← catalogue

Lightnin'

by Frank Bacon · English · Gutenberg #34280 · 328,609 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lightnin'
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Lightnin'

Author: Frank Bacon


        
Release date: November 11, 2010 [eBook #34280]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34280

Credits: Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and
        the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
        http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIGHTNIN' ***




Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net









                              LIGHTNIN'

                           BY FRANK BACON


    After the Play of the Same Name by
    WINCHELL SMITH and FRANK BACON

    With Illustrations from
    PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE PLAY

    GROSSET & DUNLAP
    PUBLISHERS  NEW YORK

    Copyright 1920, by Harper & Brothers
    Printed in the United States of America
    Published February, 1920


[Illustration: YOU LOOKED INTO LIGHTNIN'S SHREWDLY HUMOROUS EYES, AND
YOU SMILED--SMILED WITH HIM ]




ILLUSTRATIONS


YOU LOOKED INTO LIGHTNIN'S SHREWDLY HUMOROUS EYES, AND YOU
SMILED--SMILED WITH HIM

"PROMISE ME YOU WON'T SIGN THE DEED" ... BILL HESITATED

LIGHTNIN', IN HIS FADED G. A. R. UNIFORM ... LISTENED ATTENTIVELY

...HE TOOK IT FROM HIS POCKET, SAYING, "MILLIE, I WANT TO SHOW YOU
SOMETHING"




LIGHTNIN'




CHAPTER I


"Him?" the local postmaster of Calivada would say, in reply to your
question about the quaint little old man who had just ambled away from
the desk with a bundle of letters stuffed in his pocket. "Why, that's
Lightnin' Bill Jones! We call him Lightnin' because he ain't. Nature
didn't give no speed to Bill. No, sir, far as I know, Lightnin' 'ain't
never done a day's work in his life--but there ain't none of us ever
thinks any the less of him for that! Bill's got a way with him, an' he
kin tell some mighty good yarns. Lightnin's all right!"

And when you met Bill Jones you agreed with the postmaster. You looked
into Lightnin's twinkling, shrewdly humorous eyes and you smiled--smiled
with him. You thought of the reply he made to a stranger who protested
against his indolence.

"Well," Bill said, with that shrewd glance of his, "I ain't keepin'
_you_ from makin' a million dollars, am I?"

Old Bill was full of remarks like that, and sometimes those about him
were not so sure as to his lack of speed, in spite of his aimless,
easy-going habits. You never can tell from the feet alone. Those closest
to him were not sure at all; he "had them guessing." There was no doubt
that his wife, simple, earnest, hard-working woman that she was, loved
him. She mothered him and did not seem to worry much about his shiftless
ways. He was her husband, and that was enough for her. What Mrs. Jones
thought of her husband's mental acumen would be another question,
perhaps, but up to the present she had always consulted Bill's wishes
and sought his advice. Their adopted daughter, Millie, a pretty,
wholesome, brown-haired girl of nineteen, worshiped Bill. Any one who
said a word against "daddy" had Millie to deal with. The third person
Bill had guessing was John Marvin, a young man who owned a tract of land
and a cabin a few miles down the trail. Marvin had a lot on his mind,
and was studying law all alone in the cabin at nights into the bargain,
but he liked to have Bill drop in, liked to hear him talk. Bill could
tell some pretty tall yarns, but he told them so well you had to swallow
them. There was an odd, friendly, understanding bond between the
ambitious young fellow and the easy-going, humorous old man. They
confided in each other a great deal, and--well, like Mrs. Jones and
Millie, Marvin frequently found himself crediting Bill with a semblance
of mental speed. But then his mind would picture the ambling, aimless
figure of Bill Jones with its shock of disordered gray hair and
half-shut eyes, and Marvin would smile to himself and turn his thoughts
to something else. But he wondered, nevertheless.

At the present moment, the afternoon of a late summer's day, Bill Jones
was doing a little wondering himself, though no one would have suspected
it as he ambled lazily up the trail, bound for home. Things were not
going well with the Jones family. Mrs. Jones and Millie were worrying,
and Bill knew it. Characteristically, he had evaded the issue for
several years, content to let each day take care of itself as best it
could, but now matters were reaching a crisis and circumstances were
forcing Bill to consider it. They had been selling the timber on the
land, but that did not help much; and now they were taking summer
boarders--when they could get them, for boarders were scarce. Again,
this only made more hard work for Millie and Mrs. Jones.

It was of this Bill was thinking as he went along. He had been sent to
get the mail and to meet the morning train from San Francisco for the
purpose of enticing a few boarders to the Jones establishment if
possible. He should have been home hours ago with the mail, and there
were some odd jobs awaiting him, but he had dallied in the little local
town. This was his usual habit, for, like a good many lonely souls, Bill
was also a social one. People liked to buy Bill drinks and cigars in the
tavern and listen to his yarns. But to-day Bill was lingering
intentionally; he knew that his wife and Millie expected to take him
into consultation this afternoon in regard to the critical state of the
family affairs. Naturally Bill dreaded such a proceeding, but there was
something more than that to it to-day. His old heart, usually full of
happy-go-lucky sunshine, was harboring shadows, for he knew that he
ought to help and wanted to. But how? As he had turned slowly homeward,
Lightnin' hadn't the faintest idea.

Then suddenly, when about a mile from the house, Bill paused in the
middle of the trail, chuckled, and then sat down on a fallen tree. He
pushed back his battered old hat, drew a bag of tobacco and a Manila
paper from his pocket, and rolled himself a cigarette. All signs and
manifestations indicated that Bill Jones was overwhelmed by an idea. He
sat puffing the cigarette and grinning to himself for a few minutes;
then he arose slowly and ambled on; but now the amble was not so
aimless. It had a suggestion of the walk of a man with a purpose, and
there was a gleam of satisfaction and humorous self-importance in his
half-shut eyes.

Nearing the house, he observed his wife sitting on the broad veranda,
rocking to and fro, obviously on the watch for him. From force of habit,
Bill tried to make a detour with the intent of entering unseen through
the back door; but, knowing his ways, Mrs. Jones was too quick for him.
She called to him, and, with the air of one who had no intention
whatever of entering by the back door, he came up on the porch and
dropped into a chair beside her.

"Well, mother," he said, amiably, "you look all tuckered out. Glad to
see you restin'."

"Where you been all day?" she asked, ignoring his remark. Her tone was
none too tender, but there was a gentle gleam in her motherly, tired
eyes as they sought her husband's, sheepishly hiding behind half-closed
lids.

"Just takin' a look at town," Bill drawled. "Just takin' a look." He
settled himself comfortably in his chair and rolled a cigarette.

"Don't you know there's some new boarders come?"

"Sure," said Bill, easily. "I sent 'em, didn't I? Told 'em you was the
best cook in two states, mother. Guess I ought to know."

Millie, an apron over her neat and simple house dress, came out and drew
a chair between her foster-parents. She glanced quickly from one to the
other, and then her gentle brown eyes came to rest lovingly on old Bill.
He returned her smile.

"What a long time you were, daddy!" she said. "I bet you stayed away
just because you knew mother and I wanted to talk to you to-day--own up,
daddy!"

Bill grinned delightedly, despite his knowledge of the rather grave
situation the girl's smiling comment covered. "Well, Millie," he
answered, "I'm here now, ain't I? Guess we can have a little talk before
them boarders begin to yell for their supper. I kinder wish as you
didn't have to cook for 'em, mother--an' Millie waitin' on 'em. 'Tain't
fair."

Mrs. Jones's lips twitched; the weight of a hard day was on her.

"It ain't no use puttin' it off, Bill," she said, wearily. "We got to do
somethin'. Mr. Townsend was here this afternoon."

"What o' that?" asked Bill.

"Well, he's pretty shrewd, you know, an' he's thinkin' about us, Bill.
He seen how much of the timber's gone. He knows we sold another strip o'
land last month for next to nothin'--"

"What's that to him?" Bill queried, rolling another cigarette and
apparently completely absorbed in the operation.

"He--he's just worried about us, an' it's nice of him, Bill, him knowin'
us all these years. He--he thinks as we might move into--into one o'
them little cabins down the trail an'--"

"Lem Townsend's all right," Bill cut in, lazily, "but we ain't goin' to
move, mother. An' it ain't nobody's business, neither--not even Lem
Townsend's. I hope you told him that."

