded gaily, giving backthe cup.

“No.”

“Ah! And now, I want to thank you again,with all my heart. Here”—she reached into thepocket of her walking-skirt—“here is something foryour trouble.” Two double-eagles lay on her openpalm.

Fong Wu frowned at them. “I take no money,”he said, a trifle gruffly. And as she got into thecart, he closed the door of his home behind him.

It was a week before Mrs. Barrett again tookup her rides for the mail. When she did, FongWu did not fail to be on his porch as she passed.For each evening, as she cantered up the road, spurringthe mustang to its best paces, she reined tospeak to him. And he met her greeting with unaccustomedgood humour.

[227]Then she went by one morning before sunrise, ridinglike the wind. A little later she repassed, whippingher horse at every gallop. Fong Wu, calledto his door by the clatter, saw her face was whiteand drawn. At noon, going up to the post-office,he heard a bit of gossip that seemed to bear uponher unwonted trip. Radigan was rehearsing it excitedlyto his wife, and the Chinese busied himselfwith his mail and listened—apparently unconcerned.

“I c’n tell you she ain’t afraid of anythin’, thatMrs. Barrett,” the post-master was saying; “neitherth’ cayuse she rides or a critter on two legs. An’that fancy little drug-clerk from ’Frisco got itstraight from th’ shoulder.”

“S-s-sh!” admonished his wife, from the back ofthe office. “Isn’t there someone outside?”

“Naw, just th’ chink from Kennedy’s. Well, asI remarked, she did jus’ light into that dude. ‘Itwas criminal!’ she says, an’ her eyes snapped likea whip; ‘it was criminal! an’ if I find out for surethat you are guilty, I’ll put you where you’ll neverdo it again.’ Th’ young gent smirked at her an’squirmed like a worm. ‘You’re wrong, Mrs. Barrett,’he says, lookin’ like th’ meek puppy he is, ‘an’you’ll have t’ look some place else for th’ personthat done it.’ But she wouldn’t talk no longer—jus’walked out, as mad as a hornet.”

“Well, well,” mused Mrs. Radigan. “I wonderwhat ’twas all about. ‘Criminal,’ she said, eh?That’s funny!” She walked to the front of theoffice and peeked through the wicket. But no onewas loitering near except Fong Wu, and his facewas the picture of dull indifference.

[228]That night, long after the hour for Mrs. Barrett’sregular trip, and long past the time for his supper-song,Fong Wu heard slow, shuffling steps approachthe house. A moment afterward, the knob of hisdoor rattled. He put out his light and slipped aknife into his loose sleeve.

After some mumbling and moving about on theporch, a man called out to him. He recognised thevoice.

“Fong Wu! Fong Wu!” it begged. “Let mein. I want to see you; I want to ask you forhelp—for something I need. Let me in; let mein.”

Fong Wu, without answering, relit his lamp, and,with the air of one who is at the same time bothrelieved and a witness of the expected, flung the doorwide.

Then into the room, writhing as if in fearfulagony, his hands palsied, his face a-drip and, exceptfor dark blotches about the mouth, green-hued, hiseyes wild and sunken, fell, rather than tottered, AnthonyBarrett.

“Fong Wu,” he pleaded, from the floor at theother’s feet, “you helped my wife, when she was sick,now help me. I’m dying! I’m dying! Give it tome, for God’s sake! give it to me.” He caught atthe skirt of Fong Wu’s blouse.

The Chinese retreated a little, scowling. “Whatdo you want?” he asked.

A paroxysm of pain seized Barrett. He halfrose and stumbled forward. “You know,” hepanted, “you know. And if I don’t have some, I’lldie. I can’t get it anywhere else. She’s found meout, and scared the drug-clerk. Oh, just a little,[229]old man, just a little!” He sank to the flooragain.

“I can give you nothing,” said Fong Wu bluntly.“I do not keep—what you want.”

With a curse, Barrett was up again. “Oh, youdon’t,” he screamed, leering frenziedly. “You yellowdevil! You almond-eyed pigtail! But I knowyou do! And I must have it. Quick! quick!” Hehung, clutching, on the edge of Fong Wu’s wide ironing-table,an ashen wreck. Fong Wu shook his head.

With a cry, Barrett came at him and seized hislean throat. “You damned highbinder!” hegasped. “You saddle-nosed monkey! You’ll getme what I want or I’ll give you away. Don’t Iknow why you’re up here in these woods, with yourpretty clothes and your English talk. A-ha! Youbet I do! You’re hiding, and you’re wanted;”—hedropped his voice to a whisper—“the tongs wouldpay head-money for you. If you don’t give it to me,I’ll put every fiend in ’Frisco on your trail.”

Fong Wu had caught Barrett’s wrists. Now hecast him to one side. “Tongs!” he said with ashrug, as if they were beneath his notice. And“Fiends!” he repeated contemptuously, a taunt inhis voice.

The white man had fallen prone and was grovellingweakly. “Oh, I won’t tell on you,” he wailedimploringly. “I won’t, I won’t, Fong Wu; I swearit on my honour.”

Fong Wu grunted and reached to a handy shelf.“I will make a bargain with you,” he said craftily;“first, you are to drink what I wish.”

“Anything! anything!” Barrett cried.

[230]From a box of dry herbs, long untouched, the Chinesedrew out a handful. There was no time forbrewing. Outraged nature demanded instant relief.He dropped them into a bowl, covered them withwater, and stirred swiftly. When the stems andleaves were broken up and well mixed, he strained abrown liquid from them and put it to the other’slips.

“Drink,” he commanded, steadying the shakinghead.

Barrett drank, unquestioning.

Instantly the potion worked. Calmed as if by amiracle, made drowsy to a point where speech wasimpossible, the white man, tortured but a momentbefore, tipped sleepily into Fong Wu’s arms. TheChinese waited until a full effect was secured, whenhe lifted his limp patient to the blanket-covered ironing-table.Then he went out for fuel, built a fire,and, humming softly—with no fear of waking theother—sat down to watch the steeping of moreherbs.

What happened next at the square-fronted housewas the unexpected. Again there was a sound ofapproaching footsteps, again someone gained theporch. But this time there was no pausing to askfor admission, there were no weak requests for aid.A swift hand felt for the knob and found it; a strongarm pushed at the unlocked door. And through it,bareheaded, with burning eyes and blanched cheeks,her heavy riding-whip dangling by a thong from herwrist, came the wife of Anthony Barrett.

Just across the sill she halted and swept the dim[231]room. A moment, and the burning eyes fell uponthe freighted ironing-table. She gave a piercingcry.

Fong Wu neither spoke nor moved.

After the first outburst, she was quiet—the quietthat is deliberative, threatening. Then she slowlyclosed her fingers about the whip butt. Fixing hergaze in passionate anger upon him, she advanceda few steps.

“So it was you,” she said, and her voice was hollow.

To that he made no sign, and even his colourlessface told nothing.

She came forward a little farther, and sucked ina long, deep breath. “You dog of a Chinaman!”she said at last, and struck her riding-skirt.

Fong Wu answered silently. With an imperativegesture, he pointed out the figure on the ironing-table.

She sprang to her husband’s side and bent overhim. Presently she began to murmur to herself.When, finally, she turned, there were tears on herlashes, she was trembling visibly, and she spoke inwhispers.

“Was I wrong?” she demanded brokenly. “Imust have been. He’s not had it; I can tell by hisquick, easy breathing. And his ear has a faintcolour. You are trying to help him! I know! Iknow!”

A gleaming white line showed between the yellowof Fong Wu’s lips. He picked up a rude stool andset it by the table. She sank weakly upon it, lettingthe whip fall.

[232]“Thank God! thank God!” she sobbed prayerfully,and buried her face in her arms.

Throughout the long hours that followed, FongWu, from the room’s shadowy rear, sat watching.He knew sleep did not come to her. For now andthen he saw her shake from head to heel convulsively;as he had seen men in his own country quiver beneaththe scourge of bamboos. Now and then, too, heheard her give a stifled moan, like the protest of adumb creature. But in no other ways did she bareher suffering. Quietly, lest she wake her husband,she fought out the night.

Only once did Fong Wu look away from her.Then, in anger and disgust his eyes shifted to thefigure on the table. “The petal of a plum blossom”—hemuttered in Chinese—“the petal of aplum blossom beneath the hoofs of a pig!” Andagain his eyes dwelt upon the grief-bowed wife.

But when the dawn came stealing up from behindthe purple Sierras, and Mrs. Barrett raised her wanface, he was studiously reviewing his rows of bottles,outwardly unaware of her presence.

“Fong Wu,” she said, in a low voice, “when willhe wake?”

“When he is rested; at sunrise, maybe, or atnoon.”

“And then?”

“He will be feeble. I shall give him more medicine,and he will sleep again.”

He rose and busied himself at the fire. Soon heapproached her, bringing the gold-incrusted teapotand a small, handleless cup.

She drank thirstily, filling and emptying the cup[233]many times. When she was done, she made as ifto go. “I shall see that everything is all rightat home,” she told him. “After that, I shall comeback.” She stooped and kissed her husband tenderly.

Fong Wu opened the door for her, and she passedout. In the road, unhitched, but waiting, stood themustang. She mounted and rode away.

When she returned, not long afterward, she was anew woman. She had bathed her face and donneda fresh waist. Her eyes were alight, and the scarletwas again flaming in her cheeks. Almost cheerfully,and altogether hopefully, she resumed her postat the ironing-table.

It was late in the afternoon before Barrett woke.But he made no attempt to get up, and would noteat. Fong Wu administered another dose of herbs,and without heeding his patient’s expostulations.The latter, after seeking his wife’s hand, once moresank into sleep.

Just before sunset, Fong Wu, who scorned to rest,prepared supper. Gratefully Mrs. Barrett partookof some tender chicken and rice cakes. When darknessshut down, they took up their second long vigil.

But it was not the vigil of the previous night.She was able to think of other things than her husband’scondition and the doom that, of a sudden,had menaced her happiness. Her spirits havingrisen, she was correspondingly impatient of a protracted,oppressive stillness, and looked about foran interruption, and for diversion. Across fromher, a Celestial patrician in his blouse of purplesilk and his red-buttoned cap, sat Fong Wu. Consumed[234]with curiosity—now that she had time to observehim closely—she longed to lift the yellow, expressionlessmask from his face—a face which mighthave patterned that of an Oriental sphinx. At midnight,when he approached the table to satisfy himselfof Barrett’s progress, and to assure her of it,she essayed a conversation.

Glancing up at his laden shelves, she said, “Ihave been noticing your medicines, and how manykinds there seem to be.”

“For each ailment that is visited upon man, earthoffers a cure,” he answered. “Life would be a mockcould Death, unchallenged, take it.”

“True. Have you found in the earth, then, thecure for each ailment of man?”

“For most, yes. They seek yet, where I learnedthe art of healing, an antidote for the cobra’s bite.I know of no other they lack.”

“Where you were taught they must know morethan we of this country know.”

Fong Wu gave his shoulders a characteristicshrug.

“But,” she continued, “you speak English so perfectly.Perhaps you were taught that in this country.”

“No—in England. But the other, I was not.”

“In England! Well!”

“I went there as a young man.”

“But these herbs, these medicines you have—theydid not come from England, did they?”

He smiled. “Some came from the hills at ourback.” Then, crossing to his shelves and reachingup, “This”—he touched a silk-covered package—“is[235]from Sumbawa in the Indian Sea; and this”—hisfinger was upon the cork of a phial—“is fromFeng-shan, Formosa; and other roots are taken inwinter from the lake of Ting-Ting-hu, which is thendry; and still others come from the far mountains ofChamur.”

“Do you know,” Mrs. Barrett said tentatively,“I have always heard that Chinese doctors give horridthings for medicine—sharks’ teeth, frogs’ feet,lizards’ tails, and—and all sorts of dreadful things.”

Fong Wu proffered no enlightenment.

“I am glad,” she went on, “that I have learnedbetter.”

After a while she began again: “Doubtless thereis other wonderful knowledge, besides that aboutdoctoring, which Chinese gentlemen possess.”

Fong Wu gave her a swift glance. “The followersof Laou-Tsze know many things,” he replied,and moved into the shadows as if to close theirtalk.

Toward morning, when he again gave her sometea, she spoke of something that she had been turningover in her mind for hours.

“You would not take money for helping me whenI was hurt,” she said, “and I presume you will refuseto take it for what you are doing now. ButI should like you to know that Mr. Barrett and Iwill always, always be your friends. If”—shelooked across at him, no more a part of his rude surroundings,than was she—“if ever there comes atime when we could be of use to you, you have onlyto tell us. Please remember that.”

“I will remember.”

[236]“I cannot help but feel,” she went on, and witha sincere desire to prove her gratitude, rather thanto pry out any secret of his, “that you do not belonghere—that you are in more trouble than I am.For what can a man of your rank have to do in alittle town like this!”

He was not displeased with her. “The ancientsage,” he said slowly, “mounted himself upon a blackox and disappeared into the western wilderness ofThibet. Doubtless others, too, seek seclusion formuch thinking.”

“But you are not the hermit kind,” she declaredboldly. “You belong to those who stay and fight.Yet here you are, separated from your people andyour people’s graves—alone and sorrowful.”

“As for my living people, they are best withoutme; as for my people dead, I neither worship theirdust nor propitiate devils. The wise one said: ‘Whytalk forever on of men who are long gone?’”

“Yet——” she persisted.

He left the stove and came near her. “You area woman, but you know much. You are right. Myheart is heavy for a thing I cannot do—for the shattereddreams of the men of Hukwang.” He beathis palms together noiselessly, and moved to and froon soft sandals. “Those dreams were of a youngChina that was to take the place of the old—butthat died unborn.”

She followed his words with growing interest. “Ihave heard of those dreams,” she answered; “theywere called ‘reform.’”

“Yes. And now all the dreamers are gone. Theyhad voyaged to glean at Harvard, Yale, Cornell,[237]and in the halls of Oxford. There were ‘five loyaland six learned,’ and they shed their blood at theChen Chih Gate. One there was who died the deaththat is meted a slave at the court of the Son ofHeaven. And one there was”—his face shrank up,as if swiftly aging; his eyes became dark, upturningslits; as one who fears pursuit he cast a look behindhim—“and one there was who escaped beyond theblood-bathed walls of the Hidden City and gainedthe Sumatra Coast. Then, leaving Perak, in theStraits Settlements, he finally set foot upon a shorewhere men, without terror, may reach toward higherthings.”

“And was he followed?” she whispered, comprehending.

“He fled quietly, quietly. For long are the clawsof the she-panther that is crouched on the throneof the Mings.”

Both fell silent. The Chinese went back to thestove, where the fire was dying. The white woman,wide awake, and lost in the myriad of scenes his talehad conjured, sat by the table, for once almost forgetfulof her charge.

The dragging hours of darkness past, AnthonyBarrett found sane consciousness. He was pale,yet strengthened by his long sleep, and he was hungry.Relieved and overjoyed, Mrs. Barrett ministeredto him. When he had eaten and drunk, shehelped him from the table to the stool, and thenceto his feet. Her arm about him, she led him to thedoor. Fong Wu had felt his pulse and it had tickedback the desired message, so he was going home.

“Each night you are to come,” Fong Wu said,[238]as he bade them good-bye. “And soon, very soon,you may go from here to the place from which youcame.”

Mrs. Barrett turned at the door. A plea for pardonin misjudging him, thankfulness for his help,sympathy for his exile—all these shone from hereyes. But words failed her. She held out her hand.

He seemed not to see it; he kept his arms at hissides. A “dog of a Chinaman” had best not takea woman’s hand.

She went out, guiding her husband’s footsteps,and helped him climb upon the mustang from theheight of the narrow porch. Then, taking the horseby the bridle, she moved away down the slope to theroad.

Fong Wu did not follow, but closed the door gentlyand went back to the ironing-table. A handkerchieflay beside it—a dainty linen square that shehad left. He picked it up and held it before himby two corners. From it there wafted a faint, sweetbreath.

Fong Wu let it flutter to the floor. “The perfumeof a plum petal,” he said softly, in English;“the perfume of a plum petal.”

YEE CHU, wife of Yee Wing, sank low beforeher husband, resting her clasped handsupon a knee. “Surely, Kwan-yin, theMerciful, has thought me deserving,” shesaid, “for she has set me down in a place where softwinds blow unceasingly.”

The Powder-man glanced out of the one windowof their little home, past the pot of ragged chrysanthemumsand the white-and-brown pug that held thesill. “I shall burn an offering to her,” he promisedgravely.

“It is so sweetly warm,” she continued, rising andstanding at his side; “though the new year is almostupon us. See, I have put off the band of velvetthat I wear upon my head of a winter, andchanged to these flower-bouquets. Esteemed, will italways be spring-time here?”

Yee Wing’s face lost its expression of studied indifference.He let his look rest upon her hair, blue-black,and held at each side by a cluster of mockjewels; let it travel down to the young face,—aclear, polished white except for deep-carmine toucheson cheeks and eyelids and on the lower lip of thepouting mouth—to the brown eyes, whose charm wasenhanced by a curious little wrinkle just above thedarkened brows, a petulant little wrinkle thatchanged with each passing thought.

[240]“Assuredly,” he answered. “In California, it isalways spring-time, Jasmine Blossom.”

Again she sank, bracelets clinking as her fingersmet. “Just so it is for a good while each year onthe hills of Hupeh, where dwell my illustrious pocketparents. From our hut, during the sunny days, welooked across the tea fields upon groves of bamboo,feather-topped, and rocking gently.”

She stumped to the open door, balancing herselfwith partly outstretched arms. “Am I free to goforth to-day as yesterday?” she inquired over ashoulder. “The green invites, and there be somebeautiful plants yonder, red as the face of the godof war. I can fill the pottery jar.”

“Go,” he bade, “but not over far, lest you tirethe two lilies of gold.”

She smiled back at him tenderly. “I spend myheart upon you,” she said in farewell, and wentbalancing away.

Yee Wing watched her difficult progress acrossthe grassy level that divided the powder-house andhis own habitation from Sather, the solitary littlerailway station of the near-by line. “She hasbrought tranquillity,” he murmured, “Where noware the five causes of disquietude?” And he, too,smiled tenderly.

The week that followed, which was only the secondof the girl-wife’s residence in the new land, foundthe two supremely happy. They had no visitorsother than the superintendent from the works atPinole, and an expressman from Oakland, bearing anorder for a keg of explosive. Yee Wing enjoyedabundant leisure, and he spent it with his bride.[241]They puttered together about the dove-cotes behindthe square, black magazines; they shared the simplecares of their single room; in a comradeship asstrange to their kind as was the civilisation in whichthey had come to live; they sallied forth like twochildren, gathering the fragrant peony, pursuingthe first butterflies.