"Why, Bill!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, sharply. "I told him no such thing!
An' I ain't so sure but what I ain't goin' to take his advice!"

Bill looked at her, a hidden smile in his eyes. "It's your property,
mother," he said, quietly.

Tears sprang into the woman's eyes and she made an impulsive gesture.

"You mustn't think that way, Bill!" she cried. "I know you deeded the
whole place over to me when we were married--and it was all you had! I
wasn't thinkin' o' that--'ceptin' as I always think. You must say _our_
place, Bill. It's yours an' mine an' Millie's. We'll stick together.
But we got to do _somethin'_."

Bill glanced slyly at the girl, whose brown head was bowed thoughtfully.
"What you think, Millie?" he asked.

"I don't know what to say," she replied, slowly. "I could go back to San
Francisco and work as I did last year. But maybe we could pull through
this winter--if only we could get boarders. I don't mind the work,
and--and I'd rather stay home here."

Bill's eyes suddenly twinkled. "What's the matter?" he chuckled. "John
Marvin come back from the city to stay at his cabin?"

Millie blushed. "Daddy!" she pouted.

Mrs. Jones did not seem any too pleased at her husband's remark. "John
Marvin 'ain't got nothin' to do with it!" she exclaimed. "I don't see
what he comes foolin' around here for, anyway--Millie 'ain't got _him_
on her mind!"

"I should say not!" Millie echoed, though it occurred to Bill that the
softness of her brown eyes belied the petulant toss of her head.
"Perhaps, after all, it would be best for me to go back to Mr. Thomas's
office!"

Bill turned his half-shut eyes on her quickly, but Millie did not note
the expression of genuine concern in them. He sat lost in thought. The
last winter had been the most difficult of all for them. Millie, feeling
that it was time for her being some help, had studied typewriting and
stenography and had obtained a position in the office of Raymond Thomas,
a San Francisco lawyer. Presumably on a vacation, Thomas had chanced to
spend a week at the Jones place the previous summer. Millie had told him
of her design to help the family, and Thomas had suggested that she take
the position open in his office.

But that had been a dreary and lonely winter for Bill and his wife.
Millie's pretty face and youthful ways had been missed sorely; the girl
had come to be all in all to the old couple, and they could not bear to
see her go away again for another long winter.

Then, too, Bill had his own reasons for feeling grave and down in the
mouth when Millie suggested her returning to work in the office of
Raymond Thomas. Bill Jones was not one to analyze, or to voice or
explain his thoughts--even to himself--unless he took a notion to, or
considered that the right moment had arrived; it was all too much
trouble, anyway. Certain thoughts were running through his mind now,
however; running a little at random, to be sure, but they were there.
His young friend, John Marvin, had worked in Thomas's office for a
time--was working there when Millie entered the office. Indeed, that was
how Marvin had met Millie and found, to his delight, that they were
neighbors up in Nevada--that she was the pretty daughter his friend Bill
Jones was always mentioning.

But Bill was thinking now especially of the fact that Marvin had left
Raymond Thomas's office suddenly, and had told Bill precisely why he had
left.

"Don't _you_ think it would be best for me to go back, daddy?" Millie
questioned, interrupting his random musings. "Maybe mother could manage
here, with one or two boarders and the money I shall send her. And there
will be your army pension. Mr. Thomas is coming to pay us a visit
to-morrow, you know, and I'll ask him at once for my old position. I
know it will be all right, for he's always been perfectly splendid! He
told me the position would always be open to me. You have no idea how
kind and considerate he is, daddy! Then maybe next summer--"

"Next summer we're all goin' to be rich!" said her odd foster-father,
unexpectedly. "Yes, sir, meanin' you an' mother, Millie girl, next
summer we're goin' to be awful rich. Leastways, you an' mother is. Bein'
rich wouldn't mean nothin' to me--I'm above it!"

"Why, daddy!" Millie exclaimed, staring at him. "How--What do you mean,
daddy?"

Slumped away down in his chair, Bill's eyes were now all but closed
tight and he was grinning.

"Nothin' particular," he answered, softly. "'Cept that maybe Bill Jones
ain't called Lightnin' for nothin'."

"Bill," said his wife, "this ain't no time for to be smart! If you have
anything to say, I wish to goodness you'd say it!"

Bill half opened his eyes and glanced at her. "Millie ain't goin' back
to that tailor-made lawyer's office," he said.

"Daddy, please!" said Millie, flushing.

"You mustn't make fun of Mr. Thomas when--"

"All right, Millie," he stopped her, resting his thin hand on her brown
hair for an instant. "I wouldn't say nothin' as would hurt you. But you
won't have to go back, my dear--not unless you really want to leave us.
I got an idea, mother--that's why I was late gettin' home. Ideas take
time, 'specially when they're good ones! I got a good one what'll fix
this whole business!"

Bill stuck his thumbs in his faded old shirt comically. Even slumped
down in his chair as he was, the suggestion of a harmless swagger was in
his manner--the easy swagger of one who, hitherto unconsidered, has
astonished the skeptics by giving birth to an idea and solving a
problem. There was something about Bill that suppressed the gentle but
none the less amused smile that was dimpling Millie's cheeks.

"Out with it, daddy!" she demanded, restraining a desire to pull his
ear.

"If Lem Townsend is so anxious to help us," he stated, "he can arrange
all the details for you, mother. I 'ain't got time for details--that's
what I told Grant once, when we was havin' supper before Petersburg. Got
enough to do with the idea. Lem can put the ads. in them Reno papers,
an' hire the maids for you, an' things like that." Then Bill suddenly
stopped, hugely enjoying the mystification of his two listeners.

His wife sat up. "Bill Jones," she said, "you been drinking again down
to town, that's what I think!"

"Go on, daddy!" Millie encouraged, putting her hand on his arm. "I feel
that you've thought of something! Tell us!"

Ignoring his wife's accusation, Bill gave Millie a grateful glance and
resumed, in his slow drawl:

"I got an idea--sure enough, mother an' Millie! It didn't hit me until I
was half-way home to-day, but I got it lookin' at the mornin' train what
goes on through to Reno. I've looked at a pile o' trains in my time, but
I never got no idea from 'em before. Look here, don't the state line run
plumb through the middle o' this house, so's half of it is in California
an' the other half in Nevada? Well, what's the matter with makin' this
house a hotel temporary for busted hearts what takes six months to cure?
Lots o' them rich folks from the East who goes on down to Reno to git
divorced would like to live on the lake, but they can't because they got
to live in Nevada for six months. They can live on one side o' this
house an' be in Nevada. An' at the same time they gits all the good o'
livin' in California! They'd be tickled to death an' they'd be comin' in
shoals all year, winter an' summer. An' what they pays ain't nothin' to
them--the Reno hotels is so rich off them they don't want to take in no
one what 'ain't a busted heart! You better start right away gettin'
ready, mother!"

Mrs. Jones and Millie gasped. Bill, however, having spoken at
considerable length for him, merely reached for his eternal bag of
tobacco and paper and idly rolled himself a cigarette.

Millie clapped her hands. "Why, mother!" she cried, "daddy's right--it
is an idea! And so simple!"

"All big things is simple," Bill remarked, with the air of one who ought
to know.

Mrs. Jones stared from her husband to Millie. "Oh, Bill," she said,
finally, "I really think we can do it! And now I'll tell you somethin'.
I--I was goin' to suggest this very thing some time ago, but--but I
thought you wouldn't approve of it on account o' Millie. Lem Townsend
put the notion in my head when he was talkin' about our sellin' the
timber."

Bill looked up. "Lem thought of it, eh? Didn't think Lem had that much
sense. Anyways, I bet I thought of it first--I must 'a' been thinkin' of
it for a long time without knowin' it. Why shouldn't I approve--on
account o' Millie, mother?"

"I--I don't know," said his wife, uncertainly. "I hear some of them
divorcers is--is--"

"Shucks, mother," Bill stopped her. "They're human beings, ain't they?
An' them as ain't we needn't take. But they're all right. I seen a lot
o' them on the trains. Right smart lookers, most o' them! They can't
help it if their hearts gets busted, can they? Human beings is human
beings. Besides, we gotter look at it from a business point o' view--as
Lincoln said to me about the Civil War. I was a business man once an'--"

Millie laughed, and Bill, remembering that he was in the bosom of his
family and that there were certain things he couldn't "get away with"
there, subsided.