But one morning there arrived a man of their ownrace. Yee Wing was lolling upon a bench, playingwith the white-and-brown pug. Yee Chu, in purpletrousers and cherry-hued jacket, was sitting upon astool, the gay, tinsel rosettes over each tiny earbobbing merrily as she finished a careful toilet. Thewhite paste had been put on face and throat andcarefully smoothed. Now she was dyeing her longnails and rouging her palms. Of a sudden, a shadowfell across the doorway. The two looked up. Outside,staring in, was a Chinese, his round, black,highbinder hat, silk blouse and dark-blue broadclothbreeches proclaiming him above the coolieclass.

“Stay within,” cautioned the Powder-man, in alow voice. He went out hastily, and closed the doorafter him.

There passed between Yee Wing and his callernone of the elaborate greetings that mark the meetingof two equals. The strange Chinese gave theother a proud nod of the kind that is fit for a foreigndevil, and, with no evasiveness and somethingof the bluntness that characterises the despised white,at once stated his errand.

“I come from the most worthy Bazar-man, towhom you stand in debt to the measure of twenty-five[242]dollars,” he began. “I have to remind youthat to-morrow is New Year’s day. And for youthe sun does not rise unless the sum be paid.”

Yee Wing drew a startled breath. True, to-morrowwould be New Year’s Day! How had it comeso near without his knowing? It found him withoutwhat was due. His very “face”—that preciousthing, appearance—was threatened!

“I am from the South of the Heavenly Empire,”he made haste to answer, catching, as it were, ata saving device. “I am a son of Tang, therefore.Now, with us, there is a custom——”

Without explaining further, he took hold of awooden button upon his cotton blouse and pulled itloose. Then, with profound courtesy, he tendered itto the Collector of Monies.

The latter received it with a courtesy that wasfeigned, withdrawing a covert glance from the partlyscreened window. “A son of Tang,” he repeated.“There be rich men in the South. Now, perhapsyour honoured father—” He paused inquiringly.

Yee Wing understood. In the land of the Sonof Heaven, a father is held strictly responsible forthe obligations of a son. But—the province ofKwangtung was far.

“My poor but excellent father was only a dealerin salt,” he said gravely. “His mound is upon adesolate stretch beside the Yang-tse.” To save anyquestions concerning other male members of thefamily,—who also might be held accountable—headded, “I alone survive to feed and clothe his spiritcontinuously.”

A baleful light shone in the slant, searching eyes,[243]but the words of the Collector of Monies were graciousenough. “Filial piety,” he observed, “hasfirst place among the virtues.” Then, with pompousdeprecation, “My humble parent is but a kouang-fouin the Customs Service of Shanghai.”

Yee Wing lowered his own look in becoming deference.The son of a civil officer carries power.

The stranger now gave a second nod and movedaway,—not, however, without again peering throughthe window; and soon, seated on the dummy of anelectric car, he was spinning out of sight in the directionof Fruitvale.

Yee Wing watched him go, then hastily enteredthe house. Fireworks, for the frightening away ofevil spirits, might not be exploded near the powder.So he sought for a tiny gong and beat it roundly.

“I like not that man’s countenance,” he told YeeChu. “Did you note how he spied upon the place?He is of the sort that would steal food like adog.”

Saying which, the Powder-man beat his gongmore loudly than before, and burned at the entranceto his home handful upon handful of propitiatorypaper.

Tau Lot, Bazar-man, sat behind a little counterof polished ebony. His were the calm, unmoved—andfat—face and the quick, shifting eye of theborn speculator; his, the smooth, long-nailed handsthat do no labor, and that were now toying withone of the Nine Classics. On his head rested atasseled cap. His jacket was of Shang-tung silk,dyed purple. His breeches were of dark crape, tied[244]down upon socks spotlessly white. The shoes thatrested upon the middle rung of his stool were ofvelvet and embroidered.

The Dupont street shop was small, but it held abewildering mass of merchandise. Silk rolls, matting,bronzes, porcelain, brass, carved furniture, lacqueredware, Chinese fans made in Japan, importedpurses worked within a stone’s throw of the store,devil masks, dolls and gowns—gowns of brocade;gowns of plain silk, quilted in finest lines and herring-bonerays and bordered with figured-ribbonbands; gowns of embroidered satin,—mulberry-redwrought with sprigs and circles of flowers, green,with gold thread tracings, black, with silver craneswinging across. Yet though the store was small,and choked to the lantern-hung ceiling, the clerkswere many. Some were ranged behind the row ofshining glass cases, others lounged in a group nearthe rear room entrance. There were honourableyounger brothers here, and honourable cousins, butnot one of a different blood. For Tau Lot thoughtwell of the ancient proverb: When the fire is lighted,all the family should be kept warm.

Outside the bazar was the tall, upright beckoning-boardwith its heavy gold characters on a vermilionground. A Chinese now halted beside it, andglanced casually up and down the street. Then hecame through the door, examining a box of sandalwoodjust within the entrance, leaning over somesilk handkerchiefs at the counter-end. Presently headvanced to the ebony counter.

“Your trifling servant salutes you, Illustrious,”he said.

[245]The Bazar-man scowled. Two hours had he givenup to business—two hours of the three spent sodaily. Soon he would return to the dreams andsleep of the enslaving pipe. And what babble hadChow Loo to say?

“Welcome,” he returned. “Too long you havedeprived me of your instructive speech.”

“My speech is but a breath in my neighbour’sface. Will the Most Noble not lighten the hour withhis voice?”

A party of women tourists came crowding in atthat moment, picking at everything not under cover,pulling at the hanging gowns on the wall, stretchingto see what was behind the cases. Tau Lotlooked them over,—there were five—mentally taggingthem with price-marks. The old woman wasnot worth her keep, the next younger little more,the two thin ones perhaps four hundred——.

“But the round one,” said Chow Loo, keen to seewhat the Bazar-man was thinking.

“Eight hundred, truly,” and the tasselled cap wasgravely wagged.

“So I think, though her feet be as big as thefeet of a Tartar woman.” They surveyed the attractiveyoung lady with the judgment of merchantsboth.

“It nears the time for my going,” said Tau Lot,his Oriental dislike of coming to the point in businessoverweighed by the dread of wasting time that belongedto the pipe. “So what of the collect to-day?”

Chow Loo ran a hand into the pocket of his bluebroadcloth breeches. “From Berkeley, where I led[246]my contemptible way, eighteen dollars,—so muchowed the washer of clothes. From Oakland, six, andthe vender of vegetables sends his lowly greeting.But the Powder-man at Sather was as naked of coinas a robber. See—here is only a button from hiscoat!”

“The debt is owed since the Ninth Moon.”

“So I said—Yes, the round one would be worthfully eight hundred.” The attractive young ladyhad come closer, anxious for a near view of theBazar-man. A clerk accompanied her, advancing atthe farther side of the counter as she advanced, buttaking no trouble to display his wares.

“So I said,” repeated the Collector of Monies.Then, with a meaning glance at the Bazar-man, foran honourable younger brother was at the latter’selbow. “But though he is so miserably poor, hegrows a rose,—one more beautiful than a man ofhis rank should have. In your crowded garden isthere room for another such?”

Instantly, Tau Lot’s slant eyes narrowed in theirslits, his ponderous body lost its attitude of indolence.He stepped down from his stool with alacrity.“You will have a taste of steamed rice,” he said, “—ricesavoured with salt fish—and a cup of hotsamschu at my despicable board.” And he led theway to the rear room.

The Collector of Monies followed, and the twoseated themselves at a table, where a servant broughtfood and rice-wine. And here, nose to nose, theychattered low, gesticulated, haggled.

“How far is it to Sather?” asked the Bazar-man.

“Near to thirty li. One can reach there in an[247]hour.” The Collector of Monies proudly displayeda large, nickel-plated watch.

“But still—the price is too high.”

“O Magnificent One! for a little-foot woman?Her dowry was at the lowest fifty taels. Doubtless,that was what beggared him. She is truly a pickedbeauty, a very pearl.”

“It is settled then. The half will be paid whenthe rose is plucked, the second half when the filthyforeign police accept a commission and promise nointerference.”

At sundown, a few days later, the superintendentat Pinole heard the bell of his telephone summoninghim. The receiver at his ear, he caught the petulant“Well, wait a minnit, can’t y’?” of the operatorand, punctuating it, a weak gasping, as if someone in agony were at the distant transmitter.

“What is it?” demanded the superintendent.“This is Bingham.”

The gasping ceased. A choking voice answeredhim: “Yee Wing, Mista Bingham. Say, my habgot sick bludder—oh, velly sick. Must go SanFlancisco heap quick. S’pose you likee, my can tellolo Chinaman flom Flootvale. He come all light.”

“Yes, old Wah Lee, you mean.” The superintendentknew it would be useless to try to learn thereal cause of Yee Wing’s sudden going or to attemptto stop him.

“Olo Wah Lee,” returned the Powder-man,eagerly. “Say, Mista Bingham, I come back plittysoon. Jessie now, I wanchee know, I no lose myjob?”

[248]“No, Wing, your job’s safe. You attend to thatsick brother and get back as soon as you can.”

“All light. Good-bye,” and the receiver washung up.

In the morning, when the superintendent reachedSather, he found Wah Lee on guard. The oldChinese substitute was stretched upon an army cotby the dove-cotes, the white-and-brown pug besidehim. Yee Wing’s little home was locked. Binghamshaded his eyes and looked in—upon the kitchen,dining and sleeping room in one. Cups and bowlslittered the table. Clothing was tossed here andthere upon the benches and floor. Each drawer ofa high case against the farthest wall had been jerkedout and not replaced.

“Something’s up,” muttered the superintendent.“Well, I knew there’d be trouble when that prettylittle wife came. Wah Lee, what’s the matter withYee Wing?”

“No sabe,” declared the old man, and to everysuggestion returned the same reply.

That day, and the six that followed, found YeeWing in San Francisco, where he walked Chinatowncontinuously,—watching, watching, watching. Andas he travelled, he kept his right hand tucked in hiswide left sleeve, his left hand tucked in the right one.

His way led him always through squalid alleys;narrow, dark alleys, where there were no shops, andno coolies going by with heavy baskets swingingfrom their carrying-poles; but where, from tiny,barred windows, the faces of young Chinese girlslooked out—ivory-yellow faces, wondering, wistful.

[249]Before them, passing and repassing, his own faceupturned, went Yee Wing.

The slave women gazed down at him with littleinterest, their dull eyes, their sullen mouths, bespeakingthe spirit that is broken but still resentful.He could not call to them, could not question,for among them was surely a spy. He could onlypass and repass. Then, to another dark alley, withthe same barred windows, the same wistful faces.Enter one of these places, he dared not, if he hopedto live to save her. The Sam Sings guarding theslave trade—those quick-working knife-men who areas quick to get away from the “foreign devils,”police—had her under guard. He must find outwhere they were keeping her—then match their cunningwith his own.

When the little money he had was exhausted, hevisited a relative—visited him secretly, toward dawnof a morning thick with fog. For anyone who helpedhim, if it were known, would suffer swift and certainpunishment. Here he replenished his pocket. Then,off again. He ate seldom and sparingly, he sleptonly in snatches, hidden away under steps or in abig, empty dry-goods box down in the wholesalesection.

The end of that week saw him rattling throughBurlingame and Palo Alto on his way to San José.There, in the “Garden City,” three days were spentin walking and watching. Then, on to Sacramento,where, half-starved, he stumbled out of the great,roofed station, and made toward the Chinese quarter.Finally, he proceeded north to Portland.

One cold night, a fortnight after Yee Chu’s disappearance,[250]he reached San Francisco once more.It had rained in the north, and his cloth sandalswere pulpy, his wadded, cotton coat was soaked. Hishead was unshaven, too, his queue unkempt fromlong neglect. He was sallow and green-hued.

But there was no surrender in the blood-shot eyes.He began again to haunt the streets of Chinatown.And, late one night, in Waverly Place, under a blowingstreet-lamp, he met one of the two he sought;he came face to face with the Collector of Monies.

Yee Wing’s right hand was tucked in his leftsleeve, his left hand in the right one. The Collectorof Monies had reached to a hind pocket of the bluebroadcloth trousers. But across the grimy court,in the light of a second lamp, a uniformed figurewas idling and swinging a heavy club to and froon a thong. His eye was upon them.

They stopped short, each alert. The face of theCollector of Monies was placid, though he markedthe bulging sleeves of the Powder-man. Yee Wingwas, outwardly, calm too. But his thin upper lip,upon which grew a few straggling hairs, twitcheduncontrollably.

“Where is she hidden?” he demanded.

The other snorted. “She is worth little,” hesaid by way of answer. “She weeps too much.”

The bulge within the sleeves moved. Yee Wingwould have slain then,—but what help could he giveher from a cell of the city prison? He kept himselfin control.

“The Supreme Lord of Heaven,” he said, “pitieseven the mothers of thieves and harlots. He willpity her, though she be defiled. But you—you—vile[251]scurf of lepers—shall die by a thousandcuts.”

The uniformed figure stepped toward them. Atthis, the Collector of Monies took his leave, backingaway from Yee Wing with such ceremony that hisface was still presented when a corner was passed.

Blind with rage and grief, the Powder-man allunconsciously made his way to Commercial street.There, in front of a poultry store, he dropped downto a seat on the curb’s edge. She was in San Francisco!And he was so contemptibly weak that theslave society—the despised hoey—did not even takethe pains to deny it to him; even mocked him withher weeping! His Jasmine Blossom!

His ear was caught by the sound of a petulantsquealing. Across the street was a Chinese, writhingagainst the iron door of a well-lighted building.For all the distance, Yee Wing could see that hisface was ghastly. With a twist of the body, thePowder-man struggled up. Here, to his hand, wasa key with which he could unlock the way!

He hurried over and, as the squirming, loose-jointedfigure lurched violently to one side, rightedit firmly. Then, supporting the stranger, directedtheir course from that thoroughfare to another.

Presently, the pair entered a shop. It was oneof the manufacturing variety, being filled with sewing-machinesbefore which—though the night wasfar advanced—sat their busy operators, at workupon loose, lacey garments of silk and muslin. YeeWing and his charge passed through this outer roomand into a small, darkened one behind.

After a short stay, they came forth again, the[252]Powder-man leading. An incredible change hadcome over the strange Chinese. His eyes were wideand lustrous, he stepped alertly. The two, goingsingle file, after the manner of the Oriental, left theshop and walked rapidly to a near-by square. There,in the shadow of the shaft of the Golden Ship, theysat down, side by side.

“This is my desire,” began Yee Wing, “—youshall find for me a certain woman.” And here, withthe indifference, apparently, of a dealer in flesh, hedescribed Yee Chu. “You cannot mistake her,”he declared. “When your work is finished, leaveword for me with the garment-maker that the woodencandle-stick is mended. Meanwhile, he will serveyour needs.”

Three days, and the message of the mended candle-stickwas left. That night, in the shadow of themonument, the opium fiend disclosed to Yee Wingthe prison place of his wife.

The Powder-man took his hands from his widesleeves. Then, on swift foot, he made off to thegreat, stone yamen of the police.

“Plenty piecee bad man hab got my wife,” hetold the head man.

“Chinks?” asked the “foreign devil.”

“Yessee.”

“Then w’y doan yez jerk out their pigtails?”the other demanded,—but not unkindly, for the thinface and the strained eyes made him conscious ofsomething like pity.

Yee Wing told his story, in the best pidgin-Englishhe could command.

That same night, a gong-wagon came rattling its[253]way into Chinatown. The Sam Sings who loungedat corners here and there watched its progress withunconcern. The wagon was an hourly visitor, sincehere, hutched with the careless Oriental, and out ofthe sight of the clean, was the city’s scum—criminaland unfortunate together.

But all of a sudden there was the sound ofsandalled feet on the run, for the out-post men werescattering to cover. The patrol had turned into acertain squalid alley, had stopped before a certaindoor, above which—black Chinese characters on ascarlet ground—was pasted the legend:

And out of the patrol, axe and pistol in hand,had tumbled a half-dozen stalwart officers,—afterthem, Yee Wing.

There were shrill, warning cries from the street.Shriller cries—the cries of panic-stricken women—answeredfrom the tiny, barred windows above theentrance door. Then, interspersed with lusty Celticcommands, sounded the ring of the axe.

One, two, three minutes—and the bluecoats bursttheir way through the bolted doors and into themain room of the den. Under them, over them, oneither hand, they caught the noise of hurried flight,a frightened rat-like scurrying. Before them was a[254]room dim-lit and heavy with the odour of opiumand incense. Dirty cushions were thrown about.Stools and tables were overturned. To one sidelay a three-stringed banjo. The occupants hadfled.

Not all. Past the cluster of white men sprangYee Wing, across the dark room, to a little huddledheap on the floor beyond. It was she, still wearingthe loose, purple trousers and the cherry-huedjacket. Upon the jacket, circling a bony handlethrust upright, was a growing stain—deeper thancherry hue.

The officers rushed on, doubly eager to track, nowthat there had been a murder. One stayed a momentand would have drawn the weapon from YeeChu’s breast, but Yee Wing would not let him. Withit would go out the last spark of life.

Alone together, the Powder-man did not sink besidehis wife. His face did not show either grief oranger. He only looked at her, his hands hangingloosely at his sides.

Her eyes opened, she saw him, and smiled faintly.“Esteemed,” she whispered, “Esteemed, it is thetime of the tea-harvest!”

He knew that she was thinking of the hills ofHupeh. “Ah, Jasmine Blossom,” he answered,“graceful as a leaf and as sweetly scented.”

She smiled again. “Possessor of All the Virtues,”—hervoice was so low he could scarcely hear—“butI am heavily sick. Forgive me that I cannot liveto be the mother of your first-born.” And, withthat, her eyelids drooped.

They came back into the room then, empty-handed.[255]Quietly, sadly, they gathered about thetwo.

Yee Wing looked around the circle. He spoke noword, but there was a terrible light in his blood-shoteyes. Then, he turned about and went down thestairway. Again, his right hand was in his wide leftsleeve, his left hand in the right one.

The Collector of Monies, making leisurely towardhis favourite barber-shop, was conscious of a figure—almosta shadow, so uncertain was it—that appearedand disappeared behind him. He stoppedevery few feet to look over his shoulder. But,through the ever moving procession of the pavement,he could see no one that seemed to be following.

At the barber-shop, he took a stool lazily. First,a square napkin dipped in hot water freshened faceand palms; next, a few hairs were pulled from hisjowl, and the ear-spoon was wielded. Then he composedhimself for a head-shave. The razoring begun,he watched a group of gaudily dressed children,shouting and gamboling before the door, andas he watched he fingered a long-stemmed pipe,caressing its ivory mouthpiece with his lips.

Of a sudden, through the group of children, tothe great brass bowl at the shop entrance, came afigure. Its dress was ragged and dirty, its queueunkempt. Its right hand was thrust in a wide leftsleeve, the left hand in the right one.

As Chow Loo looked, the right hand was drawnfrom the sleeve and extended toward him. Betweentwo blood-shot eyes was the black bore of a revolver.

Careless of the razor, he sprang up, the keen[256]blade taking him in the scalp. But even as heleaped came the bullet—straight to the mark.

A hue and cry arose, there was a great running,and gathering, a medley of questions, a medley ofanswers, the jostling and the commands of uniformed“foreign devils.” Chow Loo tottered forward,and dropped beside the great brass bowl. Andthere, gazing fixedly up at a lantern that was swinginggently to and fro above the door, the life of theCollector of Monies went out of him.

When Yee Wing arrived at Sather, he foundWah Lee lying in a strip of shade behind the dove-cotes.The old man got up at once, relinquished akey, folded a few belongings into a handkerchief anddeparted down the road to Fruitvale.

The Powder-man looked dumbly about him, at thelittle home, the black-walled magazine, the grassylevel surrounding. Upon the green, the dark-redpeonies were nodding; across it fared the butterflies.

For a long time, he stood. Then, slowly, he wentapart and sat down in a place where he could commandevery approach. Here, hour by hour, hestayed—waiting. Twilight came on. He arose, approachedthe door of his little home, unlocked it, andentered. A silken garment lay close to the sill. Hetook it up, smoothing it with a gentle hand. Atlast, he laid it down. His eye rested upon a photographthat lay among the cups and bowls on thetable. He lifted it tenderly, carried it to the chestof drawers and set it upon end. Before it, in abronze cup of ashes, he put a lighted incense stick.

[257]He leaned against the drawer chest, his foreheadupon a hand. “Mother of the unborn that were toworship my bones!” he faltered.

By now, the twilight had deepened into night.Down the highway leading to Fruitvale, he heardthe barking of a dog. He stole to the window andsat down, a revolver upon his knee.

The dog quieted. A quarter of an hour passed.Then, from the other side, toward Haywards, a secondbarking. He stepped outside, keeping close tothe house. Behind it, among the dove-cotes, hehalted, peering to every side.

A space of time went by. Then, across the levelfrom the railway, three shadows!

Yee Wing sank down and crept noiselessly to thedoor of the magazine, opened it, and stood just withinthe black entrance.

The three shadows were nearer now, but motionless.

Yee Wing called out: “Come, honourable brothers,come. Why wait you yonder?”

The shadows moved, but there was no answer.They separated. One came forward under cover ofthe house; one turned to the right; one to the left.

“Come, brothers, come,” called Yee Wing, again.His voice was light and mocking. “The spoil islarge. You shall take all my possessions with you—thistime.”

The three stopped short. Then, as one, theyturned, fleeing.

Too late! Yee Wing stepped back into the magazine—amatch sputtered up——

The night was split by a great burst of thunder.[258]It went resounding across the salt flats to Alameda,across the bay to the City beside the Gate, it wasbeaten back by the brown Piedmont hills. And withit, as the earth quaked to the sound, the souls ofthree Sam Sings, and of Yee Wing, Powder-man,went forth to join the souls of their ancestors.

“MR. EDWARD HEATON, sir.”

Austin Knowles, sitting alone over hiscoffee and paper, put down his cup andleaned back, an expression of pleasedsurprise lighting his grave face. “Oh,—ask Mr.Heaton to come in here,” he said.

A moment, and the servant ushered in a youngman whose manner, frank and boyishly eager at thethreshold, at once became, on catching sight of theother, more subdued, even somewhat solicitous.

The elder looked up. “Well,” was his kindly greeting,“you’re abroad early. Take a chair. Everythingall right at the building, I hope.”

“Yes, sir,—not a vacancy since McGinn & McGinn,the attorneys, leased. That was two monthsago.” There was a touch of pride in Heaton’s answer.

“You’re the best superintendent I’ve ever had,Ned. I’m more than satisfied with you. And aslong as your good judgment about tenants seemsto have simplified your work at the building, youmay feel you can branch out a little. You knowSparling is leaving me the first of the month.”

“The Montgomery street property!” Heaton’sface crimsoned with pleasure. “Oh, thank you,—I’dlike to try that.”

“Well, we’ll see.” The elder man went back to[260]his coffee, the habitual look of gravity again settling upon his face.

Heaton was a full minute collecting himself.“What I came for this morning,” he began at last,“was a personal matter.”

“Yes?”

“I stayed up Arroyo way over Sunday. Mrs.George Thorburn spoke of you, and asked me tobring you a letter and—and back it up.” He tookan envelope from a pocket, rose and handed it acrossthe table. “Really, I hope you’ll go.” His voicewas deep with earnestness. He honoured AustinKnowles,—and pitied him; for he knew how rarehad been the other’s devotion to the wife now sevenyears dead, how sincere was his mourning for her,and how lonely was his life in that big stone houseon the avenue.

“I’m going up again for the rest of my vacation,”Heaton continued. “And I’ll look for you.”He held out his hand.

The elder man took it. “Perhaps,” he said absent-mindedly.And Heaton passed out.

It was a crested letter, perfumed, and written ina large, modishly angular hand.

Mrs. Thorburn’s invitation was cordial, evenpressing. She wrote that the hills were simplylovely now, and that she just knew her dear Mr.Knowles was awfully fa*gged. So she wanted aboveall things that he should have a fortnight’s vacationat High Court. “Dorothy will be home,” shewent on to say, “and some charming people arevisiting me. You will find your stay restful, I amsure, for you shall do as you choose—except at dinner-time—and[261]read or ride or ramble the days away.Dear Mr. Knowles, do come.”

“Restful”—his thoughts dwelt upon that word.He leaned back, covering his eyes. These sevenyears he had given himself no time for anythingsave work—hard, persistent work that had kept himfrom despair. But it had worn him down. Hisface had thinned, his hair grown grey at the temples,his shoulders rounded, his step become lesselastic. Rest—he needed it. And “to read or rideor ramble” held a promise of pleasure and recuperation.

He lifted his head presently and touched a bell.It was answered by the man-servant, young andsoft of foot, who approached, as Heaton had, withan air at once respectful and anxiously inquiring.

“Did you ring, sir?”

“Yes, Thomas. I’m going out of town for a coupleof weeks. Pack what I’ll need—right off.” Amoment ago, he had wavered over deciding. Now,of a sudden, and almost unaccountably, as thoughroused by a sense of coming freedom, Austin was alleagerness to get away from the lonely house, thewearing office, the noisy town.

“Will you want me to go with you, sir?”

“No,—no, I think not. You may have two weeksfor yourself. Send this wire.” He scribbled a fewwords hastily, then rose.

“Mr. Knowles,—please.” Thomas, having receivedthe telegram, was halted irresolutely at thedoor. “If I may ask, sir, if—if you’d object——”

“What, Thomas?” Austin turned, smiling encouragement.

[262]“I’d—I’d—like to get married, sir, while you’regone. I’d be settled and ready for my duties whenyou came back. It’s a young lady I’ve known agood while, sir, and we could rent that little cottagejust back of here—the one with the nasturtiumsover the porch. Maybe you recall it, sir.”

The smile warmed into kindness. “Marry? Why,of course,” Austin said heartily. “And, I congratulateyou.”

Thomas bowed, fumbling for the knob. “Thankyou, sir,” he said.

A next morning’s train carried Austin Knowlesout of the city and toward the line of brown-greyCalifornia foothills midway of which was the Thorburncountry-place. He watched the towns, fields,gulches and roadways slip swiftly by. The townsgrew smaller and farther apart as the metropolisreceded, the roadways roughened, the fields contracted,the gulches deepened, and the line of foothillstook on a browner tinge. He raised a window,and a breeze swept him, tugging at his hairand bringing to his nostrils the scent of curinggrass. He took a deep breath. He had not hada good smell of the country in, yes, in over sevenyears. The last time, he and Barbara——

The old pain gripped him, stinging his eyes andpaining his throat. His hand slipped into a vest pocketand drew forth a small, round, closed locket,on one side of which, chased delicately, was a lily,upheld between two leaves; on the opposite, an Aand a B, intertwined. He opened it, held it close ina palm, and looked tenderly upon the pictured face.

[263]“Ar-roy-o!”

The trainman’s cry brought him to his feet. Heput the locket away, took up a hand-satchel andhurried out and down. A trap was waiting, incharge of a man in a smart covert livery. Hehanded satchel and checks to a second man, whocame forward from the little depot, climbed to aseat in the trap and was whirled away.

When the trap pulled up, only Mrs. Thorburngreeted him. “The others are at the tennis-court,”she explained, “Dorothy and Hal, Miss Scott—youremember her—the Lamberts, babies and all——”

“Good!” exclaimed Austin.

“And Ned Heaton.” Mrs. Thorburn rathersnapped this out.

“Oh, yes,—Ned,” said Austin, wondering at herasperity.

“Hal’s fond of him,” she added in a tone whichinformed her hearer that she was not.

He met the house-party at luncheon. Miss Scottsat next him and was more pert than usual, owingto the roguish attentions of young Hal, who heldthe end of the table opposite his mother. Acrossfrom Austin, seated between the Lamberts (an ostentatiouslyhappy married couple), was Dorothy.

“How these children grow up!” thought Austin,remembering the romping girl he had seen last inshort frocks—the girl, curiously enough, that hehad somehow expected to meet again. But here shewas a grown woman, slender, pretty, undeniably attractive.He noticed with a feeling of regret thatshe strove to ape her mother’s haughtiness, but succeeded[264]in being merely petulant. Her eyes werepronouncedly eloquent. Were they not too eloquentto be honest?

But these were Austin’s first impressions. Littleby little, as the meal progressed, he altered themconsiderably. Miss Scott’s pertness became intensified,and Dorothy’s reserve was thrown into pleasantcontrast. The Lamberts proved to be extremelyentertaining, and, with Hal, kept the tablealive with good-natured fun. Even Mrs. Thorburnunbent to a degree that was almost kittenish. Presently,Austin responded to the infectious merriment—andfound himself laughing.

Luncheon was long over, tea-time was nearly athand, and Austin, with the young ladies lookinggleefully on, was busily trying to worst Hal at billiards.Suddenly he remembered that Ned Heatonhad not appeared either at luncheon or afterward.

“Oh, he’s staying at the Hamilton ranch, justback of Arroyo,” Hal explained. “Rides over everymorning to help Dorothy lick us at tennis.” Thiswith a sly smile at Miss Scott.

That smile broke up the game. Miss Scottclaimed Hal’s undivided attention, demanding instructionin the handling of a cue; and Dorothy andAustin were driven forth to the lawn.

New guests were added at dinner, and this broughtMiss Dorothy next him. He spoke of a ride. Sheagreed to it enthusiastically; and for an hour anda quarter held forth on horseback-riding and thegrowing popularity of stride-saddles. When dinnerended, and the company strolled out upon thelawn for coffee, she went with him.

[265]It was not until Austin reached his room for thenight that he remembered that twelve hours hadpassed during which all business cares had been forgotten!Yes, and even— He reached for the locket,only to find that he had not changed it from thevest of the suit he had worn throughout the day.The discovery brought a twinge of conscience. Itwas as if he had failed in loyalty to Her.

Dorothy and he had their ride in the morning,and came across Ned Heaton just outside of Arroyo(Dorothy had chosen that direction). Thethree cantered homeward together and breakfastedwith the rest. Then Hal and Austin went back totheir billiards, while Ned and Dorothy, with the Lamberts,sought the tennis-court.

It was the glimpse Austin got of the Lambertsas they went out that started a new train of thoughtfor him. The husband walked close to the wife,smiling into her face and letting a round elbow restin his hand. The sight drove Austin to the woodsbeyond the stables when the billiard-game came toan end. And, once in the woods, he walked aimlessly.Wise Mrs. Thorburn, with her happy coupleand their pretty babies, had accomplished in twenty-fourhours what seven years of grind could not do.

Out among the oaks on the hillside, he sat downin the shade. Before him lay a wooded slope thatfell rapidly to the winding ribbon of the lane. Beyondthe lane, over the inch-wide railroad track andthe rugged little creek, rose other slopes, bare andsmooth and round. Upon them, glistening red-and-whitespecks against the wonderful velvety brown,went cattle. And there was borne to him fromacross the valley the faint, sweet tinkle of a bell.

[266]“It’s like a Keith canvas,” he said, looking atthe great, low-branched oaks with their horny trunksand tufts of mistletoe. He lay back, his head onhis hat, his eyes shut. Here was rest indeed!

The gobble, gobble, gobble of an angry turkey-co*ckdisturbed the quiet. He sat up, watching tothe left, where, through a break in the woods, couldbe seen the long, regular rows of a hillside vineyard.Something was moving at its edge—awoman. He rose to his feet. Even at that distancehe could see that she was young and dark,and dressed in something light and simple. She wasswinging a hat by one hand; the other held a leafybranch; and with hat and branch, she shooed forwardinto the woods a small band of bronze-colouredturkeys.

The birds came straight toward him, and madea pretty sight as they advanced, little and big together,now scattering in an eager search throughthe grass, now rushing together over some loudlyannounced find. Behind them, directing their way,walked the turkey-girl.

She approached so slowly that Austin sat downagain. Presently, he heard her singing, though hecould not distinguish the words or the tune. Throughthe song, punctuating it, sounded the piercing crescendoof young turkeys, cheep, cheep, cheep. Then,song and words became audible; but not understandable,for the approaching herder was singing inItalian.

“The daughter of the farmer,” concluded Austin.Then, “Why, I declare!”

For she was close at hand now, a slender, pliant[267]figure that took the steep path lightly, and hemarked, almost in bewilderment, the beauty of thegirl: her small head set upon a graceful brownthroat; her black hair, crisply curling at the temples;hazel eyes, heavy-lashed, that suggested theyellow pansies he had seen sunning themselves alongthe lane; a straight, delicate nose; and a sweetmouth, brilliantly touched with scarlet.

The mother-birds saw him now and divided topass, uttering startled warnings. She, too, caughtsight of him, and stopped short, covering her surpriseby giving a tardy gobbler an energetic brushwith her hat. Then she looked at him with unconcealedinterest and curiosity.

He took off his hat, at which the turkeys gaveway in renewed fear. “Good-morning,” he said,pleasantly.

“Good-morning,” she answered, speaking withouta trace of foreign accent. Then, waving branchand hat, she passed on, replying to his smile timidly.

He mentioned her at lunch. “Ah!” said Hal;“a-a-ah!” as if he had found something especiallydelectable on his plate. “That’s Vincenza. AndI’ll bet she’s the prettiest girl in California.”

Everyone at the table promptly agreed. Austinfelt something like surprise over this singleness ofopinion. Even Miss Scott and Dorothy came outwith no protesting “buts.” And Mrs. Thorburn—wherewas the heated belittlement that might be expectedof an adoring and excusably ambitiousmother? Did she not realise that here was an eligibleand very likeable young man, and, on the nextranch, an astonishing lovely girl?

[268]But the talk was of something else now, and Vincenzawas forgotten.

That evening, as he was sitting beside Mrs. Thorburnin the music-room, listening to Dorothy’s facilerendering of a Grieg number, the elder woman turnedto him suddenly and rested a hand on his arm.

“I think you’ve been happier than usual thesetwo days,” she said. “Don’t you keep too close toyour work and your home, Mr. Knowles?”

“Work, yes,” answered Austin. “But I canscarcely say that I have a home. It—it is empty.”

“You choose to have it so.” She was frankly reproving.“And yet you’re comparatively young,have means in abundance, and are the kind of manthat sensible young women like.”

Austin was silent a moment. Then he said, “I’veturned forty, and I’ve never thought of filling mywife’s place. Perhaps it’s not gallant to say it,but I’m afraid the place couldn’t be filled.”

“You’re wrong,” began Mrs. Thorburn, decisively.“There are many young women who couldmake you happy, cheer you, look after you—oh,every man needs looking after. And then, a sonor a daughter would give you new interests inlife.”

“That’s true. Somehow, I’ve hardly eventhought of it before, and never spoken of it to anyone.But you are—are sympathy itself.”

“I lost my husband, and I know how it is withyou. I didn’t marry again—I had my dear children.”

Austin nodded. Across the room, still seated beforethe piano, and coaxing something wonderfully[269]pathetic from the long keyboard was Dorothy, adainty picture in her gown of flowing white.

Mrs. Thorburn saw the direction of his look.“Dorothy is never interested in very young men,”she said. “I like to see her evident pleasure in yourcompany. I hope she’ll help to make your stay avery pleasant one. You know, after all, there’s novirtue in continued mourning, in nursing one’sgrief.” Then, quickly, seeing Austin breathe deep,“Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean we shouldforget soon, or forget at all. Only, we’re put onthis earth for happiness—happiness that doesn’tconflict with the happiness of others.”

“Yes,” said Austin; “yes, I’m sure that’s so.”When she got up to move over to the Lamberts,chatting together in a corner, he stayed where hewas. For a second time he was thinking along newlines. This time, however, his thoughts were decidedlydefinite.

“I wonder,” he said to himself, “I wonder howit would have been if I had died and Barbara lived.”The thought of another man in his place came up.“Well, I’d have wished it.” And, presently, whenhe went up to bed, his mind was so engrossed that,for the first time since She had gone, he forgot totake his nightly look at the picture in the roundlocket.

The next morning he and Dorothy rode again.It proved a less entertaining ride than the other.For she was unusually silent, even distrait, and, Austinthought, rather sad. They went beyond Arroyo,as before, and passed the ranch where NedHeaton was staying. But they did not see him,[270]and as the sun had grown unpleasantly warm bythat time, they headed their horses back.

The wistfulness of Dorothy’s eyes, and the littledroop at the corners of her pretty mouth, touchedAustin considerably. “We should have startedearlier,” he said, and, “I’m afraid you’ve overdone.Sha’n’t we rest awhile at the creek?”

But she was hungry, she declared, and gave herhorse a sharp cut with her quirt to put him into agallop. Austin kept alongside, feeling somewhatcontrite. When they reached the house, he helpedher dismount with marked care, and anxiously followedher to the veranda. There she left him, andhe did not see her again till dinner, which fact kepthim waiting about all day, not a little worried.