Evidently Mrs. Jones had been thinking hard during the past few minutes,
and now she spoke. "We'll do it, Millie!" she said. "Some o' them Reno
hotels got started overnight, just like this, an' we can do the same.
It'll be kinder queer at first, turning our home into a hotel, but maybe
we can soon make enough to--to make it a home again. Shall we try it,
Millie?"

"Of course!" Millie exclaimed. "I think it will be great fun! You're
awful clever, daddy, to think of it!"

Bill, who had rolled and lighted another cigarette, arose and stuck his
hands carelessly in the pockets of his worn, baggy old trousers.
"'Tain't nothin'," he remarked, swaying on his heels and toes. "Nothin'
at all! I think o' lots o' things like that, but I don't tell 'em--too
busy! Well, mother, as Lem Townsend's comin' over to-night, you better
have him fix them details. I got to go an' think some more about the
idea!"

He moved away with elaborate unconcern and started to amble down the
veranda steps. His wife suddenly remembered several odd jobs he should
be attending to, but she did not stop him. Her mind was full of
plans--and one is naturally timid about asking a Man with a Big Idea to
perform menial tasks.




CHAPTER II


After supper the following evening Bill slipped from the house and
ambled through the woods to the lake border, where a young moon, cradled
above the western ridge, sent its shafts of silver light across the
darkened waters. It was evident that Bill Jones wanted to be alone. He
settled down on the trunk of a fallen tree and absently rolled himself a
cigarette. When it was satisfactorily lighted he glanced down the shore.
It was deserted, but a little way back, on the woodland path, he
observed two people strolling in the dim shadows of the pines and
cedars. He knew that the girl in the white dress was Millie, and he
guessed that the man with her was John Marvin. Bill was not especially
romantic, but there was no doubt that the sight of those two together
pleased him. He knew that the pair had not seen much of each other of
late, and he wondered why. He himself had not seen John Marvin for
nearly two weeks. Though he did not indulge in romance personally, he
understood much, and he sighed deeply as he watched the dim figure of
the girl strolling along the path. His mind wandered off through a vista
of past years to the time when Millie had first come to the Tahoe region
and to the Jones family, a bit of a girl of three. Sinking into a
reverie, Bill failed to note that the pair had finally parted, Marvin
striding off up the trail in the direction of his cabin. A pull at his
ear brought him back to earth.

"Why, daddy! What are you doing out here all alone?"

Millie sat down beside him, putting an arm around his neck.

"Hello!" said Bill, reaching for his bag of tobacco and papers. "Where's
John?" he asked, a humorous gleam in his eyes, as he met hers.

Millie seemed to hesitate before answering: "He's gone back to his
place. I told him Mr. Thomas was here and he wouldn't even come in to
see him! He says he does not like it. I don't think it is any of his
business," she added, giving Bill a hug.

"Why ain't it?" Bill asked.

Again Millie hesitated, then said, "Mr. Thomas is just as nice as he can
be daddy, and--"

"His yaller gloves is nice. So's his cane. Must take him an awful long
time to dress."

Millie took her arm away and looked at him. She caught the lift of his
eyebrows and the peculiar expression of his half-open mouth and
half-shut eyes, an expression which always decorated Bill's face when he
gave vent to sentiments which Millie had come to regard as "Daddy's
intuitions." Bill always used trivial words at such moments, but that
did not minimize the effect.

"But, daddy, it seems so hard to make you understand how good Mr. Thomas
has been to me! Mother understands. He took such pains with me. I was a
perfect greenhorn and didn't know the first thing about office work. No
matter what mistakes I made, he was just as patient as he could be. And
he says he loves this beautiful country up here! He liked to hear me
tell about our wonderful waterfall."

Bill puffed his cigarette, an odd gleam in his eyes, perhaps of
amusement, perhaps of wisdom. Millie glanced back toward the house; then
her eyes swept the shore and finally came to rest on something barely
visible far up on the mountain--John Marvin's cabin. She sighed and
continued to gaze in the same direction. Bill stole a look at her.

"Liked to hear about our waterfall, eh?" he remarked. "I thought so."

Millie started. "Thought what, daddy?" she asked, her brown eyes trying
to read his face.

"Nothin'. Nothin'," he replied, with a note of finality that she had
long learned to know as indicating the futility of further questioning.

"Well," she said, rising, "I think you'd better come up to the house,
daddy. I suppose you left Mr. Thomas all alone there on the veranda,
didn't you? You might have stayed and entertained him until I got back."

"Guess he entertains himself pretty well," said Bill. "Besides, mother's
with him."

"But you ought to be there, too, daddy; you're the head of the house,
you know!"

He gave her an amused glance as she cuddled his arm in hers and walked
him off. "All right, Millie, but I kinder keep fergettin' that part of
it."

Coming up the veranda steps, they found Mrs. Jones sitting there with a
handsome, perfectly groomed young man of possibly twenty-seven. Raymond
Thomas looked actually too good to be true in that backwoods region. He
arose quickly, placed a chair for Millie, and then drew one beside his
own, urging Bill to occupy it.

"Please sit right here, Mr. Jones!" he insisted, with an easy,
flattering smile. "Where did you disappear to after supper? I've been
looking all over for you. I want to hear some more of those famous
stories of yours! Tell me how to get him started, Miss Buckley," he
added, with mock appeal and turning his dazzling smile on Millie.

"Oh, daddy just starts himself!" she answered, laughing.

Bill dropped into the chair and crossed his legs. Gingerly he took the
cigar Thomas offered him.

"I want to hear about some of your experiences in the Civil War," Thomas
urged. "Why, I have heard that you were in most of the big battles!"

Bill glanced at his smiling questioner with an odd look. With great
deliberation he bit off the end of the cigar. "I was in all them battles
but two," he said, finally, holding up the cigar and subjecting it to a
minute inspection.

"Yes?" Thomas encouraged. "Allow me to light the cigar, Mr. Jones!"

Bill gave him a quizzical glance at this unusual attention, a glance
that apparently was quite lost on Thomas.

"Sure. All but two," said Bill, taking a long pull at the cigar. "I was
in Washington on private business when them two was goin' on. I was
greatly disappointed."

"I can imagine so!" exclaimed Thomas.

"You can imagine a lot o' things, can't you?" said Bill, unexpectedly.
"I often imagine I never saw some people. It makes you feel better. But
about them battles. Ye know Grant 'd never won the battle of Lookout
Mountain if it hadn't been for me--"

"Indeed!" cried Thomas, in a tone of pleasant surprise.

"Nope. I was the only man he would let look out."

Thomas laughed effusively and gently tapped Bill on the back. "Capital!"
he exclaimed. "You must tell me some more later on. And you've got to
come to town with me some time, Mr. Jones. But"--and for a moment he
turned his brilliant smile on Millie and Mrs. Jones--"I've been
thinking ever since supper of that great idea of yours about turning
this place into a hotel for the broken-hearted. Really, I've given much
serious thought to it, as I was telling your wife just before you and
Miss Buckley joined us. I am so interested in you all that I hate to act
like a damper, but I have very grave doubts about it being a paying
proposition. And then I fear none of you have taken into consideration
the vast amount of work, preparation, and alteration the scheme will
entail. Now, as you are doing this to--er--well, to improve the
financial yield of the establishment--you have flattered me by deeming
me worthy of your confidence, Mrs. Jones, so perhaps I need not hesitate
over words--it seems to me that we might find some other and easier way
of accomplishing the desired object--"

"Hello, Lem! Come an' set down," called Bill, calmly interrupting the
above flow of words and addressing a tall, rather impressive and
distinguished-looking man of about forty who had come up the veranda
steps.

"How's it goin' Lem?" Bill asked. He turned his eyes on Thomas. "Lem's
runnin' fer superior judge o' Washoe County at the fall election."

Mrs. Jones and Millie greeted Townsend cordially and the girl placed a
chair for him while he turned to shake hands with Thomas, who had
recovered his slightly shattered poise and risen gracefully. Townsend
shook hands genially, but there was a lurking frown in Raymond Thomas's
eyes--more than a suggestion that he was annoyed at the interruption,
and, for reasons of his own, resented the presence of another person on
the veranda. His dazzling smile was at work, however.

"It is a pleasure to meet the future legal light of Washoe County!" he
said.

"That's right--better make yourself solid with him now," said Bill,
throwing away the remains of the cigar and bringing out his tobacco and
papers. There was something in his voice that somehow did not bring a
laugh.

"Why, daddy!" cried Millie. "I don't think that's funny at all!"

Bill merely glanced at her and went on rolling his cigarette. Thomas had
given Bill a keen, puzzled look; but no one could ever tell from
Lightnin's expression whether or not any special meaning lay back of
his words.

Mrs. Jones created a diversion. Eagerly she imparted Bill's great idea
to Townsend and their intention of carrying it out at once. Millie
joined in and asked him if he would help. He declared himself at their
immediate disposal.

"I'm very glad you are going to do it, mother!" he said. "In my
judgment, it is an excellent solution of your problem. You will recall
that I suggested this--"

"But I beat you to it, Lem!" Bill cut in quickly. "Forethought and
execution is the whole carnage!"

Raymond Thomas had been listening closely. If there was disapproval and
annoyance at the turn things were taking, it did not show in his face.

"But are you sure this venture will pay these good friends of ours, Mr.
Townsend?" he asked, in a tone of grave doubt. "Those divorce
people--they are mostly women, you know--are generally on short rations,
though they have been used to having a lot of money to spend. I'm afraid
they'll demand comforts and luxuries that will run expenses into big
figures, and they won't want to pay enough to make a reasonable margin
of profit."

"I am certain it will pay splendidly!" replied Townsend. "Look at the
Reno hotels! Oh yes, I strongly advise our friends to tackle it!"

Thomas frowned slightly. "Perhaps you are right, Mr. Townsend. I presume
you have investigated the matter. But there is another point to
consider. I don't think--well, personally, I do not think it is
altogether a good plan to--to bring women of that sort into contact with
women like Mrs. Jones and Miss Mildred."

He turned to Millie, his expression one of delicate concern and appeal.

"It's fine of you to speak like that, Mr. Thomas," she said, flushing
slightly, "but mother and I have talked over all that. We do not mind.
And, besides, I don't think it right for us to feel that way about it.
I'm sure most of those women are nice--and maybe they need just the
sympathy and care we can give them."

Lemuel Townsend, on hearing Thomas's statement, had sat bolt upright.
"Sir," he said, in tones of personal injury, adjusting his glasses and
eying Thomas from head to foot, "I think that a rather broad and
sweeping statement for you to make. Miss Mildred is perfectly correct
in her surmise. I must remind you that I am a Nevada attorney. I have
known, in my life, many of these young women, and I have found them most
estimable!"

"Ye like 'em, don't you, Lem?" remarked Bill, chuckling.

Townsend flushed; he looked appealingly at Mrs. Jones and Millie, his
judicial manner gone. It must be confessed that Millie suppressed
something resembling a giggle.

"You old fogies up here in the mountains have the wrong idea!" Townsend
said, turning to Bill. "Why should two people be hitched together when
they are pulling in different directions? That doesn't get them any
place." He rose and reached for his hat on the veranda rail. "Well, I
must be off. I'll get to work at once, Mrs. Jones. The Reno papers shall
have your ad. to-morrow, and I'll get busy on some other things at
once."

The two women rose, profuse in their thanks, which he smilingly waved
aside. With a nod to Bill, and a rather formal bow to Thomas, he went
down the steps.

Thomas resumed his seat and his dazzling smile; there was nothing in his
manner to show that he had been thinking quickly. He crossed his legs
easily and drew out another cigar.

"Have you ever thought of selling the place, Mrs. Jones?" he asked,
suddenly.

"Why--why, no! Can't say as we have!" she answered, evidently surprised.
"An' I don't know as we could if we wanted to. Ain't much call for a
place like this, Mr. Thomas!"

"But you can't always tell about these things, my dear lady," said
Thomas, addressing himself exclusively to Mrs. Jones. "It might not be
so hard to find a purchaser, and at a good price, too."

"I--I don't think Bill would like to sell," she replied, doubtfully.
"Would you, Bill?"

Her husband made no reply. He sat gazing straight ahead, his eyes half
shut as usual.

"Perhaps Mr. Jones is indifferent on the subject," Thomas resumed. "Now
I am sure that if he felt that you and Miss Mildred were well
provided--"

"Say, you're kinder full of ideas yourself, ain't you?" Bill
interrupted, unexpectedly turning and bringing his thin, unshaven face
close to the other man's, quite unwonted force and anger in his manner.

"Daddy!" Millie cried, while his wife stared at him.

The anger left his face and the old, shrewd, humorous light crept back
into his eyes.

"I don't believe in more 'n one idea at a time," he said, grinning.
"No--I guess mother an' me an' Millie 'll try out that little
busted-heart notion o' mine first, afore we tackles any other notions.
Guess I'll turn in, mother--had a kinder tall day. Look sorter all in
yourself. Better come along. Tirin' business, havin' ideas. If Mr.
Thomas 'ain't been entertained ernough, maybe Millie 'll stay down an'
keep the show goin'." And he got up slowly, stuck his hands in his
pockets, and ambled into the house.

"I think we'd better go in, too, mother," said Millie, rising. "I know
you're just fagged out, and it's late, anyway. You won't mind if we
leave you to finish your cigar, Mr. Thomas, will you?"

"Not at all! Not at all!" Thomas exclaimed, with his smile. "A thousand
pardons for keeping you up so late--it was thoughtless of me!"

He sprang to the screen door, held it open for them, and called a cheery
"Good-night!" as they disappeared up the stairs. Then he sat down again
and thoughtfully finished his cigar. He appeared to have a lot to think
about, to figure out. When finally he went up to his own room a light
burned there for an hour longer.

In the morning Bill Jones was up and about unwontedly early. He got
himself some breakfast, then went to the little desk where the few
boarders habitually left the letters they had written the night before
for the outgoing mail, which he took to the post-office. He found some
half-dozen letters on the desk this morning, and he examined the
addresses deliberately. One in particular seemed to interest him
immensely. It was in a handwriting he had seen before and recognized as
that of Raymond Thomas. He put a finger to his cheek and gazed up at the
ceiling--which is the same as saying that Bill Jones was making a
careful mental note of the name and address on that letter. It was
addressed to one Everett Hammone, the Golden Gate Land Company, San
Francisco. It was quite obvious that Bill Jones had a strong desire to
know the contents of that letter; but he dropped it carelessly among the
rest, bundled them up with a string and stuffed them in his pocket as he
strolled out of the house on his daily journey.

Out on the trail a bit, his ambling feet came to a pause. He took out
his tobacco and papers and rolled a cigarette. Lighting it, he turned
around and gazed up the mountain, his eyes blinking in the morning
sunlight as they rested on the dot that was John Marvin's cabin. For a
moment it seemed as if Bill had it in mind to change his direction and
go up the mountain.

"I sure would like to have er talk with John," he mused. "Sure would.
'Ain't had a talk with him for some time. But I guess as John is pretty
put to it with that there timber proposition--things must be gittin'
some excited up there! Maybe I'll go up to-morrer."

And having characteristically decided to do it to-morrow, Bill continued
his morning stroll toward the post-office.




CHAPTER III


For reasons obvious and otherwise, Bill Jones did not carry out his
intention of visiting John Marvin's cabin "to-morrow." In spite of
himself, Bill naturally was drawn into the vortex of work and
preparation necessary to turning his home into the Calivada Hotel. The
period of change was a nightmare to Bill, the only leaven in his misery
being the astonishing fact that he actually evolved quite a number of
ideas--ideas which Mrs. Jones, Millie, and Lem Townsend not only O.K.'d,
but put into instant execution--and found exceedingly workable. He made
many attempts to disappear from the premises, but his wife, or Millie,
or Lem always had an eye on him and managed to frustrate his hasty
sorties or more subtle schemes to take French leave. This went on day
after day, and now Bill had endured nearly six weeks of more or less
pleasantly enforced captivity.

In the mean time the mysterious "excitement" up the mountain about
which Bill had mused that morning on the trail had come to a head, and
John Marvin's little cabin seemed to be the center of it.

It was shortly after sundown one evening that a big, red-headed
lumberjack, obviously a Swede, put his head in the door of the cabin and
glanced quickly around the one room. Seeing that there was no one
inside, he entered, closing the door behind him. Going to the window, he
looked out through the thick grove of pines and cedars, but evidently
could see no one. He was breathing hard, as if from running, and he sank
into a chair.