After dinner, they walked together in the cool.Somehow, Austin came to help her occasionally, takingher by the arm, for the road was gravelled andher slippers were thin. Again she was quiet; again,her eyes were sad, and glistened with what seemedto him to be unshed tears. He was very gentle withher, and won a wan smile now and then, or a quick,grateful look.

When their walk was over, and Dorothy had saidgood-night, Mrs. Thorburn came to sit beside Austin,under the rose-covered pergola. Once more shelaid her hand upon his arm, and again her speechwas full of friendly interest and sympathy, leading,at last, to the subject of a change in Austin’smode of life, and then—to marriage.

There could be no doubt as to her meaning. Sheadmired and respected him. His loyalty to his deadwife was, to her, a sure sign that he would make a[271]loyal husband to a new one. And Dorothy felt so,too.

Later, he held a conference with himself—and feltjust a trifle disappointed at the thought that Mrs.Thorburn was descending to match-making. “PerhapsI would be happier, though,” he said to himself,“and more contented. But—Dorothy istwenty.”

Was there not too wide a gap between their ages?He had always held that youth naturally turned toyouth for happiness; he had always strongly disapprovedof the marriage of May with December,pointing out that such a union never took place whenDecember was poor. But—was forty December?On the other hand, he was not poor.

“But the Thorburns don’t need money,” he saiddecisively. “It wouldn’t be a purchase.” The ideawas so abhorrent that he determinedly put it aside,and fell asleep thinking of possible changes in thedecorations and furnishings of the big, stone houseon the avenue.

The miniature had not been forgotten: he hadpurposely refrained from looking at it.

It was early morning when he awoke and lookedout. The sun was just rising. High Court wasyet asleep. The only moving thing about thegrounds was a gardener, pushing before him a barrowfilled with weeds and tools. Austin dressed hurriedly,and quietly made his way out upon the broadlawn. Then he pulled his soft hat over his eyes,settled his coat, and made off down the carriage road,walking briskly.

To reach the creek was easy. But once on its[272]edge, he looked up at the house and felt that thelong pull back would be less difficult after a refreshingcup of coffee. The thought touched his pride—hadhe grown to be such an old fogy that he musthave his usual breakfast stimulant before makinga little extra physical effort! The town lay up thelevel track. He turned that way.

Breakfast over at the little Mexican restaurant,he started homeward, leaving the tracks, this time,and following a trail that led through a small fieldof alfalfa. When the woods were reached, he settledhimself against a log in the sun, and lookeddown upon the town, toward which a pigmy freighttrain was crawling, and upon the fringed creek andthe small, fenced alfalfa fields bordering the lane.

And then—gobble, gobble, gobble. He glancedalong the trail. Some turkeys were coming intoview, and beyond them, a wide, bobbing hat.

When Vincenza appeared, driving the laziest gobblerbefore her, Austin rose. “Out early with yourturkeys, I see,” he began. “You’re Miss Vincenza.Mrs. Thorburn has spoken of you. I’m staying atHigh Court for a few days.”

She had been standing very still while he talked,modestly watching him. Now, she smiled frankly,and nodded. “Yes, I know Mrs. Thorburn,” shesaid. “All the time, ladies and gentlemen comefrom the city to visit her. Sometimes I see them—Igo up to the house to take a turkey, maybe, andthen I see them on the porch.”

She moved away, following the flock, and hewalked with her. They went slowly, accommodatingthemselves to the vagaries of the leading hens, whose[273]slender chicks, forever cheeping shrilly, ran on andon in a little brown, eager brood.

“Isn’t the morning beautiful!” he said. “I livein the city, you know, and never see the sun comeup.”

“I always see it,” she answered. “I drive theturkeys out early. They are in a coop at night,for the coyotes would like to eat them. When theyget loose, oh, they walk and walk. They walk myfeet off!” She shook her head in mock despair.

They paused now, the foremost turkeys havingstopped to explore a manzanita thicket. Austintook a closer look at her than he had had before,his wonder growing over her delicate beauty. Neverhad he seen its equal. And yet she seemed unconsciousof it, and had none of the smirking and simperingand obvious showing-off of her prettinessthat marred most girls. Then, for some reason,there rose up before him a certain, doll-like face,pretty and petulant, but distinguished by eyes thatwere purposefully eloquent.

The hazel pair at hand were watching the valley.Austin looked and saw a horseman threading thelane by the creek. At that great distance, the horselooked to him scarcely more than a rabbit in size.

Vincenza’s face lighted as she looked. “Ah!”she exclaimed presently; “it is Guido!” And shapingher slim hands to form a mouth-trumpet, shesent down a long, clear halloo.

The horseman reined sharply and, taking off hishat, waved it about his head. Then he rode on,with a trail of dust rising like smoke behind him.

Between the galloping horseman and the hill, two[274]people on foot were moving slowly. Austin studiedthem a moment. One was a woman, in a white dress,the other a man—Heaton, surely, for there was nomistaking that broad sombrero. But who was thegirl?

Vincenza now hurried forward, all anxiety for herflock. “Fantana,” she called, “oh, where are thebabies?” Spying them out, all safe, she came backto give the ever-lagging gobbler a smart cuff.“Why, why do you not stay with the little ones andtake care of them?” she demanded in a scold. “Youbad Dewey!”

Austin was delighted. He gave over watching thecouple in the valley and helped her circle the flockand keep them from spreading. Then, together,they freed a little turk that had tangled his over-longlegs among some vines.

The next four days passed with amazing swiftnessfor Austin. His mornings were spent among theoaks upon the hill, where the turkeys never failedto make their appearance. He took a shotgun withhim, Hal having suggested that the ranch couldspare an occasional coyote or rabbit—or even a wildcat!But the afternoons were devoted to HighCourt, and billiards or bridge made the warm hoursgo quickly. In the evening there was a drive, perhaps,or a stroll.

As a rule, after dinner, Austin walked with Dorothy,the others rather pairing off or grouping sothat this might be the case. One night, however,toward the end of his stay, Miss Scott fell to hislot. The first half-hour with her he contrived tospend agreeably. Once you knew her, he had come[275]to think, she was really a nice enough girl. Herpertness grew out of her natural sharpness ratherthan out of any intent to be caustic or malicious.But—did it?

They had arrived at a palm-bordered turn inthe road that led to the valley. There they paused,looking back at the low, white house, the wide windowsof which were all brilliantly alight.

“Isn’t it a delightful home?” said Austin. “Sosimple, yet it would be hard to find a detail thatcould be improved.”

“There is one, though,” retorted Miss Scott.“Only you can’t see—a mortgage.” The expressionof her face, it was as if she had winked, carriedfull meaning.

It worked like a sudden poison. Now Austinunderstood Hal’s apparently enthusiastic liking forhim; now he understood Mrs. Thorburn’s well-veiledwishes and friendly pats upon his arm; now he understoodDorothy, sulky at times, at others over-cordial,in fact, gushing, and always so eloquent ofeye.

But could he give unquestioning belief to the mereinsinuation of a sharp-tongued envious girl? Whatright had he, on such flimsy evidence, to jump tothe conclusion that the Thorburns, mother and son,were cold-blooded bargainers; that Dorothy, in hersweeter moods, was acting a crafty lie?

As he walked silently homeward, he was forcedto acknowledge to himself that he had not an inklingas to what were the girl’s true inclinations. Herartificial life, and her training under false standards,made it possible for her to mask her real self. If[276]there were no one to influence her, would she seekher happiness with him?

His meeting with Vincenza next morning was likea breath of scented air after a stifling room. Shedid not know of his wealth, she did not parade herbeauty, she was not hunting a human bank. If itwere a question of what were her feelings, how easily,how unerringly, it could be answered! For whatshe said came straight from her innocent heart, andcould be accepted absolutely. She was truth itself.

While they sat together under a broad live-oak,with the turkeys settled down near by in the sun,he listened with keen pleasure to her naïve chatterand to the sturdy announcement that she was goingto the city—soon, too, this with a blush, and thateven now she was having a “tailor-suit” made forher journey.

“A tailor-suit!” thought Austin, almost laughingat the ridiculousness of it. She seemed so fittedto the simple print dress and the broad sun-hat shewas wearing.

The following day he breakfasted before the othersand hurried off eagerly, carrying the gun. Hehad never fired it yet, but it served as an excellentexcuse for his long rambles. When he reached theoak grove on the hillside, he leaned the weaponagainst a tree. Then he stretched himself out, hissoft hat under his head.

Vincenza—in the last twenty-four hours, howoften the thought of her had come to him! Whata contrast this girl of the fields was to DorothyThorbum! How winsome, how unaffected. Shewas a little woman to be prized as a jewel by a fortunate[277]man. How disinterested her companionshipwith him had been! She liked him solely for himself—withno knowledge, and, therefore, no thought,of the big stone house that would be a veritablepalace of fairyland to a girl like her; with nothought of fine raiment, or of luxuries of anysort.

Something moved in the chaparral clump abovehim. He turned, and saw two small brown-featheredbirds emerge.

“Quail!” he said under his breath. He reachedfor the gun, aimed quickly, and fired.

Instantly mingled cries went up: the frightenedgobbling of grown turkeys, the pitiful cheeps of ayoung bird as it tumbled about in the grass, and,louder than these, the wailing plea of a girl—“Oh!oh! don’t shoot!”

Then, racing down upon him, came Vincenza, herhat gone, her dark hair flying, her face white withanxiety for her flock.

There he stood, red-handed, the gun in his grasp,the injured chick at his feet.

She saw the little crumpled victim now, and witha pitiful sob sank down and took it into her lap.“Ah! poor Maria!” she wept, smoothing a stainedwing.

“Vincenza,” pleaded Austin, putting the gunaside and kneeling beside her, “I didn’t mean to doit. I thought it was a quail. Oh, I’m so sorry.Listen. I’ll make the loss up a thousand times.Come, please don’t cry.”

The chaparral crashed above him. He stood up—intime to meet the angry black eyes of a stalwart[278]young man, who came panting upon the scene, carryingVincenza’s hat.

“What’s the matter?” demanded the newcomer.“My Vincenza, are you hurt? This fool has beenshooting.” And lifting the girl up, he held her,as if in defence, against his breast. [Instantly Austindivined why the mistress of High Court had noneed to belittle the turkey-girl!]

“No, no, Guido,” Vincenza sobbed protestingly,“he is not a fool.”

“He kills the turkeys,” went on Guido, glaringat Austin. “Say, Mister, what’s the matter withyou?”

“I’ll make it right,” Austin answered in a lowvoice.

“The devil!” began Guido, almost shaking Vincenzain his wrath. “But she loves each littleone.”

Vincenza interrupted him. A slim hand came upand settled determinedly upon his mouth. “Guido,”she entreated, “do not be so mad. I would haveto sell them all before the wedding, would I not?And Maria was so young—she was not worth two-bits.Only”—plaintively—“she dies a littlesooner.”

“Well, anyhow,” went on Guido, not a whit pacified,“I like to know why you hang around andhang around here all the time. Vincenza, she ismine, and I do not——”

Again, the girl interrupted. This time, shestepped back a little, holding her lover at arm’slength and smiling at him through her tears. “Oh,poor Guido,” she cried teasingly, with a swift look[279]toward Austin. “What you think? He is jealous!And of this kind old gentleman!”

Austin involuntarily straightened, and his headjerked back as if from a blow. The doubts thathad troubled him were settled. Truth had spoken.

He took out a bulging leather purse, opened it,and let a dozen shining fives run into his hand. Then,his sensitive face pale, his look subdued, he held outthe money to Guido.

The young Italian received it with something shortof a bow, and proffered it to Vincenza. “Here,”he said soothingly.

Vincenza, black lashes still wet, gazed in wondermentupon the little pile of coins. “Oh!” she cried,“but Maria was not worth so much!”

Austin picked up the gun, buttoned his coat, andreturned Guido’s bow. “It is partly a—a littlewedding gift,” he said. “And I wish you both allthe happiness that life can give. Good-day.” Helifted his hat and wheeled.

At that moment he saw, halted in a well-screenedturn of the distant road by the creek, two figures.One was slender and dressed in white, and one wastopped by a wide sombrero. And, as he looked, thewhite-clad figure was suddenly caught close to theother—so close that two heads were shielded by thesame broad hat.

“Well,” said Austin, at luncheon, smiling uponhis hostess, “I go back to town to-day.”

Mrs. Thorburn’s face, until now wreathed insmiles that were marvels of effusive amiability,dropped as suddenly as if a rough hand had been[280]drawn down across it; then it slowly reddened, andtwo eyes, startled, even apprehensive, exchanged aglance with Hal.

“Nonsense!” cried the son of the house, leaningtoward Austin. “We can’t let you go—that’s allthere is about it. Ned here is off in the morning,and—and we can’t afford to lose anyone else. Canwe, mother?”

By now Mrs. Thorburn had recovered somewhatfrom her momentary surprise. Once more beamingamiably, she shook a finger at Austin in playfulsternness. “I protest,” she said. “No, no, youcan’t go. We all protest. Dorothy——”

“Yes, indeed,” chimed in the girl, but with illyfeigned enthusiasm. “Why—why should you go?”

“I’ve got such a lot to do,” explained Austin.“You know Thomas—the man that’s been with mesuch a long time. He’s just been married, and Iwant to attend to a wedding-present for him.”

“The idea of your hurrying away to look aftera servant’s comfort,” cooed Mrs. Thorburn, “whenyou need rest so badly yourself.”

“I think you’re right,” admitted Austin, airily.“I’m not as young as I was once.”

“Not so young!” repeated Mrs. Thorburn. “Oh,how ridiculous!” And, “Bosh!” added Hal. ButDorothy said nothing, only coloured, as if in guilt.Ned was watching her, his boyish face set, his eyeshalf closed. The Lamberts alone were concernedwith their luncheon. Miss Scott was all attention.Her sharp chin was up, her sharper eyes travellingalertly.

“Yes, not so young,” continued Austin, jovially.[281]“In fact, I’m nothing less than an old gentleman.”He gave a hearty laugh.

Mrs. Thorburn shifted uneasily. His demeanourhad in it an entirely strange note. The subdued,seemingly pliable Austin she understood. But whatof this new one, changed all at once—more youthful,cheery and dominating?

“You know, these two weeks, I’ve had time totake stock of myself,” Austin continued. “I wasin a groove. Well, travelling over these hills hastaught me the value of change and recreation. I’mgoing back to town to settle things up so that Ican get away to Europe for a long vacation. I’mafraid that means more work for you, Ned.”

The young man looked back at him soberly.“Yes, sir?”

“Sort of a manager. What do you say?”

For a moment there was perfect silence; next, ageneral movement; then—Dorothy’s fork fell fromher hand and clattered upon a plate.

“Manager,” repeated Heaton.

The older man nodded, and smiled from one toanother of the circle. When he came to Dorothy,he saw a face from which petulance and pretencewere gone. Her eyes, as they met his, were as childishlyhonest as Vincenza’s own. And they were shiningwith tears.

“And while I’m away you could take care of myhouse, Ned, if—if you weren’t a single man.”

Again, a perfect silence, a silence almost electric.Hal and his mother exchanged a second swift glance.Miss Scott leaned forward. She looked at no one,and spoke with sly triumph.

[282]“Congratulations,” she said.

With Arroyo far behind, and High Court only awhite dot upon the brown-grey hills, Austin turnedfrom the car window, took out the round locket andopened it. In his face there was none of the oldpain. Instead, he looked with a tender smile uponthe pictured face of his wife.

“Barbara,” he said, “the spring of youth—itnever could be found a second time. We drank fromit together—we enjoyed it to the full. What a mistake—mourninginstead of exulting in the memoryof it—a memory that no one can take from me—ofyouth with you, dearest, of youth with you!”

STRANGE things are related of the old Indianpueblo of Los Morales on the Rio Grande.And a tale that is one of the strangest concernsthese—a dark vaquero—a youngpainter of Indians, fair as the vaquero was dark—ablue-eyed girl with a spotted mustang—a littlefather of the chapel of San Felipe—a dove that wasa peaco*ck—a peaco*ck that was a living example—adeer fed on flowers—and an empty belfry thatsounded forth the ringing of a bell.

“Ah-ah,” said Father José, pausing in the midstof his salad-making to listen, “—more trouble!”

The young man at the easel looked up. “Gracious!”he exclaimed, and faced about to peerthrough the low, wide-ledged window of the kitchen.“It sounds serious.”

“But it is only Anastacio and Paloma,” said thefather wearily. He trotted across the worn floorto fetch a deep white-and-gold dish from his cupboard.Returning, he held the dish up. “It wasmy mother’s,” he explained proudly, “—like allthose upon the shelf. She had a full set of porcelain.And my salads are always most palatable inthis dish.”

“Paloma,” repeated the painter, with a fleetglance at the dish. “That means a dove.”

[284]“Yes—and I christened her. But, ah! SeñorJohn, when a Spanish girl is yet a baby, how is itpossible to know what name she should be given?A dove!”

At this juncture the quarrel without waxed moreloud and furious. A girl shrilled something taunting—overand over, in a high key—then, the rumbleof a man’s deep growling answered—next, both voicessounded together—a very discord of wrath.

“I’d like to get Anastacio to sit for me,” said thepainter. “I could call it ‘The Brigand.’ Whatdo you suppose the trouble is this time?”

The father was intent upon his salad. In the bottomof the white-and-gold dish he laid a slice ofbuttered bread well rubbed with garlic—this for afoundation, as it were. Then upon the bread, leaflaid against leaf, so that the effect was that of ahuge green rose, he placed the lettuce, all glisteningwith its dressing of oil and vinegar; and a-top thelettuce, thin circles of silvery onion.

“I do not ask,” he said presently, “because itis not necessary to ask. I hear it all at confession.”

Señor John smiled, and came back to his painting.

“If it is something wicked that Paloma has done,”resumed the father, “I know even before that. Forshe comes to bring me a custard.”

The next moment, the low blue door beside thewindow was struck so violently from without thatit slammed open with a bang against the corner ofFather José’s china-cupboard. Then over thethreshold on swift foot came a girl, her angry faceivory-pale in contrast with her black eyes and wildlytossed black hair. “But I love the deer!” she burst[285]forth pantingly, as she paused before the father;“and I will not give him away. And if I cannothave him at the new house, then I shall notmarry.”

The father had been standing with one hand uponhis cupboard to steady it, for the bang of the doorhad set all his precious porcelain to rattling. Now,by a rolling of his eyes, a pursing of his lips, and asidewise wagging of his head, he directed the girl’slook toward the easel.

She half whirled, and a sudden tinge of coralupon cheek and lip relieved the black and ivory.“O-o-oh!” she murmured, and fell back a step.

Señor John rose, bowing over his palette and brush.