His rest was short-lived. There was a rap at the door, which was
instantly pushed open, and a lanky, sinewy man in sombrero and
riding-breeches, with two revolvers at the belt, strode in. The Swede,
on his feet in an instant, recognized the intruder as Nevin Blodgett,
sheriff of Washoe County.

"What you want?" the lumberjack asked, in his heavy voice.

The sheriff did not answer at once, but took a quick survey of the
cabin's contents, his eyes lighting up as they rested upon the unwashed
dishes on the table, telling of a recent meal. There was a
self-satisfied swagger about the sheriff as he walked up to the Swede.

"You're John Marvin, ain't you?" he demanded.

"No, sir," replied the Swede, with a heavy frown.

The sheriff looked puzzled for a moment; then it seemed to dawn on him
that it was just possible that a big, red-headed Swede was not likely to
be John Marvin.

"Well!" he snapped. "Then I guess you're working for him, ain't you?"

The lumberjack shook his head and went close to Blodgett, emphasizing
his words, "Who I work for bane my business!" There was no fear in his
manner as he stood looking into his interrogator's face with a grin that
boded ill for any one looking for trouble.

Blodgett backed away, his eyes following the breadth of the Swede's
husky shoulders and the line of his powerful arms.

"None of that!" he said. "You're with the gang that's been chopping down
that timber out there. You know well enough that Marvin's stealing that
timber, don't you?"

"Stealing?"

"Yes! He's stealing it from the Pacific Railroad Company, and I'm here
to arrest him for it!"

"Humph!" The Swede shrugged his shoulders and wheeled around, gazing
anxiously out of the window, where the path through the forest was
visible.

"You know where he is, don't you?" Blodgett asked.

"He gone away."

"Where?" Blodgett stamped his spurred boot.

"I doan' know."

"When did he go?"

"Maybe--yesterday."

"When's he coming back?"

"I doan' think he coomin' back." The Swede deliberately put a kettle on
the stove and whistled indifferently.

Blodgett was evidently torn between a desire to maintain his dignity and
authority as sheriff and a rather healthy reluctance to have any trouble
with the great, hulking Swede.

"It's going to be hard for you if you're lying--"

He got no farther. The Swede stepped up to him with blazing eyes.

"You call me liar?" he yelled. "I throw you out the door!"

Blodgett backed quickly away--very quickly. His hand sought the latch
behind him. "If you threaten me, the next thing you know you'll find
yourself in jail!" he cried, shaking his fist.

The Swede's only answer was an ugly grin. Blodgett opened the door,
slamming it after him as he went away.

The big lumberjack stood quiet for several minutes, listening to the
sounds of retreat beaten by the hoofs of Blodgett's horse. Assured that
the sheriff was safely out of the way, he crept to the window, thrust
his head over the sill, and gave a low whistle.

There was a stir in the soap-plant outside and Marvin emerged, hurried
around to the door, and entered the cabin.

"Good work!" he exclaimed, laughing and clapping the grinning Swede on
the back. "You got rid of him very well, Oscar! Now I'll go on with my
supper!"

He took off his coat and went over to the stove, where he began to shake
the damper to let out the ashes. Oscar came and stood beside him.

"He tell me--"

"I know what he told you," Marvin interrupted, continuing to shake the
ashes.

"Do that land belong to the railroad?" There was a slight note of alarm
in the Swede's voice.

"It does now, Oscar," Marvin replied, throwing some paper and wood into
the stove and lighting it; "but I sold the timber a long time before the
railroad got the property, and I'm trying to save the timber for the man
who bought it from me."

"Oh!" The Swede turned toward the door, as if to go. "Bane they arrest
you for that?"

"Not unless they find me!" Marvin chuckled.

"An' me an' the boys--can they arrest oos?"

"No, Oscar," Marvin laughingly reassured him. "You fellows are working
for me and you are not supposed to know anything about my affairs."

"Oh!" The Swede gave a satisfied nod of his head. "I see--you know that
from--from your books." He jerked his thumb toward a table in the corner
on which some law-books stood.

"Yes," said Marvin, looking into the coffee-pot. "Anyhow, you'll be gone
in the morning. The job's done, thanks to you and the boys."

The lumberjack stood for a moment, nodding his red head; then he turned
slowly and went out.

Marvin put the coffee-pot on the stove, watched it a minute, and then
sank thoughtfully into the shabby but comfortable arm-chair at the end
of his reading-table--which also served as a dining-table. He sat there
for several minutes--until the coffee, boiling over on the stove,
brought him out of his reverie and to his feet. At the same moment he
caught the sound of remote but high words coming from that part of his
land where the recently cut timber was stacked.

"I tell you he bane gone away!" he heard, in Oscar's heavy, threatening
voice.

Hurriedly pushing the coffee-pot on to the back of the stove, he sprang
to the door, but before he could reach it it was thrust in against him
and he was thrown back into the middle of the room, where he stood,
perforce, facing a tall, athletic-looking man in motor togs. The man's
strong, intellectual face, undoubtedly pleasant and agreeable
ordinarily, was now clouded with anger, his jaw set and grim.

At sight of him, however, Marvin's fists unclenched and he smiled
amiably, despite the other's attitude.

"Why, hello, Mr. Harper!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "You're
just the man I've been looking for! But you seem a bit upset. What's the
trouble?"

Ignoring the outstretched hand, Harper threw off his duster and tossed
it, with his gloves, on the table.

"Just a minute, young man," he said, with a grim tightening of his jaw
and his keen eyes boring into Marvin's. "Just a minute. I came here to
have a look for myself and to see precisely where I stand." He turned
and carefully closed the door.

Marvin went to the stove and calmly poured himself a cup of coffee.
"Well," he remarked, with a laugh, "won't you have a chair and some
coffee first--you can shoot just as easily sitting down."

Harper, his hand at his belt, glared at him.

"You don't think I mean business, do you?" he said, grimly. "Or perhaps
you think you have beaten me to it, eh? Now what sort of man are you and
what nice little game is this you are playing? Here I buy a grove of
timber from you, and while my back is turned you sell the property,
timber and all, to the railroad! I want an explanation and I want it
now!"

"You have the facts a bit mixed up," Marvin replied, still smiling and
nodding toward the chair, at the same time placing the coffee on the
table. "Sit down and we'll talk it over--and I think you'll decide not
to shoot!"

Harper, however, was adamant.

"All right," said Marvin. "In the first place, when I sold you the
timber you said you were going to cut it at once--"

"Correct--correct! But something came up and I could not attend to
it--and I don't see how that exculpates you in the least!"

"It doesn't," replied Marvin, adding, as he took up his coffee, "if you
won't join me, I'll have to go it alone, as this is the first I've had
since morning. Well, when I sold you that timber I never thought I would
sell any of this property. My mother loved every inch of it. It was our
dream that when I received my diploma and established a practice we
would make a home here; but she was taken sick--"

"Yes, I remember your telling me about her being in the hospital."
Harper's voice softened a bit.

Marvin was silent a moment. "I took her to San Francisco. She died
there."

Harper fumbled with the buckle of his belt. His heart went out to the
younger man; yet he felt that right was on his side. He picked up a
picture of Mrs. Marvin that stood in a small frame on the table. "I'm
deeply sorry," he said, softly. "I did not know."

"There is no need to apologize," Marvin answered, quietly. "You have a
perfect right to demand an explanation about that timber." With a last
swallow of coffee, he put down his cup and stood squarely facing Harper,
and his own expression was grim as he continued:

"When we got to San Francisco--mother and I--a lawyer in whose office I
had been a student came to the hospital and got into her good graces. He
had taken a great interest in me and I would have taken an oath as to
his integrity. But when I came up here to sell you the timber--and
mother and I needed the money desperately at the time--this man took
advantage of my absence to persuade mother to deed him fifty acres,
nearly the whole of the property! It was to be a pleasant surprise for
me when I returned! Instead of cash, he gave her a batch of stock in the
Golden Gate Land Company, stock of which I have been unable to dispose.
And the next day he resold the property to the Pacific Railroad Company
for three or four times the price represented by the stock he gave
mother. I found that out later, of course. Well, after mother's death I
hurried up here, only to discover that you had not cut the timber I sold
you _before_ the property was sold. I got busy at once and have been
staying on here until the gang out there finished cutting it and piling
it on what is left to me of the property. Your timber is ready for you,
Mr. Harper, any time you are ready to haul it away."

It was Harper's turn to put out his hand. "I'm mighty sorry I
misunderstood you, Marvin!" he exclaimed, as the latter returned the
clasp. "But look here! Can't you do anything about this fellow, this
lawyer? What's the rascal's name?"

"Raymond Thomas. He's up in these parts quite frequently of late. Made
himself solid with some dear friends of mine, I'm sorry to say, and I'm
worried about it. I can't help believing that he's up to some new game,
though I can't just see what it is. He's a remarkably smooth customer.
It's very hard to pin anything on him. I'm going to make him disgorge my
property if I can, but I shall have a difficult legal fight on my
hands."

Harper nodded understandingly. "I see, I see--covered himself cleverly.
I don't know the gentleman, but I'll be only too glad to do anything to
help you, Marvin." He took a turn about the room, while Marvin leaned
against the table. "I'll have the timber hauled away at once. I didn't
have it cut, myself, because--well, I've had a lot of trouble myself.
Had a strike at the mill, and--oh, hang it all! It's my wife, Marvin!
She's packed up in a hurry and left me!"

He flung himself into the chair and stared ruefully, comically, at the
younger man, who, not knowing what to say, said nothing.

"I didn't mind the strike so much, nor this timber mix-up!" Harper
rushed on, with the air of a man who must tell some one or explode. "It
was my wife, young man! It's her being so unreasonable that makes me
sore. I bought her a present when I was East and had it shipped to the
office. It happened to arrive about the time Mrs. Harper was to come to
the office in the machine to take me home, and she walked in just as I
was showing it to my stenographer. Of course my wife thought I bought it
for Miss Robbins, and--well, what's the use of talking about it?"

With a gesture of dismissal for the subject, he stood up and took out a
wallet.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked. "I figured it would cost about eight
hundred dollars to do that job out there--"

Marvin put up a deprecatory hand. "I can't take it now, Mr. Harper," he
interrupted. "You haven't got that timber yet, and--"

"The railroad will have some job on its hands to get it away from me!"
said Harper. "And unless they do I owe you eight hundred dollars--do you
understand?"

A faint noise outside broke into their conversation. With a warning
gesture, Marvin tiptoed to the door and put his ear against it. Harper,
thinking that it might be a railroad employee who had come to eavesdrop
in order to report their plans, stood with his jaw set, his hand on the
revolver at his belt. With a quick movement Marvin jerked open the door.

Instead of a railroad employee, or the sheriff, it was only Lightnin'
Bill Jones who stood there, leaning idly against the doorframe, his
hands in his pockets. He ambled silently into the middle of the room,
his half-shut eyes blinking in the sudden light.

"I guess I must 'a' been out there some time, come to think of it," he
remarked, meditatively, and addressing himself to the ceiling, quite as
if he were alone. Then he turned carelessly to Marvin.

"I knocked, too--but I guess maybe you wasn't expectin' me."




CHAPTER IV


With a laugh, Marvin shut the door. "It's all right," he said, winking
at Harper. Smiling, he went up to Bill and swung him around to face him.

"Hello, Lightnin'!" he exclaimed. "I'm mighty glad to see you. What do
you mean by staying away from me all this time? And you were so quiet
and mysterious outside there that we thought some one was spying on us!"

"I was a spy once--with Buffalo Bill," said Lightnin', conversationally.
He stared interestedly at Harper. "Friend of yours, John?"

"This is Lightnin' Bill Jones, Mr. Harper. This is the gentleman I sold
that timber to, Bill." The two men acknowledged the introduction.

"Have you had any supper, Bill?" Marvin asked, resuming operations at
the stove. "If not, you'd better stop and have it with me."

Bill shook his head with an air of importance. "No; can't stop. Got to
be home at the hotel at supper-time to see that everythin's goin' right.
What time is it now?"

"Seven o'clock."

Bill shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, meditated, and announced:
"Well, maybe they can get along without me. I got everythin'
sys-sys-matized."

Marvin glanced at him quickly. "Bill, I'm afraid you've been having a
drink or two?"

"Nope. Nope!" Bill repeated, with the debonair innocence of a
mischievous and prevaricating school-boy. "I was just sayin' good-by to
the boys out there." He signified with a jerk of his head that the
lumberjacks were responsible if he seemed in any way elated. "You see,
they're breakin' up camp--an' I didn't want to hurt their feelin's, as
they're all friends o' mine."

Harper, who had resumed his seat in the chair, glanced at Marvin.

"Does our friend Bill know--what we were talking about?"

"Everything!" said Marvin, readily. "Rest easy, Mr. Harper--you'll never
find a better friend, nor a more trustworthy one, than Lightnin'. But,
surely, you have heard of his hotel, haven't you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Then I guess you're the only man what 'ain't!" said Bill, emphatically,
and gazing at the ceiling and thoroughly enjoying the fact that he was
the subject of the conversation.

Rapidly Marvin sketched the conception and success of the Calivada
Hotel. "It was a real idea--"

"It was my idea," put in Bill, conversationally.

"It certainly was, Bill!" Marvin went on. "And the new hotel is a big
success! You see, the state line runs right through the middle of the
house--through the center of the lobby, in fact! There are two separate
desks, one on the California side and one on the Nevada side. Women
began to arrive, and they all wanted rooms on the Nevada side--and they
wanted them for six months!"

Harper roared with laughter. "The Reno divorce brigade!" he exclaimed.

Bill fairly beamed at the attention his affairs were drawing. He sat
down on the corner of the table and grinned at Harper, while Marvin went
on:

"Exactly! Everybody knows what a woman goes to Reno for, but at Bill's
hotel she can get a room on the Nevada side and still make her friends
believe that she is at a California resort!"

Again Harper laughed. "A corking good business idea!" he said. "And so
it was your idea, Mr. Jones? I congratulate you! I suppose you have been
out West here a long time?"

"Sure--came out in the gold excitement," replied Bill, calmly.

Harper stole an amused glance at Marvin. "Why, the gold excitement was
away back in forty-nine!"

"Well, they was still excited when I got here!" Bill gazed up at the
ceiling, his half-shut eyes hiding their twinkle.

"It's too bad you didn't happen to be one of the lucky ones," Harper
consoled him, arising from his chair.

"Lucky?" Bill scratched his head under his ragged slouch-hat. "Say, I
located more claims than any man what ever came out here! I been a civil
engineer."

The table was not a sufficient throne for Bill, so he slipped down from
it and went close to Harper, peering up at him.

"You ought to be a rich man, Mr. Jones!"

"Always cheated out of my share." Bill shook his head sadly. "Crooked
partners was the reason."

"Couldn't you do anything to them?"

"I shot some, put all the others in the penitentiary--all but one."

"What happened to him?"

"He died before I got him."

"Died of fright, perhaps?"

"I guess so."

Harper took his hat from the table, clapped Bill on the back, and said,
laughingly, "I think I'll get out before you tell me any more!"

Marvin urged him to have a bite of supper, but Harper declined,
explaining, as he went to the door, that he had to be in Truckee in two
hours, and that it would take him fully that time to make it in his car.
Bill, anxious to retain his audience, added his entreaty to Marvin's.
That failing, he followed Harper to the door, searching for an excuse to
hinder his leaving.

Harper paused at the door. "Well, Marvin," he said, "I'm going to send
the trucks down here to-morrow and start hauling. And you might as well
disappear from here for a while; then, if there's any kick, no one here
will know anything about it. I'll keep you posted. Are you sure you
don't want that eight hundred now?" He took out his wallet and again
tried to make Marvin take the money, but again Marvin refused.

Bill had been listening to every word. Now he seemed to have hit on a
way to detain Harper and at the same time prove his own personal
importance. As Harper shook hands with Marvin, Bill took an envelop from
his pocket. Drawing a paper from it, he offered it to Harper.

"If you want to get rid of some of that money," he remarked, easily,
"maybe you'd cash that check for me."

Harper, examining it, saw that it was a government check. "Oh, a pension
check! So you were in the war?"

"First man to enlist!"

Smiling, Harper handed him the check to "indorse"--which happened to be
a new word on Bill.

"Write your name on the back of it," said Harper.

"I always do that," said Bill, as he complied. Then he held the check up
to the light, pointing to the signatures on its face. "See all them
names," he asked, "Secretary of the Treasury, and all of 'em?"