“This gentleman,” explained Father José, “isSeñor John Gordon. He is staying on the otherside of the river, at the rancho of Señor Allen. Andhe comes here to paint pictures.”

Paloma regarded the stranger in silence for a moment.Then, “He—he will think I am a cross girl,”she began regretfully. “But it is Anastacio thatgives me the temper. One day,”—advancing a little—“heis all kind looks, Señor, and he says whatis nice. Next day, he is all bad looks, and theserape is over his ears—ugh! One can never tellhow he will be. He is worse for changing than thesand of the river. Yes. And now he wishes backthe ring! What do you think, padrecito?” Sheheld out her left hand with a quick gesture. Uponthe slender third finger of it, milk-white against thecreamy smoothness of her skin, shone a single largepearl. “It cost him fifty dollars!”—this triumphantly.

[286]“Well! well!” said Señor John, coming forwardto get a better look.

“You think that much?” said Paloma. “So itis. But I would not wear a turquoise or a garnet,such as are picked up by the Indians not so far away—andI would not wear beaten silver, as do thesquaws. No—my pearl, you see, is set in gold, andit was bought in Albuquerque, at the store that hashigh, glass windows.”

“Indeed?” questioned the painter, even more impressed.

“But whatever it cost,” went on Paloma, “Anastacioshall not have it back. What is given, isgiven. It is not my fault that he cannot love mypretty Miguel. I said to him, ‘The good fatherhas a peaco*ck. And I——’”

Father José held up a hand to interrupt her. “Mypeaco*ck serves as a lesson to my Indians,” he said.“He is a living example of all that is least to bedesired. He is beautiful, but useless; he talksloudly, but does nothing; he struts, but goes nowhere;he eats much, yet—since he is old—his fleshis not even good for food. Vain and ostentatiousbird!—his life is a warning.”

Paloma had scarcely heard him, having been waitinga chance to speak again. Now she continuedpromptly, mimicking her lover: “‘Miguel will takeall your time,’ Anastacio complains. Well,”—argumentatively—“Miguelmust be watched, else thedogs will chase him. Has not Anastacio said (morethan once, señor,) that he himself is certain the dogswill do away with Miguel? So! And if I were notwatching the little one, what then should I do?[287]Make mud dishes?—like the Indians? Hah! Thatfor what Anastacio thinks! The pig!” Again shethrew out her hand—with a loud snap of her fingers.

“Hush!” whispered the father. “He is there.”He pointed through the window.

“A-a-ah!” It was a purr. With a sudden stepaside, and a sway of her shoulders, she looked pastthe young painter. “He is waiting for me!” shecried. “But I shall not go. No! I think that Ieven do not like him any more, and I may not marryhim after all. He thinks himself so handsome! Puf!—withthat moustache of his, like a bird’s-nest!”And she threw back her tumbled head, and shook herblack hair and laughed aloud.

Close by, and built at right angles to the rear wallof Father José’s own house, rose the north wall ofthe chapel of San Felipe—a mud wall, up whichsome vines straggled. Against the vines, andhalf-screened by them, leaned a blanket-wrappedfigure.

Now, Paloma neared the window, but without lookingout, and sat down on the wide ledge, so thatshe was in full sight of the waiting man by the wall.Then, she turned to Señor John’s easel with a greatshow of interest. “You are making a picture ofLos Morales!” she began. “Am I not quick atguessing? You see it could not be Albuquerque, foryou have put flat roofs on the houses. And it is notold Albuquerque, because—oh, padrecito! here isyour house, and the garden, and the church withthe little tower! Paint a bell in the tower, señor,since we have none.” And she smiled up at SeñorJohn saucily.

[288]“My daughter!” chided Father José, almoststernly, “do not jest of the bell!”

“So there was a bell—once,” said the youngpainter.

The father folded a damp napkin, covered hissalad, and set the white-and-gold dish away carefullyon a shelf. Then he came over and stood besidethe easel, one slender hand clasping the other,and both held against the jet cross that swung onhis breast. He was short and lean, with straight,white hair; a pale, bulging, bald forehead; a highnose; thin cheeks—upon each a spot of scarlet; anddark eyes that were on occasions alive with almostchildish fun, nearly extinguished by laughter andas full of glints as the big, shining, brown-blackbeads of his rosary, but which, at other times, werewide, serene, and luminous.

“It was when there were mulberry-trees here bythe river,” he began, “—the trees that gave thepueblo its name. There are some who say that mulberry-treeswere never here; or, if trees were indeedhere, they were only of the cottonwood. Butthese doubters think also”—a gentle smile partedhis lips—“that the silver bell of Los Morales is onlya legend.”

“The silver bell,” repeated Señor John.

“Aye, silver,” answered the father sadly; “thatis why it hangs no longer in the tower of San Felipe.Alas! my belfry is a pierced ear from which thejewel has been torn.” And his head bent to hishands. After a moment he raised his face, andraised his hands so that they pressed one palmagainst the other, at his chin. “It came to be lost[289]through greed,” he went on. “A wandering bandof Indians crossed the Rio Grande at this ford andattacked the pueblo. That was many, many yearsago. The band came to steal, for they were hungry—nothaving been wise, Paloma, and providedthemselves against a day of need. They foughtfrom the ground, for they had no horses, and thePueblos fought from the flat roofs of their houses,sending sharp arrows down upon their enemies.These, before they were fully routed, withdrew fromthe town, and sought a brief refuge in the chapel,and here, in this house. They demanded money,but there was no money to give them, and so thebrave priest said. They did not harm the man ofGod. But they climbed to the belfry. There wasthe bell. They knew there was silver in it, else theywould not have troubled. There was much silverin it, señor, it having been made in Old Mexico,where the custom was to use silver. The bell waseasy to take. It swung in no yoke, but from a roundish,wooden beam, by heavy thongs that were runthrough its iron loop. These thongs they cut, andthen——” The scarlet spots on his thin cheeksblanched, his eyes became round pools of glowingblack. “Señor, a storm broke—a storm the like ofwhich Los Morales had never before seen. Rainlike a second deluge, so that the Rio Grande deepenedon its bed, and wind so strong that it caughtup the water of the river and lashed the groundwith it, and carried waves up to the edge of thetown—aye, even to the foot of the dirt-cliffs beyond.The thieves in the chapel were frightened—not becausethey saw what a terrible thing it was they[290]had done, señor, only because they believed theymight not get safely away with their lives. So theyhurried down to the river, six men carrying the bell,and started to cross. As they entered the streamthe silver tongue was swinging to and fro, to andfro, calling a farewell through the storm. And theIndians on the housetops called back to their belovedbell, answering it, and they wept aloud.”

Here, the father’s voice faltered, broke, and wentsilent. He shut his eyes, and his slender handstrembled. But presently, he again looked up atthe two who were listening. “Then, as the bell waschoked into dumbness by the rushing waters,” he said,“the six who bore it suddenly sank from sight. Theyhad walked into a very pit of death!”

“How?” questioned the young painter.

“The quicksands, señor.”

“The quicksands!”

“You should know that for all its shallow depth,the Rio Grande is here most treacherous, and travellerskeep to the ford. The sands shift, señor—thebed of the river rots.”

“And the silver bell—it was never heard ofa*gain?”

“Listen! and I will tell you. One black night,long before I came to Los Morales, a second bandof thieving Indians crept up across the level groundbeyond the river—across the ground where standsthe hacienda in which you stay, Señor John. Beforeentering the ford the band halted to get ready theirarrows, for they meant to take the town and driveout all the inhabitants. But see what happened!Scarcely had the enemy pushed their horses into the[291]water at the farther side when the priest who livedhere then wakened of a sudden. It seemed to himthat from overhead had sounded a warning—thesingle clear peal of a bell!”

Paloma crossed herself. Her dark eyes were wet.“Ah! padrecito!” she said softly. “I would prayfor the return of the silver bell were I not toowicked.”

“I pray,” said the father, “and my faith doesnot falter. Ah! señor! when the bell is restored toits tower, I shall waken the town with its mellow callto prayer! The Indians come but slowly to thechapel now. But think how musically sweet andinviting——”

He was interrupted by the slow, dull thub, thub,thub of a drum, which was beating from somewherein the direction of the pueblo. He nodded gravely.“That is what calls my people, señor,” he said.“Little wonder that they lag.”

The drum had brought Paloma to her feet. “Thenoon service, and so much yet left undone!” shecried. She gave a backward nod to Señor John,caught up one of the father’s hands upon her wrist,dutifully kissed it, and went out the door throughwhich she had come.

“That warning in the night,” said the youngpainter, “—it saved the town?”

“Yes.” The father went to the window andleaned his hands on the sill. “Little wonder thatthey lag,” he said again, as if to himself. Then,to Señor John: “See!—for I am an old man andmy eyes are poor—is that Roberta Allen? She doesnot know fear of the ford.”

[292]The young man also looked out. A girl wasslowly passing, mounted on a spotted mustang thatwas wet to his hocks. She was a slender girl, inlaced boots, a riding-skirt, and a waist of some thin,white stuff that the wind fluttered. She peered inthrough the window—a sailor hat shielding her facefrom the glare on the adobe wall, and her blue eyesfixed themselves eagerly upon Señor John.

“Yes, father,” answered the young painter, andhe smiled and bowed to the girl. Having watchedafter the spotted mustang for a moment, he turnedto look the opposite way, where a bobbing blackhead showed above the untidy board fence that surroundeda near-by house. “Paloma is very beautiful,”he added presently.

The father was searching in the wide seat of hiscane armchair. “Aye, señor,” he admitted. “Butoften a pink dulce has a black pulp.”

“What a contrast to Miss Allen!” the other wenton. The spotted mustang was entering the windingstreet of the pueblo.

The father had found his book, and now pauseda moment, his hand on the door-latch. “My peaco*ck,señor,” he said, “does not mean to be vain.But he cares only for the bright feathers that hangupon his body, and he loves to strut. But, Roberta,she is wise and modest, I think.” And he went out.

When Father José had disappeared through theside entrance of the chapel, Señor John opened thefront door of the kitchen and stepped down to theflat stone that lay just before it. The front dooropened on the father’s garden—the only garden inthe whole of Los Morales. Two feet of paved walk[293]divided the garden and led from the door toa weathered picket-gate. All the wide cracks ofthis walk were well weeded and neatly filled withtrowel-marked adobe, and on either side of the walkstretched small squares of bright green lawn.Across these squares now, and across the stone walk,the father’s peaco*ck was strutting, from the rose-bushesthat stood against the pickets on one handto the sweet-pea vines that screened the fence onthe other. And, as he paraded, the sun glancedupon his crested head, brilliantly blue breast, andthe green-and-gold semicircle of his tail plumage.

The young painter was still watching the birdwhen his ear caught a song not from the chapel. Agirl’s voice was singing it—a clear voice, if a littleloud:

The voice neared, repeating the words but somewhatdisconnectedly. Then, “Go on!” cried thevoice impatiently, breaking off the song. “Must Icarry you!”

The next moment Paloma came into view beyondthe pickets at the corner of the kitchen. A scarletshawl was thrown about her shoulders, and she washalf-leading, half-shoving a young deer. The deerwas a full-eyed creature, nimble and strong. Andnow it butted with its sharp horns, and now struckout swiftly with alternating front and hind feet.

“Open the gate,” called Paloma. “Miguel doesnot wish to come in. But how shall he get grass[294]except when Father José is in the chapel? Go on,you beast!”

The young painter hastened to the gate.

“Shove and lead and coax!” scolded Paloma, puffing.“Once I could do anything with him. Butnow he is getting too big. There! Now he’s in!”

“But, look!” cried Señor John. “He’s tearingthe roses!”

“My life!” exclaimed the girl, hastening forwardacross the grass. “Stop it, Miguel! Stop it! Oh,you sinful one!”

But as fast as she drove him away, Miguel returnedto the rose-bushes, circling the strutting peaco*ckwith little leaps. After him raced Paloma.And as she ran, she shrieked with laughter and threwbits of dirt at the deer.

“Oh, I am dying for breath!” she called. “Heknows the roses are choice, you see! Is he not beautiful!Who could help but love him!”

The last was aimed at a figure approaching fromthe town. It was Anastacio, bound riverward, hisserape so far across his face that only his gleamingeyes showed from under his wide and heavy sombrero.He strode past slowly, those eyes now uponSeñor John, now upon Paloma and the running deer.Behind him, riding at a distance, came the girl onthe spotted mustang.

Paloma redoubled her laughter and her merrycries and Señor John joined his laughter to hers andleaned his arms on the pickets of the gate. Shecalled upon him to testify that Miguel was a verygoat. She pursued the little animal more fleetly,lashing out at him so smartly with a broken rose-spray[295]that the peaco*ck retired to the wide stone-step,and let fall the glory of his train. Aroundand around she tore, her cheeks scarlet as her shoulder-shawl,her black eyes dancing, her hair whippingout behind, her teeth gleaming like a score ofpearls as white as that one in her ring.

All at once, spent with her running and shouting,and almost choking with her mirth, she turned tothe gate to find that Señor John was no longer there,but was now standing between the garden and theriver, talking to the girl on the spotted mustang;while Anastacio had disappeared entirely—under thehigh bank that stood back from the stripof gently sloping beach. Paloma’s face fell, hereyes stared, her head came up resentfully. Thenshe walked over to Miguel, seized him by a narrowstrap about his neck, gave him a cuff to quiet him,and jerked him, struggling, out of the yard.

It happened the very next morning. Señor Johnwas in the garden, sketching the peaco*ck, and hummingthe song of the sun and the moon and the veilas he sketched, and Father José was close by, busywith the roses, a violet-bordered square of black silktied over his ears, and his hands full of dislodgedpickets and lengths of string. Suddenly they heardthe screams of a girl—screams sharp with grief—then,wild broken cries—“Padre! Oh! oh! Mamita!Dios! It is blood!”

“Señor John!” called the father. “Somethingunlucky has befallen Miguel. Come!”

They hurried into the kitchen by one door and[296]out of it by another and along the path that ledback of the chapel. A middle-aged lady was standingbeside the path—a bareheaded, fat lady, whoseface, though gentle and somewhat dirty, suggestedthe round face of Paloma; with her was Paloma—herhead upon her mother’s breast, and her formshaking with tempestuous sobs. At their feet, onthe smooth-packed ground, was a little round darkpool.

“It is as I feared,” said the father, when hestopped and looked down. “Here are some yellow-greyhairs, and here, cloven hoof-marks.”

Paloma, seeing out of one eye that Señor Johnwas present, now began to wail more vigorously thanbefore. “O my Miguel!” she exclaimed. “Youwere so pretty and so good! O padrecito, he butpruned the roses!”

Her mother wept, too, but silently, and strove tosooth Paloma by patting her on the shoulder. Herown tears she dried against the scarlet shawl, aftershe had smiled a sad greeting through them.

“Do not cry,” said Father José, wiping surreptitiouslyat his cheeks with a flowing corner of thesilk square.

“Because Miguel isn’t dead,” declared SeñorJohn. “The dogs have only wounded him probably,and he’s run away to hide.”

The words of comfort had an effect opposite tothat desired. Paloma’s sorrow mounted. She threwherself upon her knees, clinging now to her mother’sdress, and now catching at the black skirt of thefather, and “Oh! oh! oh!” she sobbed.

“I’m going to start right out and hunt him,”[297]said the young painter. “If he’s dead, I’ll find hisbody.”

The father shook his head doubtfully. “Maybe,”he said. “But you forget, señor, the deer is goodto eat.”

“At this time of the year?” asked the other, significantly.

At that the two men exchanged glances of meaning.Then, “Let us hunt until we know,” advisedFather José, in a low tone. “And, meanwhile,let us say nothing.” He laid a finger on hislips.

Paloma had listened—between sobs—to what wasbeing said. Now, she sprang up excitedly.“Know?” she cried. “I know this moment. Hedid it! None needs to tell me different. Every dayhe has come. ‘Marry me or give back the ring,’ hehas said. And I have said, ‘No,’ to both. Andhe has done this to revenge himself. The rattlesnake!”The next moment she straightened resentfully,and stared past Señor John and the father.Then, “Rattlesnake!” she cried again, and stampeda foot.

The others turned about, and beheld Anastaciosauntering down the path that led from the puebloto the chapel. He returned their look defiantly—almosttriumphantly—and took off his sombrero ina wide, mocking sweep.

There was that in the gesture which made thefather resolve on a rebuke. “Anastacio!” he calledperemptorily, and hurried toward the vaquero, hiseyes severe, his thin face flushed even up his baldforehead to the roots of his white hair. “Anastacio,”[298]he said, as he neared the path, “the co*ck thatcrows the loudest catches the eye of the cook.”

The vaquero’s eyes widened in innocent wonderment.“What is it that I have done?” he questioned,in an aggrieved voice.

“Miguel is gone. It was a coward’s trick, I say,even though he nibbled my roses.”

“Miguel gone! Since when, father? Alas! Toobad! But if a man is in Albuquerque all thenight——” he pulled at his moustache.

“Where do you visit in Albuquerque? You busyyourself with gambling, I have no doubt, or withdrinking—surely some sin. Where?”

“At Riley’s, father, on the street which has a car.There till midnight. Then, at Georgio’s, for thestupid Riley shuts his door when it is twelve.”

“So? I trust you do not think to throw ashesin my eyes. For I get the truth always, do I not?”Then, suddenly pointing, “I see that you crossedthe river on foot.”

Anastacio regarded his boots. They showed arecent wetting, and one end of his serape—fromwhich a small, bright square had been torn—hungas heavy as if it had been trailed in a stream.

“Do you walk to Albuquerque?” inquired FatherJosé, eyeing him narrowly.

The vaquero tried to smile, but it was only a drawingback of his lips from over his white teeth.“Sometimes I walk,” he answered evasively.

“Then the Rio Grande is plainly like a sea foryou,” declared the father. “For you are the tintof an unripe lemon.” With that, he walked away.

Instead of searching for the lost Miguel, Señor[299]John rode to Albuquerque that afternoon, that beingFather José’s wish. When he returned at sunset,it was with the expected news. Anastacio had notbeen seen in the town the evening previous. Andneither could venison be purchased at a certain littleSpanish shop, though the young painter had firstwinked across a piece of silver and then asked fora cut of the deer brought from Los Morales.

But the day following the hunt began. As manyas three Indians reluctantly consented to help, andled by Señor John and the girl on the spotted mustang,made off to the marshes north of the town.Late rains had deepened the ooze of the marshes,and even the road which crossed them was a channelfor running water. The two on horseback flounderedfrom one muddy pool to another, while thePueblos, wound in bright blankets, stationed themselveson a dry eminence and solemnly rotated.