Harper nodded wonderingly.

"Well, they ain't no good at all--not unless I sign it!" said Bill,
triumphantly.

Harper laughed; handed Bill the money for the check, and, with a final
"Good-night!" hurried out of the door. Bill poked his head out, watching
him crank his machine and drive away in the moonlight.

When the car was out of sight Bill turned back into the middle of the
room and stood watching Marvin, who had sat down and was eating his
delayed supper.

"Better join me, Bill," Marvin again invited, and at the same time
noting a change in the old man's manner, now that they were alone.

"No," Bill said; "I had mine with the boys outside, as I told you--but
I'll have a drink with you, John," he added, hesitatingly, knowing
Marvin's disapproval of his drinking.

"I haven't anything in the house, Bill," said Marvin, as he went on
eating. "You know that."

Bill edged slowly toward the table, his hand in the back pocket of his
baggy, slouchy trousers. "Yes, you have," he remarked, producing a
half-filled flask.

"You mean you have," Marvin replied, trying not to smile. "And you've
had enough for to-night. Put it away, Bill, and promise me not to drink
any more to-night."

"All right, John," said Bill, unconcernedly, and putting the flask back
in his pocket. "I promise--an' I 'ain't never broke a promise yet! I'll
keep this for--for emergencies. Say, Oscar told me the railroad had the
sheriff after you. You remember the last promise what I give you?"

"What was that, Lightnin'?"

"That if they goes to court, I'll come an' be a witness. I can swear
them trees was cut when you sold the property, an' I'll--"

"No, Bill!" said Marvin, putting down his knife and fork and staring at
the old man, whose half-shut eyes had the suggestion of a flash in them.
"No; I couldn't let you swear to anything like that."

"You can't help yourself--I got a right to swear to anythin' I want!"
There was an unexpected finality in Bill's usually drawling voice.

"But I haven't got to prove when those trees were cut," said Marvin.

"I know it," Bill responded; then, catching the smiling doubt in the
other's eyes, he added, "I was a lawyer once."

"Then why don't you practise?" asked Marvin, inwardly chuckling.

"Don't need no practice." And Bill resorted to his bag of tobacco and
papers, rolling himself a cigarette. By this time Marvin had finished
his meal.

"Look here, Lightnin'," he said, as he cleared the table, "you seem to
have something on your mind. How are things going up at your place?
Anybody at home know that you are here?"

"Not unless they're mind-readers."

"I thought so. Well?"

"It's a wonder you 'ain't come up to take a look yourself," Bill
countered. "You 'ain't even been up to--to see Millie," he added,
thoughtfully.

Marvin flushed. "That's true, Bill," he said, slowly. "But I've been
mighty busy with this timber here, as you know; and, besides--well,
Millie seems to be a bit interested elsewhere."

"That's just the trouble, I guess," said Bill, settling himself on the
corner of the table.

Marvin looked at him quickly. "What do you mean, Bill?" he demanded.

Lightnin' crossed his legs, took a final puff of his cigarette, and let
it drop from his fingers.

"Oh, there ain't nothin' much to that, John!" he replied. "Nothin' to
worry about. But it's what lays back o' that."

"For the Lord's sake stop talking in riddles, Lightnin'!" Marvin
exclaimed. "What lies back of what?"

"Well," said Bill, looking up shrewdly, "this here Thomas has shown his
hand--an' we gotter admit, John, that he plays a mighty smooth an' slick
game! He wants to buy our place, waterfall an' all."

"So that's it!" Marvin knew that Thomas had been buying up property in
the section, and he knew from experience what sort of treatment the
sellers were likely to get. That old Bill and his family should now be
involved filled him with concern and anger.

"But surely you're not going to sell, Bill!"

Lightnin' looked up, then down. "The property belongs to mother, John;
an' this here Thomas person sure knows how to go after what he wants!
He made himself solid with mother an' Millie some time ago, as you know.
They think he's Santa Claus, or somethin'. Why, he's got mother an'
Millie all het up so's they don't know whether they're standin' on their
head or feet! Mother's kinder simple about some things, John--but Millie
oughter have more sense! He's been tellin' them that this here hotel
idea won't pay for long, an' that he's willin' to buy the place at once
for a good price. He tells 'em as how they can enjoy themselves an' live
comfortable on the proceeds--an' I can have a nice, easy old age! He
'ain't said much to me, o' course--I don't give him a chance to find me
around, much. But he's got the womenfolk all fed up, eatin' out o' his
yaller gloves, an' crazy to sell. An'--an' mother an' Millie is kinder
sore at me 'cause I ain't takin' much interest in the proposition. Say,
what was the name o' that feller what acted as agent for the railroad
an' bought your property from Thomas when he done you out of it?"

"Hammond, Everett Hammond," said Marvin. "Go on, Bill--I'm listening!"

"Hammond, eh? To--be--sure. Well, Mister Everett Hammond is up at the
hotel now, John, with Thomas--Hammond come up in a hurry, an' they got a
deed to the property all ready fer mother an' me to sign. Mother's crazy
to sign, but I ain't--not yet. An' it seems they gotter have my name on
it, to make sure."

"What--you mean to say it has gone that far!" exclaimed Marvin.

"Sure thing," said Bill, rolling another cigarette. "An' say, I happen
to think them two--Hammond an' Thomas--has been in cahoots fer some
time--got an idea they is actually partners."

"What makes you think that?"

"I was a detective once," said Bill, with a sudden return to his usual
manner, as he lighted the cigarette.

Marvin made an impatient gesture. "Hang it! This is really too bad,
Bill! Look here, I'll see if I can do anything! I'm going to come up to
the hotel to-morrow as soon as I can get away from here! You're not
going to sign that deed, are you, Lightnin'?"

"No," replied Bill, slowly, a little nervously; "no--but mother an'
Millie is kinder hot on my trail fer to make me do it. Them two fellers
has sure got 'em goin', John! Well, I guess as they'll all be in bed by
the time I gets back now, so I'll be gettin' along. You'll be up
to-morrow, John?"

"I'll come--don't worry, Lightnin'," said Marvin. "Better go now, Bill;
you've got a long walk ahead of you, you know."

He dropped into his chair and reached thoughtfully for one of his
law-books. Bill opened the door; then turned back for a moment.

"Studyin' them books?" he inquired.

"Trying to," Marvin remarked, turning a page.

"That's right--that's how I got _my_ start!" said Bill, as he went out.




CHAPTER V


The following morning, rising at dawn, Mrs. Jones again tried to awaken
her husband to a full sense of his shortcomings anent his foolish
reluctance to sign the deed to the property. Bill, however, merely
turned on the pillow, gave her a brief smile, and dropped quickly into a
gentle snore. After several more attempts to awaken him and impress on
him the fact that his absence the day before had kept Thomas and Hammond
on a day longer when they had important business calling them to the
city, she gave up in despair and went below to look after breakfast,
taking with her the packet of letters that should have been in the hands
of the guests the afternoon previous.

The morning was a busy one for Mrs. Jones and Millie. Bill, coming down
unexpectedly, escaped them, calling through the door, on his way out,
that he was going for the mail. When noon came and Bill did not turn up,
Mrs. Jones's anxiety reached fever pitch, and she sought Millie in the
hope that she could offer some solution of the problem of forcing the
deed through Bill's unwilling hands.

At breakfast, Thomas and Hammond again had painted to her and Millie
golden pictures of the ease and even luxury that would be theirs as a
result of the sale of the property. Trembling with anticipation, Mrs.
Jones had then and there put her name to the deed which disposed of her
last bit of land; and she was determined that, no matter what it cost
her in seeming coldness and harshness toward him, Bill should be made to
place his name directly under hers. She made up her mind that he should
be brought to terms as soon as he got back; hence her extreme annoyance
as the morning went by without his showing up.

As she went about the house, looking for Millie, her determination took
on a hard and bitter aspect which was only softened when she caught the
sound of Raymond Thomas's voice. He was speaking softly to Millie in the
lobby. Mrs. Jones belonged to a generation not so long past when
eavesdropping was not considered a wholly unworthy occupation if it
tended to place the culprit in a position to know the inner secrets of
those bound by the tie of relationship. For some time, so cleverly did
he manage her, Mrs. Jones had felt a motherly tenderness for Thomas
springing up within her, and she hoped and dreamed that her affection
would have a chance to express itself. That Thomas was in love with
Millie she had fully decided on. It was for this reason that the very
sight of John Marvin, whom she knew to be a poor young man with no
particular prospects, filled her with displeasure. Then, too, she did
not approve of her husband's friendship with Marvin, having a strong
suspicion that Marvin was influencing Bill against Thomas, and an
intuition that Bill, in his unworldliness, would stand back of Marvin's
love for Millie.