Paloma watched the searchers from the roof ofher home, and when they returned, gave herself overto tears of rage and desolation. Fortunately, Anastaciocame to talk with her at suppertime, and todeclare his guiltlessness solemnly. So her unhappinessfound a vent. She berated him. She criedthat never, never would she marry him. And in theend, when she had said all her say, she stuffed herfingers into her pretty ears and bade him begone.

After that, seven days passed without incident.

The morning of the ninth day following Miguel’sdisappearance, Señor John chanced to be paintingby the river. At Los Morales the Rio Grande iswide, and the colour of the crumbling dirt banksbetween which it runs; the colour, too, of the high,[300]crumbling dirt-cliffs that stand back of the puebloon the west, and the colour of the low, square, flat-roofedadobe houses of the Indian village. Twohigh, white crosses marked its ford—one being seton the farther shore and one on the near. At thebase of the latter the young painter had his easel, andover him, made fast to the cross so as to shade himfrom the sun, was a huge umbrella, yellower than theriver.

As he worked he glanced, now at the shallowstream, and now at his canvas—this as painters do.Suddenly, something close to the bank caught hiseye—a greyish something, almost submerged,around which the water purled and played with littlewhispers. He sprang up in haste, overturning easeland stool, and ran down the narrow, sloping beachwhich here stretched between river and bank.

There was no need to doubt what he saw. Forthere, thrust up through the moving water, almostin reach of his hand, was the point of a sharp horn.

His first thought was that Paloma might see it;his next, that Father José must be summoned.

The father came at once, adjusting his spectaclesupon his high nose as he hurried along. And whenhe saw what was lying near the shore, with the waterurging it inch by inch downstream, he fell back witha shocked and sorrowful face, murmuring his pity.“The gentle creature!” he said. “I trust I wasnever over-bitter against him. Though he hadgreen to feed upon, yet he would rather crop at myflowers. Señor, how human!”

“But what is that, Father José?” Señor Johnpointed to a bit of bright-coloured cloth that was[301]now spread out upon the surface of the water fromthe tip of the horn. By wading a step and pokingat the cloth with the end of his brush-handle, hedislodged it, whereupon it gave a sudden whirl,floated for a few feet, then rode into shore on aneddy.

“Ah, señor!” cried Father José, as he caught itup—and anger succeeded pity on his face. “Hethought to throw the little beast where he would besucked down. But the sands have shifted! Andhere is telltale proof! Come with me, señor. It requiresdiscussion.” And he led the way hastily toPaloma’s.

What befell at the council needs no particular recounting.Paloma’s mother said little and that inSpanish. Paloma wept and threatened, and vowedthat now she truly would not marry Anastacio,though he lived to be as old as the father himself andas rich as the richest man in Albuquerque. As forSeñor John, he said little, but listened respectfullyto Father José, who spoke chiefly of the law.

After the drum had beaten, and midday prayershad been said in the chapel, Father José took acup of coffee to fortify him, then donned cloak andhat and climbed up to the little railway station atthe top of the crumbling dirt-cliffs. There he askedon the telephone for the office of the sheriff of thecounty, and when the sheriff spoke at the other endof the wire, Father José asked him to hasten to LosMorales to arrest one Anastacio Galvez, for killing adeer out of season.

When the sheriff came, Anastacio, swaggeringcheerfully, again sought Paloma. “Ninita,” he began,[302]“I come for a farewell word. I am sorry nowthat Miguel is dead, since it makes you so unhappy.But do not forget that love urged me to do awaywith him.”

“Then murder again!” retorted Paloma, enraged;“—my mother, the dear father, the guinea-pigswhich Mamita has just given me—all! So youwill have my heart alone—perhaps.” And shelaughed harshly.

There was a suspicion of merriment in his eyes,but he pulled a long face. “I am going to prisonfor the sake of my love,” he protested. “I mustgo to prison, for I have not a cent with which to paythe fine.”

Now Paloma almost shrieked in her triumph.“Good!” she cried. “And perish in prison. I ampleased! I am pleased! And because you havebeen in prison I shall never marry you. The killingof Miguel was very much. But a prison is muchmore. I could never marry a man who had been inprison. My pride would not let me.”

“Then all is over between us?” questioned Anastacio,meekly.

“All! All! I tell you I would not marry younow if you were covered thick with gold and silverand jewels from your head to your ugly feet—no,not even if you had thousands of pearls as big asthis one.” And she flashed the ring before his darkeyes.

“In that case,” he went on, “I think it but honestthat you should give back this pearl.” And hewatched her keenly.

“The pearl!” she cried. She was walking toand fro, her head high “The pearl will pay me[303]for the loss of Miguel. Yesterday I said, ‘I shallgive Anastacio back the ring, for I hate the sight ofit. And, besides, the pearl is doubtless only glass,after all, and I can easily get a better.’ But now—Ishall keep it.” (This with an imperious glance ofher eyes.)

“Miguel was not worth so much,” argued Anastacio.“He was little and thin. And the pearl——”His eyes rested upon it, where it flashed on the handat her side.

“You shall not have the pearl,” she declared,“not if you die asking for it. You killed my prettyMiguel—and it was not even on a feast-day. Sonow, this is how you pay.” As she crossed the floorwith slow grace, she smiled mockingly.

Again his look rested longingly on the roundwhiteness of his gift. “Ah, Paloma,” he said tenderly,“you but increase my passion as you storm.Little dove, your sweet mouth is the colour of pepper-treeberries. Your eyes——”

“Have done with my mouth and my eyes!” orderedPaloma, pausing against the window. Butshe spoke perhaps a shade less angrily than before.“They are not for you. Go hunt among the Indiangirls for a wife. One of these you can lead abouton a rope, as you do your cows. But, ah, I pity theone you would choose! A squaw is too good for you—muchtoo good.”

“I must speak of your beauty,” insisted Anastacio.“It fills my eyes like the light of the sun.When I shall see it no more the night will fall for me.O my Paloma!” And he took one step towardher.

She waved him back with her two hands. “Keep[304]your compliments!” she said haughtily. “I donot want them. And take yourself off. I neverwish to see you again.”

But Anastacio, undaunted, approached anotherstep or two. “Do not be cruel, Paloma,” he begged.“Say farewell kindly to me, sweet dove. And beforeI go let me—yes, be merciful—let me kiss your littlehand.”

“No! No! I say!” She leaned farther away,and struck at him as he came—though not hard.

With a tender cry of “Ah! my beautiful one!”he caught her two flying hands in his. Then, holdingall her fingers firmly, he bent his dark head downto her left hand swiftly. The next moment, he retreated,almost with a leap, swung the door open,closed it behind him, ran swiftly to where the sheriffwas waiting for him on the path by the chapel, threwhimself on to a horse, and led the way at a gallop tothe river.

Paloma pursued him, and so fleetly that her handall but touched the tapadero of his stirrup as herode into the river. Those who saw her then, standingat the edge of the stream, splashed upon faceand dress with the yellow water sent into the air byhis horse’s hoofs, were appalled as they looked ather. She was livid with anger and screamed wildthings that no one understood—execrations andthreats. Then she fell down at the ford in a veryspasm of wrath.

It was Señor John who lifted her up and gave herinto the comforting arms of her mother. “Whatdid he do?” he questioned. “He’s a bad, heartlesswretch, that’s what he is.”

[305]“Señor! My adored pearl!” wailed Paloma,finding her voice. “Oh, he has taken my preciouspearl!” She held out her left hand tremblingly.

“The pearl?” echoed Father José, joining theothers.

“See what he did!” wept Paloma. “He made asif to kiss my fingers—and bit the pearl from myring!”

At sunset Anastacio was back at Los Moralesagain, where he bade fair to become a hero beforelong, since the Indians could not but honour a manwho was able so promptly to throw off the clutchesof the jailer. Anastacio related his adventures tothose Pueblos who were lounging before the singlestore of the town, and who, as they listened, surroundedhim in an eager, many-hued circle. It waseasy, he explained, to guard against being kept incustody if one but used a little forethought. As forhis own case, it had presented no difficulties. Hehad paid his fine with the pearl.

When the boast reached the ears of Paloma, whatcould have maddened her more? At once she satherself down to think. Revenge was what she mostdesired. Revenge was what she must have—buthow? Not till she had paced the floor manytimes, and torn all the fringe from the bottom ofthe scarlet shawl, did she think out the bestway.

The girl who rode the spotted mustang came pastthe chapel the very next morning. Paloma ran tohalt her, holding up a flower culled from FatherJosé’s garden by way of an inducement to stop.[306]And when Paloma had made sure that no one waswatching them, or listening, she divulged an earnestwish. It was that Señorita Roberta would give herthe loan of a ring.

A pair of blue eyes laughed down at her knowingly.“Punish him well!” whispered Señorita Roberta,and slipped a band from a finger. “Here—takethis one with a green stone. It will make himterribly jealous!” Then she rode to where SeñorJohn was painting beneath the empty belfry in theshadow of the chapel wall.

Putting on the borrowed ring Paloma hastened todress herself with great care. After which, strollingcarelessly, she made through the sunlight to thestore.

The man who kept the store was young, but withthe pallid skin and sad, hollow eyes that denote amortal illness. He could move about but slowly inthe little room, and take down and display and putaway only with much effort.

As he waited upon her, Paloma walked to and frowith a gay step, all the while talking: “Show methe calico with the yellow flower, señor. Yes—ayard, please. Did you hear that Señor Gordon is topaint me? Well, he is—and with the padre’s peaco*ck.I am to wear a certain white dress that I shallnot use for the purpose it was once intended. No;I shall buy another white dress—very soon, I think—amuch richer dress. And, look, señor, is thisring not beautiful? The stone came from beyondthe Pacific Ocean.”

Behind the stove, as she sauntered about, boasting,sat a figure wrapped to the ears in a torn serape.[307]But the figure did not move, or appear to see, or evenso much as cough.

“Yes,” babbled Paloma, “first I’m to be put ina picture. Then—who knows?—I may go on along trip. Oh, farther than Albuquerque, señor.Yes, one spool of white thread, very fine. I mayeven go as far as Chicago.” She tossed her prettyhead with meaning. “A girl cannot always live inLos Morales,” she added. “It is but a poor place.”Thereupon, she gathered up her packages, put downsome coins upon the counter, gave the sick youngman a saucy smile, and went out.

Perhaps it was ten—perhaps fifteen—minuteslater when Anastacio rose from his seat by the stove.A change had come over him—a change that wasnot good to see. His thin face was as ghastly whiteas the face of the man behind the counter. Out ofit gleamed his black eyes, which were so wide openthat each was rimmed with white. And his lips werepurple under his long moustache and parted to showthe line of his set, white teeth. Now his hat wasnot hiding his forehead, but back upon his shininghair; nor was the torn serape about his shoulders—itwas wound around his left arm. He went downthrough the village, out upon the path which led tothe chapel, along this to where Señor John was stillpainting under the belfry, and so on to the ford,where he disappeared from sight under the high bankthat stood a little way back from the river.

The day had begun warm and still, and the noonhad been hot, without a breath of air to stir thedrooping flowers in Father José’s garden or wave[308]the bright fan of the strutting peaco*ck. But at themiddle of the afternoon black clouds suddenly loweredupon river and town, dropping from off thehigh dirt-cliffs to the west, and bringing twilightwith them. A gusty wind marshalled the cloudsalong, bent the reeds in the marsh, drove throughthe winding streets of the pueblo and caught at theblankets of the Indians who were scurrying to cover,and brushed all the surface of the river into a whitelather. Then came great drops of rain.

Señor John fled into Father José’s kitchen. “Doyou think I’d better start home now?” he inquired,“or wait a while?”

“Wait,” advised the father. “There will be tamalesfor supper, and a loaf of bread heated withbutter. After a day like this one, señor, the stormsoon passes.”

But as night came on swiftly the wind grew to agale and the rain began to drive, beating upon thepanes of the wide-ledged window like whips of grass.

Señor John ate his supper in silence, getting upnervously every now and then to open the front doora trifle in order to look out, or he shaded his eyesfrom the lamplight as he peered through the window.The father touched little food, and followingsupper took his seat in the cane chair before theopen grate of his stove—his head lowered and hiseyes closed.

Before long the young painter could not containhis impatience further. “I think I’d better start,”he said. “It doesn’t act like quitting for sometime.”

Father José rose. “Why go home to-night?” he[309]asked. “You will not be able to see the cross onthe other side, señor. You are welcome here.”

“Oh, I must get over somehow. They wouldworry about me.”

The father looked grave. “The storm still increases,”he said.

The rain was coming in sheets against the windownow, but at short intervals, so that it was as if awhite wraith were returning noisily again and againto peer through the blurred glass. The blue blindsoutside the father’s bedchamber were banging forwardand back with a rattle of loose laths. Uponthe level roof overhead sounded the unbroken roar ofthe tempest.

“A cloudburst and a hurricane,” went on thefather. He also opened the front door a little tolook out. “I have never seen its like before, señor.They will surely not expect you to brave this.”

The young painter’s face had grown suddenly anxious.“But she might try to come—looking forme,” he said.

“Señorita Roberta? No. She knows how dangerouslythe river rises in a storm and how the sandsshift.”

Señor John was pulling his soft hat down to hisears. “You said yourself, though, father, that shedoesn’t know what it means to be afraid of the RioGrande. I must go. My horse is all right. He’lltake me over.”

“Do not risk it,” advised Father José. “Listen!”And he held up a finger.

There was now a deep voice in the tumult outside—avoice that boomed in heavy undertones.

[310]“It is the river, señor. Oh, I shall worry too.”

“I’ll yell when I get across.”

“I could not hear. But I have an old pistolwhich I took from a quarrelsome Indian.” Thefather disappeared into his bedroom and returnedcarrying a long-barrelled revolver of an old make.“Fire this when you reach the other side.”

“Good-night, Father.”

“Good-night, my son.”

They shook hands and Señor John went outthrough the door leading into the garden.

A little moon-faced clock on a shelf under thewhite-and-gold porcelain marked the time as closeupon eight. The father returned to his armchair.But now he kept his eyes open and his lips pressedtight, and his head a little to one side. Thus, hewaited.

At half-past eight he got up and went to the frontdoor. Rain was still falling heavily, but the windseemed to have abated a degree. He listened. Theriver was speaking with a medley of curious voices:There was the rise and fall of pleasant argumentation;wagon-wheels ground over gravel; a childwhimpered; oars pounded and squeaked in theirrowlocks; steam sang; a dog snarled. Presently hemade out the wide Rio Grande as pools of glisteningblack that moved upon a dead blackness.

With the glimpse of that sweeping, inky flood,fear came over him. He called: “Señor John!Come back! Señor! Señor!”

There was no answer. But as he watched—shiveringa little—a tiny speck of light suddenly showedin the distance, where stood the Allen hacienda.

[311]“Good!” he exclaimed. “He must be there.”And after watching and listening for another while,he closed the door and went back to his chair.

The wind was plainly lessening, so that now thebedroom blinds banged only occasionally—and therain was falling more gently. He leaned back,propped his head on a hand, and dozed.

Suddenly, he found himself sitting bolt upright,clutching either arm of the chair, holding his breath.What was that? What had awakened him? Heseemed to hear them yet—the dying tones of a bell!

His eyes sought the clock. Four! And the stormwas over, for he could hear the ticking. He rose.He lit the lantern. He tied the purple-borderedsquare of silk over his white hair. Then he hasteneddown the garden-walk, out of the gate, and towardthe river, calling with all his strength.

A voice answered him faintly, as if from the oppositeshore. He shouted again. It was a girl’s voice—thesecond answer made that certain. Then heheard the snort of a horse, splashing, and a murmurof encouraging words.

As he awaited her approach, he made circles withhis lantern upon the river, and whispered in an agonyof self-reproach: “He is lost. And I let him go!He is lost or she would not be seeking him!”

There were few clouds in the sky, and in the eastwas a pale lightening, as if of the dawn. By holdingthe lantern behind him, he made out horse andrider as they neared.

“Where is Señor John?” he called to the girl.

“Oh!”—it was a piercing cry. “Isn’t he withyou?”

[312]The spotted mustang was pushing through waterthat foamed about his shoulders. Close to the bank,she reined him and bent over in her saddle as if overcome.

“No! no!” Father José implored. She lifted herhead then—he swung his lantern forward—and sawthe awful stiffness of her white face, the wild terrorof her eyes. All at once he understood what he hadnot guessed before. “Oh, poor little woman!” hesaid compassionately.

“When did he start home?”

“Eight.”

“Oh, he went down!” Now, she half-turned themustang, and rode against the current. All thewhile, she looked about her, first on one hand thenon the other, and uttered little, piteous, despairingcalls.

“Be careful!” warned the father. “You areabove the ford.”

She reined. “Where is the cross? He must havestarted in at the cross. John! John!”

Father José hunted about. “I cannot find it,”he answered. “Perhaps it has been swept away.”Then, hurrying forward, “No; here it is—but howfar up. This is not the ford!”

“Father! Someone has changed the cross!”Suddenly, the mustang halted as if in fear. Shestrove to urge him on, striking at his flanks with aquirt.

“Come a little farther,” called Father José.

“My horse is sinking!”

That moment, with a shudder, then a quick backwardplunge that struck up a shower of spray, the[313]mustang threw himself toward the bank and flounderedout.

The girl was panting and crouching on her saddleagain. “The crossing’s bad!” she wept. “Herode right into it. Oh, Father José!”

The father did not answer. He had waded out afew steps. And now as he stood in the water, thecurrent was catching at the bottom of his gown andwhirling it. To and fro he swept the lantern.

All at once the girl sat up and faced riverward.“What’s that?” she asked. “Didn’t you hear it?And, look! There—down there, away out!”

The light had grown. She pointed below them tothe middle of the flood. It had divided at one pointand was running on either side of a sand-bar whichshowed above the surface of the water. At the nearedge of the bar lay something black—something thatmoved a little.

Almost before the father knew where she pointed,the spotted mustang was fighting the current oncemore, now making his way through water that onlywashed above the stirrups, now falling suddenly intodeep channels that he swam. All the while she encouragedhim, or shouted ahead, or back to FatherJosé.

The father had put down his lantern. Now heran to the cross, pried it out of the sand and startedalong the bank with it, stopped at a point a littleabove where he judged she could come out, for thecross was heavy and the current could help him tocarry it.

Now, she had stopped in midstream and was headingthe spotted mustang about. Next, she had[314]leaned down and reached a hand to the exhaustedman lying in water to his shoulders. Then, veryslowly, the spotted mustang, alternately swimmingand walking as before, she began the return.

She came on without a word, for all her breath andstrength were needed for her task. Her left arm wascrooked around the horn of her saddle, her right wasoutstretched, still holding its heavy weight. Whenshe had made half the distance Father José advancedinto the water to meet her, pulling the floating crossalong at his side.

Together they brought Señor John to shore, heclinging to a stirrup at the last, and she to hissleeve, for her hold had not borne the long strain.He was clinging to the cross as well, Father Joséhaving pressed the base of the upright under thewater and under his arm. As they laid him uponthe ground, and the father wiped at his face, helooked up at them with a wan smile.

“Roberta,” he whispered hoarsely, “I—was getting—tired.”

“I nearly died with fear,” she answered. “John,where’s your horse?”

“Went down.”

“Rest for a little,” bade the father.

They all rested, breathing hard—Señor Johnlying and they seated beside him. But presently hestruggled up to a sitting posture, bracing himself onone dripping arm.

“Roberta,” he said, his voice firmer even with soshort a respite, “I’m cold.”

They helped him to stand, and half-carried him tothe top of a low ledge of sand near by. Then, while[315]the father supported him for a moment, she led thespotted mustang to the ground below the ledge, andSeñor John was enabled easily to mount.

“First, to the store,” said Father José, “for dryclothing. Then, hot coffee.”

Señor John was too weak to sit up in the saddle,and leaned forward—his back bowed, his chin on hisbreast, his hands clasped around the saddle-horn.“You won’t have to hold me on,” he said, when theyreached up from either side. “No; I’m all right.Just worn out, that’s all, keeping myself from beingsucked under.” He turned a haggard face toFather José. “Think!” he added, “—if it hadn’tbeen for that rock!”

“A rock, señor?” demanded the father. “Thereare no rocks here in the Rio Grande.”

Señor John lifted a feeble hand to point. “Youcan see it,” he protested; “a big one, too, stickingout of the sand.”

Father José looked out to where the channel dividedon either side of the bar. There was a strangelight in his eyes, and his cheeks were pale as he facedthe dawn. “Something is there,” he said, speakinglow, as if to himself.

The spotted mustang started now, slowly, with thegirl walking alongside to guide him. The father didnot follow. He went down to the water’s edge instead,and stood watching out toward the bar in midstream.And so they left him.

As for Señor John, he was soon wearing a suitfrom off the shelves at the store and was revivingafter a smoking draught of the brew which Paloma’smother brought. Then a seat behind the stove was[316]fixed up for him and here he was showered with attention,no less by the young storekeeper—haggardas himself—than by a cluster of inquisitive, butkindly, Indians.

To one side loitered Paloma, quietly observant.But when Señor John, despite his little audience,reached up to kiss the girl who had braved the waterand the sands to find him, Paloma approached thetwo and drew from her finger the ring with thegreen stone.

“I return what I borrowed,” she said. Her facewas a sullen black and ivory, and when she walkedaway it was with an air somewhat forlorn—like thatof a girl who has neither ring nor lover. But whenshe reached the door a tinge of colour rushed intocheek and lip. Outside, two dark eyes were fixedupon her from under a wide hat, for Anastacio washovering near, wrapped in his serape—hovering asif he wished to look on, yet was anxious to escapenotice. All at once, Paloma’s pretty head came highagain and she tripped proudly out.

It was at this juncture that shouting was heardfrom the direction of the river. Instantly the crowdabout Señor John dwindled and started in loose orderdown the winding pueblo street. Paloma’s motherwent too, joining Paloma. And the storekeeper followed,bareheaded. Then—the shouting had grown—SeñorJohn got up and trailed after the others,leaning on a willing shoulder.

The sun was up now and shining warmly. Asthey came out of the village upon the path whichled past the chapel, it glistened on the wet greyroofs of the town and on the wide, yellow river.

[317]All of Los Morales was in front of them, cryingout excitedly, running, cheering wildly. And now,as the noisy throng parted, here came a procession,moving up the gentle slope that led from the RioGrande to the chapel of San Felipe. Father Joséled it, his thin face uplifted and transformed, hisdark eyes wide, serene and luminous, his slenderhands clasping the jet cross on his breast. Behindhim trooped the Pueblos, reaching out brown handsto touch something that was in their midst. Theirblack eyes sparkled, their white teeth showed withsmiling. At the center of the throng walked sixbright-blanketed Indians abreast, a long, stout polein their hands. And swung on the pole throughits iron loop, with its clapper wagging as the sixwalked, and sounding a mellow, clear-throated, joyousgreeting to all the town, came the lost silverbell of Los Morales.

The very morning that the lilac bush in a cornerof the father’s garden showed a first co*ckade ofpurple bloom among its heart-shaped leaves, thesilver bell rang for a wedding—for Paloma marriedAnastacio, and wore the white dress, and a ring witha pearl to guard her new gold band. And the giftof the groom to his bride was a fawn, which was tohave a garden all its own. And the gift of thebride’s mother was a freshly-built house of adobe,flat-roofed, with doors that were bluer than anydoors in the city of Albuquerque, and with a trellisas blue as the doors. While, curiously enough, thegift of the bride to the father was a yellow custard.

Señor John and the girl who rode the spotted[318]mustang crossed the river to attend the wedding.(Señor John came, because—in Los Morales—it iswell to let sleeping dogs lie.) And when the ceremonywas finished, the two visited a while with FatherJosé.

“Well,” said the father to them cheerfully, “Ihave married the Spanish peaco*ck off. She will struta little, no doubt, and delight in her own beauty;perhaps accomplish nothing in her new life—afterthe manner of peaco*cks. But when it comes to that,could not one say almost as much against my roses?Yes.” As he talked he busied himself with a salad.In the bottom of the white-and-gold dish he first laida slice of buttered bread; then, upon the bread, leafa*gainst leaf, so that the effect was that of a hugegreen rose, he placed the lettuce, all glistening withits dressing of oil and vinegar; next, a-top the lettuce——

But here Señor John left the wide-ledged windowand came forward, smiling, to whisper somethingslyly into his ear. At that the father left his saladand seized a hand of each of them. “Señor andSeñora Gordon!” he cried. “Well, a double blessing!Ah!—how like ever seeks out like!”

And so surprised was the good father at theirnews that for the first time in all the years that hehad possessed the white-and-gold porcelain, he forgotto add—as a top to the big, green rose—thethin circles of silvery onion.

MANUELITA shooed the chickens one way,pursing out lips as scarlet as the ripecacao; with a round, copper-tinted armshe wielded a length of bamboo to prodthe pigs the other. An exit made, she pulled thedoor shut behind her to keep out the naked babiescluttered before it among pigs and chickens, andtook a proud, leisurely look up and down the doublerow of paja-thatched huts.

It was Sunday afternoon, and fairly cool, for thealmost vertical Venezuelan sun was screened by thedrab clouds of a gathering storm. So the womankindof the San Jacinto hacienda were before theirlow houses, some with men beside them, others alonebut gossiping volubly to whomever chanced near.Manuelita bent her pretty head to survey the slipper-likealpargatas Ricardo had just bought her,and the new skirt, bright-figured, and of a lengththat left the leg bare from dimpled knee to foot.Then, smoothing her little jacket, and putting herwide straw hat at its jauntiest angle, she set offslowly down the narrow, dirty street.

At some distance from it was Antonia Toro,slouching, hands on hips, in her own door. Whenshe saw Manuelita advancing, she straightened, andlet her bony hands fall, clinched, against her petticoat.Small eyes half closed in hate, frowzy headthrust forward, she began to call out, addressing[320]a neighbour, but aiming her words at her successfulrival.

“Bah!” she cried, with a laugh. “Look howour parrot’s new feathers stick out!”

Manuelita heard, and walked more slowly. Herbrown eyes sparkled delightedly, her round chin wentup, her red mouth parted in a smile over even, whiteteeth.

“Bah!” snorted Antonia again, and put out hertongue. “Let her strut now. But—ha! ha!—Ricardois a man that likes change. Who knows?”

There was a threat in the hoarse voice. It stungManuelita. She paused.

“When did a man choose a rotten instead of aripe banana?” she inquired sweetly, and raised herplump shoulders.

At that, a laugh ran from hut to hut. Antonia’swrath grew.

“How long does the ripe stay ripe?” she cried.“Ricardo will go. Ha! ha!”

Manuelita was proceeding gracefully. Now shestopped once more, turning her full, girlish throatto look round.

“Yes,” she answered, “when Rio Tuy flows backto the mountains.”

Ricardo came by Antonia’s a little later, just asthe last scattered drops of a heavy downpour werefalling. He was mud to the waist, muddy of face,and dripping. One hand was busy with a cigarette;from a finger of the other, by their heel straps, hunghis alpargatas. He had been out since noon, walkingacross the ditches of the hacienda.

Again Antonia was slouching in her door.

[321]“Loan me your fire, Ricardo?” she asked.

He glanced up the street uneasily, then haltedand lit the long cigar she was preparing.

“Ah, but you are tired,” she went on, with agreat show of concern, “and wet to the skin. Come,will you enter? Juan is gone, and for good—áDios gracias! I never liked him. He was stingyand ugly and old. Come——”

“Where is he gone?” asked Ricardo, making nomove toward accepting her invitation.

“Where?” she repeated, between puffs. “Tojoin the Revolutionists at Rio Chico. He is anxiousto fight, he said. He fight!”

Ricardo’s pale face widened in a grin.

“Maybe you taught him,” he suggested slyly.She understood. “Ah, now, Ricardo, you are wrong.Yes, you are wrong. Once I was quick-tempered,perhaps. But I am not brava now. No, no. Ihave learned better. And Juan was happy withme.”

Ricardo was sober again. Suddenly, nostrilsswelling, he threw up his head.

“Sometimes I think of going to join La Gente,too,” he said.

“Do not be a fool,” Antonia returned. “Withinthe hour I start for Carenero. But”—her voicewas lowered engagingly—“I will stay here if youwish it.”

But Ricardo, having tossed aside his cigarette,was pulling nervously at a curly lock and edgingaway.

“Adiós,” he said, with more troubled glances towardhome. “A pleasant journey. Adiós.”

[322]“Adiós,” echoed the other regretfully.

All this while, from her one window, Manuelitahad been watching. She had seen Ricardo stop beforeAntonia’s, seen him light her tabaco, and theirtalking back and forth. And as he started for hishut once more, she scolded to herself in a passionateundertone, she stamped the floor with an angryfoot. He had made of her an object for furthertaunting. He had made her the laughingstock ofthe San Jacinto.

“Madre de Dios!” she exclaimed over and over,her lips white with rage and mortification. “ButI shall punish him for this!”

Ricardo had scarce entered, her name on histongue, when the full volume of her ire burst uponhim with tropical rigor and suddenness.

“So you have been to see that crooked face,”she cried furiously. “You sneak, you! you thatare full of lies!”

Not altogether surprised, he strove to meet herattack by replying, to stem it through endearments.She would not hear. She would have none of hiscaresses. And he could do nothing but seat himselfon a bull’s-hide chair, rest his chin somewhatsheepishly on his breast, and listen.

“Oh, I will not stay with you another day,” shevowed, breath and wits taxed at last for epithets.“I, a girl that all have desired, that could have abetter house, yes, one covered with pink stucco, andfiner clothes, and shoes, and even a ring or two, andno work, and all the cigarettes I want—here I amwith you, who are coiled like a culebra, ready tosting, to kill. You coward!”

[323]“I have always treated you well,” retorted Ricardosulkily, “and I am not a coward. I shallshow you. I shall go to fight with the Revolutionists.”

“Go, go, go,” she answered. “I shall not mourn.You cannot shame me before them all. Go, and takeher with you!”

She flung herself upon the bed, without a look athim, without a thought for their supperless baby,curled up on a gunny sack by the door. There, wornout with the violence of her quarrelling, she sobbedherself to sleep.

Late in the night she awoke suddenly and sat up.She was cold; she felt alone; she was startled, too,as if something direful had happened. Forgettingher wrongs in her fear, she reached out her arms andcalled softly. The cubierta was not spread over her.Only the under blanket was left upon the rushes ofthe bed. And Ricardo was not by her side! Shesprang out upon the floor, feeling this way andthat.

“Ricardo! Where are you?” she demanded.“Answer. You will have me wakening Niñito next.”

She touched the reed partition, the table, thechairs. Then she lit the lámpara and held it aboveher, looking into every corner of the living room andthe kitchen. He was not in the hut!

On the instant she was like one gone mad.

“Madre de Dios!” she gasped. “They are together!”

She set the lamp on the table, snatched up a flat,spear-shaped lanza, and raced off down the street.Arrived at Antonia’s, she entered swiftly.

[324]By the light of the single window, that, here,faced the moon, she saw that the room was deserted.

In her own home, once more, she examined the mudwalls closely. Ah!—the new machete was gone fromits nail! And, farther along, the carved gourdflask that held aguardiente! They had left thehacienda!

She blew out the light and took her stand by thedoor. Her eyes blazed with hatred and anger. Shegave out little inarticulate cries. She shook thekeen-pointed lanza at the hut down the street.

For a long time, thus. Then she grew quieter,and leaned back wearily against the wall. Then sheslipped down to a sitting posture on the ground,and her head drooped forward to her knees.

The day broke, the pigs came up, grunting androoting. A chicken flew to her shoulder and peckedat a bright flower in her waist. She looked up, andthe memory of her quarrel and her loss came back.She groaned and covered her face.

From across the street her mother saw her andscented trouble. She came waddling over, her shrivelledface all anxiety.

“What is it, Manuelita?” she asked. “Is theniño dead?” Then, spying the baby, “Or, perhaps,a pig?”

Manuelita shook her head.

The old woman peered about her, searching forthe cause of the trouble.

“What, then, what?” she inquired.

“Ricardo is gone!”

The other stared.

[325]“Gone!” she repeated in a tone of disgust;“gone! Do you say that you are deserted? Nineteen,only, and deserted. Pst! You are a fool! Ikept your father beside me until I was more thantwenty-five!”

“Oh, mamma!” It was a plaintive, heart-brokencry.

“But there is no use to snivel over it. What willyou do? Do not make a fuss outside here, for allthe men to see. Be up, and act gay. Now, thereis Felipe, the younger one. He gets four reales aday in the cacao court. He is worth something, Ican tell you. And there is Juan. As you know,Antonia Toro——”

Now, Manuelita looked up, and her whole bodytrembled with fury.

“Antonia!” she repeated hoarsely. “He hasgone with her!”

“So?” The old woman looked incredulous.Then she hitched a shoulder. “Ah, well, no matter.You have chickens and pigs, and you are but nineteen.You have only one baby, too, and he is notmuch trouble. Soon he will be old enough to lookout for himself. Why”—in a burst of generosity—“Iwill take him off your hands myself for a while.Get up.”

In her eagerness, she put out a claw of a handto pull at her daughter’s sleeve.

“Ah! mamma! mamma!” Manuelita’s voice wasdeeper now, almost a groan. “You forget, mamma,—Felipeis not Ricardo.”

“Bah! Ricardo! He is gone. Look you—lookyou, there is Felipe now!”

[326]“No—no,” Manuelita protested, raising a tear-stainedface.

Felipe was indeed coming up the street. He lookedangry too, and was rubbing his kinky hair at everystep.

“Where is Ricardo?” he demanded as soon ashe was within hearing. “Where is he, I say? Whyshould I work if he does not?”

And now such a mingling of voices—Felipe repeatingquestions to which he received no answer;the old woman boldly stating Manuelita’s new domesticstatus; the girl crying out against her mother’shasty planning.

But after a time, when matters became clear toFelipe, he fell silent to ponder, and the old womanquieted to await his reply. As for Manuelita, shewas sobbing a determination. “I shall follow, Ishall follow,” she declared. “And when I find them,I shall kill!”

“Felipe can go along,” suggested her mother,“and help you.”

Manuelita glanced at Felipe, and recoiled.

“Where have they gone?” he asked her. “Doyou know?”

“He took our cubierta, the new machete, and aflask. Yesterday he threatened to join the Revolutionists.”

“He will go either to Tacarigua or to Rio Chico,in that case,” Felipe declared. He began to lookdubious. Laying an index finger in the palm of ahand, he did some calculating. It would take notless than so many days, perhaps. At four realeseach day—he counted on his fingers. “Out so much[327]for just a woman!” he concluded. “I will not doit.”

But Manuelita did not hear. She was on her feetand getting ready to leave. The baby, awake andhungry, seemed to know her purpose. He began alusty howling.

“Take, mamma.” She pushed him toward hermother.

The old woman caught the squalling child betweenher knees, hastily lit a tabaco, put it between hertoothless gums to make it burn, and gave it to him.He grew still at once, seized the long cigar in bothlittle hands, and fell to smoking industriously.

“Foolish! foolish!” she scolded. “And you willhave your trouble for naught. Can you hold a manwho does not want you? No woman can do that.You had better stay.”

Manuelita ignored the advice. She was puttingthe last touches to her preparations. In a brightcotton handkerchief she tied a comb, several bakedplantains, some round thick arepas made of mashedcorn, and her cigarettes; she swung her straw hatover one arm and dropped the lanza into a sheathof inlaid leather at her belt. Then, without a glanceat mother, child, or neighbour, she went rapidly upthe street and entered the cacao under low-hangingbranches.

But soon she paused to consider a moment. Whatif she were travelling the wrong way! Suppose theyhad gone in an easterly direction, toward Rio Chico.Yet, no, for Juan was there. Besides, since thehacienda of San Jacinto, a portion of the northernhalf of the plain of Barlovento, curves in to meet[328]the Rio Tuy, the couple would have had to cross theswollen stream at the very start. They would gonorth, to Tacarigua. She was sure of that. And,taking off her alpargatas, she walked in a greatsemicircle, looking for fresh footprints.

Across ditch after ditch she went, through blackwater and blacker ooze. Sometimes her steps weresure, more often she sank to the knees, or fell, herhands flattening against a ditch side.

She found fresh footprints in countless numbers,and leading toward every point of the compass.Some had been made by naked feet, some by alpargatas.Some were long and wide, some wereshort and more narrow. She was bewildered bythem.

“Ah! Madre de Dios!” she faltered.

Presently, pointing northward, she found two sets,the one plainly a man’s, the other smaller. Theywere new, too, for the ooze still stood in them. Instantlyher attention fixed upon these. She flounderedafter them, rod upon rod, as certain that shewas upon the right trail as if she could see Ricardoand the woman ahead of her. Here the footprintswere close together—she ground her teeth. Herethey were farther apart. And here someone hadstumbled, for there was the mark of a naked palmon the soft earth. She laughed, and stroked thehandle of the lanza.

When the tracks left the hacienda of San Jacintothey entered that of its northern neighbour—Guevara.Here they made a detour to avoid the cacaocourt and huts of the plantation’s workers. Then onagain, through mud and mire, keeping always[329]straight toward Tacarigua. Farther still, when thishacienda was crossed, they entered the rough pathleading northward through the forest, and werelost.

At midday Manuelita stopped at a deep-shadowedspot on the road to eat a meal of baked plantainand arepa. The monkeys jabbered down at her.Now and then she heard strange movements closeby in the jungle. But she felt no fear. A few momentsfor food, a pull at a water-filled gourd flask,a few crumbs to a lizard, blinking—head downward—froma tree trunk at her elbow, and she trottedon.

It was the hour before sunset when, through atangle, she peered out from the forest’s edge. Beforeher was a shallow stream, muddy though itwas flowing over a bed of pebbles. Beyond, acluster of red, tiled roofs, was Tacarigua. Tacarigua!And they were there!

She opened her bundle for the comb; bathedquickly face, arms, and from foot to knee, and carefullyrubbed away the caked dirt marring the brightfigures of her skirt. Then, with the sun lookingback from the ragged range of La Silla de Caracas,and a breeze beginning to stir the leaves that fringedthe water, she slipped on her alpargatas, took thepath again, and entered the village.

General Blanco Alcantara, in command of theRevolutionary force at Tacarigua, sat upon hishorse before the green-walled Jefatura Civil. Helooked quite imposing. A broad hat, wound in theblue of his cause, was set rakishly upon his black[330]hair. A wide sash of webbed stuff in the same blueran over his right shoulder and was wrinkled intothe loop of his sabre scabbard, from which, knotted,it fell, ends free, to a silver spur.

Near him, lounging upon the steps of the building,were several officers, smoking, talking, and evidentlywaiting. To one side, also occupied with theirtabacos and gossip, were as many asistentes, waiting,too, and looking as important as the discardedapparel of their superiors would permit.

When Manuelita approached the general, he waslooking down his straight nose at the cigarette hewas rolling in his fingers. But at the sound of hervoice close to his stirrup, he turned his deep-set blackeyes upon her.

“Señor general,” she began, quaveringly.

He saw eyes as dark as his own, a pale face scarceyounger. And his short upper lip, under its wirymoustache, lifted a little, in what was meant to bea smile.

“At your order, señorita,” he replied.

And now he saw the girl’s eyes widen and flash,saw the red of anger run into lip and cheek.

“Señor general,” she continued huskily, “thereis a man—one Ricardo Villegas—who last night leftthe hacienda San Jacinto to come to Tacarigua andjoin La Revolución. Leaving, he took with him ourcubierta, a new machete, and—a woman.”

The general laughed.

“That man of yours was equipped for fighting,”he said.

She was clasping and unclasping her hands withnervous intensity.

[331]“He had best be so,” she answered, “when nexthe meets me.”

“You will not meet him here.”

“No? no?”—quickly. Suspicion darkened herface. She drew back. The general was lying, doubtless,to save a much-needed soldier from his deserts.

“No,” went on Alcantara, lighting his cigarette,“you will not find him here. I have one hundredmen, but each has been with me since before the beginningof the wet season. No one has joined me oflate.”

She turned about, half murmuring to herself,and made as if to go.

“He went the other way, perhaps,” suggestedthe general; “to Rio Chico, where is another forceof Los Salvadores.”

She came round upon him, arms raised, set teethshowing between lips that were pale again.

“I go to Rio Chico,” she said.

“And he will be gone—wait, wait! GeneralPablo Montilla leaves Rio Chico to-night with hiscolumn.”

“I shall follow.”

“I join him with my men at dawn.”

He saw the light of a terrible hope illuminate hercountenance. She came to his stirrup again.

“Señor general,” she pleaded, “let me go withyour soldiers. I am young and strong—I can cook—Ican carry a load——”

Alcantara puckered his lips teasingly, lookingdown at her. He marked the plump, well roundedfigure, the clear, copper-coloured skin with its scarlet[332]touches on mouth and cheek, the long braid, thefull, girlish throat.

“You go,” he said.

Child as she was, she knew the men of Venezuela,and she saw and understood his look.

“I go for revenge, Señor general,” she declaredmeaningly. “If you are so good as to allow me tofollow you, I—I will be safe? Else I walk far inthe rear—alone.”

“As you like,” answered Alcantara. “There willbe two other women along—Maria, who goes withone of my coroneles, and La Negrita, the woman ofthe black general, Pedro Tovar. You may marchwith them.”

“And when will you start?” she asked eagerly.“When?”

“We thirst for the blood of Ricardo Villegas,”laughed Alcantara. “Well——”

A squad was approaching, led by a determined-lookingofficer. Two of his men carried large-calibreGerman Mausers, the third had a Mauserand a canvas money bag, and the fourth a Mauserand a rope.

“Comisario,” said the general, as the lattershuffled near and saluted, “what raciones have youcollected?”

An expression of defeat spread upon the commissary’scountenance. He shook his head dejectedly, and,reaching round, seized and brought forwardthe money bag.

“These unreasonable, these unpatriotic people!”he began with heat. “Actually they decline to giveup their miserable savings. Observe!”

[333]Alcantara peeked into the bag. “Oh, not so bad,”he said. “But perhaps a better display of therope——”

The other nodded. “I promise you they will beloyal.” Then, his face more determined than before,the commissary departed. Behind came thesquad, the Mausers, the bag, and the noose.

The general addressed Manuelita. “We shallstart at sunset,” he said. “But you? You havewalked all day, you say.”

“It does not matter. I will walk all night, gladly,gladly!”

He bent to arrange the knot of his sash. Whenhe turned back again she was gone.

At sunset the soldiers of Alcantara left the hutswhere they had been quartered and gathered in thePlaza. Ragged and dirty they were, and unshaven.Some of them were part Indian, with straight blackhair and copper-coloured skins. Others were negroesor half-castes, with flat noses and kinky heads. Butall were without uniforms. Their drill trousers wereof different colours, and held up by lengths of stringor rope. Their tight-fitting, collarless shirts, madeof a cheap woven material, were as vari-coloured.Even their little jackets, that buttoned up to theneck and were brought in at the waist under a cartridgebelt, were not of the same shade or kind. Hereand there among them, stripped of its red trimmings,showed the khaki uniform of the government—spoilof a battlefield. All wore alpargatas; and thosefortunate enough possessed straw hats of generouscircumference or brown, furry pelo de guamas, whichdisplayed, on a narrow divisa sewed around the[334]crown, the corps and division of the fighter beneath.Over the left shoulder of some of the men, andpassed under the belt, was a rolled, double-woolponcho, the blue side out, if it so happened, butquite as often, in unconscious treason, the other,which was dyed the red of the enemy.

Despite the commissary’s promise of loyalty, whenthe soldiers came together there were no cheers fromthe townspeople, who, gathering to see the departure,chattered in undertones among themselves, andeyed the motley force in illy concealed dislike.

And now, obeying the call of a battered bugle,the start was made. First down the street cameGeneral Blanco Alcantara, in fine style; then theblack general, Tovar, astride a lanky horse; afterthese, a bevy of mounted officers—three coroneles,two commandantes, and two capitanes; the privates—onfoot and in no formation; the asistentes, loadeddown with the personal effects of their superiors;and several burros and mules carrying pack saddlesheavy with ammunition; next, each with a bundlebalanced on her head, a hat hung to her arm, a gourdand a smoky pail swinging and clinking togetherat her side, and a long tabaco in her mouth, twowomen; last of all, a padre, in cassock and shovelhat, riding a gaited mule.

The third woman to accompany the expeditionwas on the edge of the town, where the road toHiguerote opens into the forest. She was watchingas she rested, eating an arepa and the remainingplantain. As Alcantara rode into sight, she stoodup, her eyes shining, her lips parted, her head erect.[335]The command by, she walked forward sturdily andfell in behind.

Night was falling then, but she was soon spied bythose in the rear. Presently, these had told others,and the soldiers stretched their necks to look backto where she trudged. There was some whisperingamong those nearest her, and presently the padrereined a little to speak.

“You were not with us when we left the town,”he said. “How come you to be here?”

“I wish to go to Higuerote,” she answered, butwould explain no further.

Seeing her questioned, one of the asistentes, akindly old man, fell back to offer her a cigarette.She took it gratefully.

“And do you ignore the Church?” demanded thepadre reprovingly.

The asistente handed over a cigarette, and soonthe three were journeying forward together.

The night breeze swept over them as they went,making the way cool, and bringing with it thefragrance of growing things. But their travellingwas difficult. The road was only a cart’s width,hard and stony, rising and falling, too, on brokenground. There was no moon over the first third ofthe journey, and every little while a jaguar, scentingtheir passing, howled out at them from the dark,vine-hung forest lining the march.

Bit by bit Manuelita told her companions the storyof Ricardo’s flight. As the padre listened, hisround, florid face grew solemn, and he poked out hisunder lip dubiously. The asistente, on the other[336]hand, swore often and pityingly, so that the goodpriest was kept busy crossing himself.

“And have you come all the way from the haciendaSan Jacinto to-day?” asked the soldier.

“Since morning,” Manuelita answered.

“In that case,” interposed the padre, settlinghimself in the saddle, “to make your walking moreeasy, you may hold to the tail of my mule on theup grades.”

Not long after, they were forced to cover theirfaces and cease talking. For before the night washalf gone, the moon topped the trees, showing itsgreat, burnished shield upon the starlit sky. Andwith the rising of the moon the forest thinned, theway became more level, but sandy, the walking extremelyheavy, and legions of hungry mosquitoescame swarming upon them. The padre’s mule, tormentedby the pests, made the middle of the trackdangerous for Manuelita. She fell back, and walkedin silence beside the old orderly. Once she uncoveredto ask him how far they had got.

“Half-way,” he answered, when she murmured athanksgiving.

Later she again spoke: “And how long beforeHiguerote is near?”

“Three hours,” he replied.

Her hands stole to her belt.

“Only one day and one night,” she said, “andyet I am almost upon them!”

But she was miserably tired by now, and manytimes would have stumbled to her knees had notthe asistente supported her. He gave her frequentdraughts from his aguardiente flask, and little lumps[337]of damp brown sugar out of a canvas bag at histhigh. The padre, riding just in advance, lookedback often to speak encouragement, and as oftencalled the asistente forward to levy upon him for acigarette.

Bravely Manuelita persevered. Toward morningher brain seemed to wander, for she talked meaninglessthings to the old man lagging beside her. Buta moment’s rest, a swallow of drink, a whispered reminder,and she struggled forward.

“Santa María!” was her petition, “only giveme strength!”

The yellow moon had gone and the dawn was nearwhen, having arrived at three great sand hummocksthrown up close to the road, General Alcantara drewrein. Noiselessly the soldiers laid down their ponchos,partook of cold coffee and a little food, andstretched themselves for a brief rest. The horses ofthe officers and the ammunition animals were led toone side, where they might crop the grass growingabout in clumps. Alcantara and Pedro Tovar walkedapart, conversing. The padre guided his mule toone side and, out of his saddle, was soon drowsingas comfortably as the mosquitoes would permit;while Manuelita sought the women, who were smoking,and squatted on the sand beside them, herface to the east, her lips moving with soundlesswords.

Swiftly the day came. A moment of little light,another that was brighter, and the stars dimmed.Then the unkempt force got to their feet and movedon—cartridge belts filled and machetes slipped underthem. Above, floating on white-tipped wings, followed[338]a score of the bald black samuro, their curvedbeaks lowered in horrid watchfulness.

When the sun rose, the company made a secondhalt, behind a line of scrub growth. From here GeneralAlcantara, dismounting, went forward alone onhands and knees. He stopped while yet in the shelterof the dense underbrush and stood up. To his leftlay a town—tile-roofed, low houses, three rows ofthem, two rows having their back yards to the sea.Beyond these was a gently shelving beach strewnwith the unpainted, dugout canoes of fishermen. Stillfarther, dotted here and there with a dingy sail,was the blue of the Caribbean, its outermost edgemoving up and down upon the paler blue of the sky.To his right, some two hundred yards away, wasthe curving line of a railroad, then beach and boats,then sea again. And in the very foreground, seatedon the sand, under a sagging telegraph wire, was aman in khaki, fast asleep, with his gun, muzzle enddown, in a land-crab hole.

Alcantara now lowered himself again to creep on,and a moment later the sentry awoke and found himselfa prisoner.

Presently, from the south, there sounded a faintrumble. And soon, far down the rusty rails, appeareda train. Alcantara gave a signal to thosewho had come up from behind, and at once the Revolutionistsin khaki gathered the officers’ mountsand, taking the captured sentry with them, wentback along the road to the shelter of the sand hummocks.The padre turned his gaited mule and single-footedafter them, concern written large on hisround, florid face. The rest of the company displayed[339]their agitation. The soldiers craned andgestured, or examined their arms. La Negrita andthe other woman chattered under their breath. Thetwo capitanes ran to and fro between Alcantara andthe black general, taking and bringing messages.The men with the pack animals proceeded slowlytoward the road gap in the shielding shrub. Onlyone of them all was giving the hour a solemn beginning.This was Manuelita, kneeling, bareheaded,in the sand, her hands clasped, her eyes closed, herface upturned.

“Santa María!” she whispered, for once moreshe was praying.

When the train was less than half a mile awayAlcantara drew a small blue flag from his breast.It was of flimsy muslin, and showed at its centre across of yellow, blue, and red. The general, havingunfolded it, held it in his right hand, so low thatit could not be seen from the town. Instantly similarcolours were waved from the engine cab. AgainAlcantara signalled those behind, and the black generalled them forward. At their front was bornea large flag of the cause, fastened to a bamboo pole.

When the train had crawled abreast of the Tacariguaforce, its antique, ramshackle coaches cameto a stop. Out of them tumbled some sixty soldiers,the heavy-set Pablo Montilla commanding. Alcantarasaluted silently and made off with two-thirds ofhis own men straight along the track toward a railroadbridge in the town. As quietly, Tovar took theremaining third, joined Montilla, and started towarda second bridge, which crossed the Rio Curiepe atthe main street. The train backed. The ammunition-mules[340]and -burros were held close to the track,where stayed Maria and the other woman. ButManuelita, marking which way the men of Rio Chicohad gone, ran after, and fell in behind them.

That advance was made in two lines, the soldierstrotting single file. Those on the track were heardfrom first. A shot rang out—then another. Thenthe battered bugle sounded a few clear notes, whichthe Mausers obeyed with a spatter of shots.

Now Tovar turned to his men with a cry: “Adelante,muchachos!”

The soldiers broke into a run, firing willy-nilly,and bunching together at the bridge end.

“Viva Montilla!” they shouted. “Viva Tovar!”

Then came answering cries from across the bridge,where khaki uniforms were swarming in a hastyrally, where shots were plentiful now, and a drum waskeeping up a steady thump! thump!

Behind the cluster of men on that bridge wasManuelita. She had no thought of danger for herself,though the bullets were flying about her. Shedid not even watch the khaki figures hurrying to oppose,or those others spreading out between thebridges, lining the Curiepe to prevent a crossing.Her gaze was upon the men of Rio Chico. Her dust-rimmedeyes searched for one figure.

But now Tovar was leading Los Salvadores acrossthe stone-flagged bridge. Officered by red-sashedmen in blue, the front ranks of the government receivedthem with bayonets. Those in the backgroundsent upon them a hail of lead.

“Ah!”

The piercing cry that broke from Manuelita was[341]heard above the clashing of steel, the singing of bullets,the curses and vivas, the shrieks of agony.There he was, there—in the very front of the fight,laying about him with his machete. Her whole bodytrembled, her heart fluttered, her breath came ingasps, she choked.

“Madre de Dios!” She clutched the spear-shapedknife. “Let me but get at him first!”

But now she was rudely driven back. The governmentwas gaining—it was machete to bayonet,and the latter’s deal was the more deadly. Los Salvadoresretreated, one against another, clubbingtheir Mausers, filling the air with their yells.Maria’s coronel raced up, bringing a futile order.For Pedro Tovar was out of earshot, in the front ofthem all, still facing the enemy, but backing fromthe fierce onslaught of the men in yellow.

But where was Ricardo? Manuelita could not see.Forgetful of personal safety, she sprang upon thenearer iron rail of the bridge. And from there, lookingbeyond the line of hand-to-hand combat, beyondthe van of the government, she saw him—lying flatupon the flags, arms stretched out, face downward.At his curly head was a growing pool.

Like a flash, she was down and standing on thebridge. She flattened herself against the hand railto keep from being knocked off her feet. Men ofthe Revolution struggled by her, bravely contestingeach step of the way. And now Pedro Tovar wasbeside her—losing his ground. And now the khakiof the government was on every side.

“Viva el Gobierno! Viva Domingo Morales!”

Los Salvadores were losing!

[342]She saw more khaki-clad men running up fromthe tumbled-down church in the Plaza—runningstraight toward the bridge, toward Ricardo, helpless,but moving feebly now, turning his head fromside to side as if in pain. They would cut at him asthey passed!

Another cry, and she made her way back alongthe hand rail to where Tovar was swinging his blackarms. Then on, beyond him, to where showed thetop of the Revolution’s colours. A moment, and shehad seized the bamboo pole, had unfurled the blueflag with its tricoloured cross. Then, facing about,with cries again, she pushed her way toward theblack general.

“Viva la Revolución!” she cried.

Spent with their night march and with fighting,disheartened by retreat, the motley forces of Montillaand Tovar now beheld a girl at their front,waving aloft the flag of their cause. They hesitated;then, spurred by the sight, stood fast.

And now, with cheers from Alcantara’s men to announcea victory at the railroad bridge, there camethe change of balance in that fight at the other. Amoment and the government was retreating, not footby foot, but quickly, up the gentle slope.

“Viva la Revolución!” was the whole shout now.And with a fearful grin on his black face, PedroTovar cried on the men, cursed them into fiercer fighting,struck them with the flat of his sabre.

And now the wavering blue flag was at the middleof the bridge, was on the farther slope, was almostto the man lying face downward on the approach—then,beside him.

[343]Another hand caught the bamboo pole there, savingthe riddled colours from fluttering to the ground.Still the government fell backward, still the Revolutionpressed on. The bridge was cleared, exceptwhere wounded or dead lay stretched upon the stone;the clash of weapons grew less and less. The retreatof the government was a rout.

But back at the bridge, unmindful of victory, exhausted,yet not realising that, sat Manuelita, asoldier’s head pillowed against her breast, a wetcheek rested against a paler one.

“Santa María!” she sobbed, “he is alive—alive!Madre de Dios, I thank thee!”

THE END