And so it was that the sight of Millie smiling up at Thomas as he looked
earnestly down into the girl's brown eyes set Mrs. Jones's heart beating
hopefully--and sent her behind a curtain to listen to what was being
said.

Thomas had just come in from the veranda, where he had begged to be
excused from accompanying two prospective widows on a walk to see the
waterfall at the edge of the place. He was smiling with affected
indifference when he met Mildred, who had just come down one of the
stairways, of which there were two, one leading to the Nevada side of
the house and the other to the California side. "It's a shame to miss a
stroll with them!" belying his words with a sneering toss of the head
and shrug of the shoulders.

Millie's brow was drawn thoughtfully into wrinkles and there was a
wistful pucker to her mouth.

At once he was all attention. "What is the matter, Millie?" he asked, a
note bordering on tenderness in his voice.

"It's daddy again. He did not get back until midnight, and he was off
again this morning before mother or I could prevent him. I just heard
the boarders complaining about the mail service. It's all so hard on
mother, and yet"--she hesitated, her mind reverting to her
foster-father's kindness to her through all the years of her babyhood
and girlhood--"and yet," she went on, "he's really so good and kind at
heart, he really would feel dreadfully if he understood what he puts us
through." She stood by the newel-post, her eyes pleading for advice.

Thomas took her hand and looked at it thoughtfully.

For a moment Millie let it lie in his; then her lids dropped and she
blushed, withdrawing her hand and walking slowly toward one of the
desks, of which there were also two, one on each side of the hall.

Thomas followed her, bending down and looking into her face. "I would
not let his absence bother you. I'm going up-stairs to pack my grips. As
soon as I finish I'll go after him," he said, soothingly, as, one hand
in pocket, he let the other flip a pack of cards on the table.

"Oh, you've been too kind already," Millie protested, again meeting his
eyes and turning away, her lips quivering.

"Oh, I'm not so kind as you think!" He laughed, an honest humor rising
to infrequent expression. "I've got to see Lightnin' myself before I go.
He hasn't signed the deed yet, and--"

"I really can't see what he's got to do with it!" Millie interrupted.
"The place is mother's. Oh, well"--she sighed and shook her head in
despair--"I suppose to be safe his signature must be obtained. I do hope
he'll turn up before you leave. It's too bad--"

"Well, if he doesn't, maybe you and Mrs. Jones can make him see the
light. I'll leave the papers with you, and when he signs them you can
send for me and I'll be up and--"

"You don't know how much I appreciate all you've done for us. Now don't
say it's nothing." Millie turned and put her hand on his arm, her eyes
resting intently on his.

He bent over her for a minute, then straightened up as he heard a slight
movement in the portiere, a gleam of wisdom illuminating his face. He
smiled with a nonchalant disregard of his former intention and backed
away from the girl.

Millie's color mounted her forehead. Shyly she withdrew her hand from
his arm and fumbled with the bunch of keys about her neck. After an
awkward silence she continued:

"You've been so good to us. When mother and I've been in such distress
that we did not know where to turn and mother was nearly frantic, you
come forward and in no time arrange everything so that mother and daddy
are going to be better off than they ever dreamed of. For years, you
know, mother and I have worried about her and daddy's old age. Piece by
piece we've sold the land and the timber. Even if this place does pay it
will only be running expenses, with nothing saved up, as you said. And
then the Nevada divorce laws might change. Oh! You've been so kind," she
breathed, in deep sincerity.

"Now don't make me ashamed," Thomas coaxed in his soothing way, backing
slowly toward the stairs on the California side. "What I've done is just
the simplest thing in the world. I grew to be very fond of you when you
were in my office, Millie, and I'm glad to be of what service I can."

As he was half-way up the stairs, Mrs. Jones emerged from behind the
portiere. He stopped and bent in a nattering bow, a twinkle in his eye.
"Why, good morning, Mrs. Jones!" he called down.

"Oh, excuse me!" Mrs. Jones, a guilty conscience bringing his courtly
sarcasm, which would otherwise have escaped her gullible nature, into
notice, stepped back, turning to the kitchen, whence she had come when
she stopped to listen. But Millie followed her, and, with arm around her
waist, drew her into the room and seated her near the table.

"You're not going into that hot kitchen again to-day," remonstrated
Millie, planting a daughterly kiss on her cheek. "You've been out there
working like a slave for three mortal hours."

Mrs. Jones hid her hands awkwardly under her apron and reddened as she
glanced up at Thomas, who had come back from above-stairs.

"I don't look presentable," she murmured, fidgeting in the chair.

"Come now, you mustn't mind me," said Thomas, Millie adding her word to
his: "Please stay there just for a few minutes, mother. You look ready
to drop."

"She's always tellin' me that." Mrs. Jones showed her pleasure in
Millie's concern by beaming knowingly from one to the other, an act
which sent Millie to the desk, where she pretended to look at the
register.

Thomas smiled. "Millie's right," he responded. "You do work a great deal
too hard; but it won't be long now before you can say good-by to hard
work for the rest of your life."

"Oh, Mr. Thomas!" Mrs. Jones arose, forgetting the red, hardened hands
she had been endeavoring to hide behind the blue and white checked
apron, and hastened to Thomas, holding them toward him in a gesture half
of gratitude, half of pleading. "I can scarcely realize that all this is
going to come true and we owe it all to you. I only wish I could tell
you how grateful I am."

Thomas was quite determined to escape further enthusiasm, either on
Millie's or on Mrs. Jones's part. His game nearly played, he wished to
withdraw gracefully and without detriment to a certain lurking decency
which had not quite been swept away. Thwarting Mrs. Jones's attempt to
wring his hand in gratitude, he took two light bounds up the stairs,
stopping to laugh back: "Well, I'm going to get out for fear you'll
spoil me with a thankfulness I don't deserve. Hang on to her, Millie."
He directed a gleam toward the young girl as she went up to her mother.
"Make her take a rest."

"Oh dear! Do you think I've driven him away?" There was genuine concern
in Mrs. Jones's voice as she sank back into the chair and gazed
anxiously after Thomas.

"No, you haven't." Millie smoothed the brown hair which was fast
streaking with gray from her brow, damp with excitement. "He is going
up-stairs to pack. He's arranged everything about selling the place, and
there's nothing more for him to stay--"

"You're here, ain't you?" Mrs. Jones folded her arms stiffly across her
chest and assumed a rigid position in her chair as she questioned Millie
with eyes suddenly grown fierce with the look of an angry hen when she
thinks her brood has been disturbed.

"Oh, mother!" The girl pursed her lips into a pouting smile as she
leaned over the back of the chair, an affectionate arm on Mrs. Jones's
shoulder. "Please get that foolish idea out of your head. You know--"

"Know nothin'." Mrs. Jones's head jerked vehemently while she insisted:
"Every letter you wrote home all the time you was workin' in his office
showed that he cared for you."

"I never wrote anything of the sort!" Millie drew a surprised breath as
her mouth was drawn into a tiny O of expostulation. "Never!" she
reiterated, with a slight stamp of her foot, as she went to the
California desk and became absorbed in the register.

"Oh, I could read between the lines! I ain't that stupid. If he isn't
in love with you, why is he plannin' for us to come and live in San
Francisco? Oh, won't it be grand!" Mrs. Jones, carried away by the
recollection of a long-ago visit to the city, and by a dream of what a
permanent life there would be, resumed her own hearty enthusiasm. "I
want to live in the city real bad, but I'm just skeered to death I won't
know how to dress. I want to get a lot o' pretty things 'n' be like the
women I saw when I was at the Palace. Do ye think Bill 'll think I'm
getting crazy?"

An indulgent smile from Millie met her uneasy but smiling gaze, and she
went on: "I know I've talked about the city ever since I can remember,
but now that it's in sight I'm awful afraid I'll be out o' place."

"Well, you'll not," answered Millie, going behind the counter to look at
the letter-rack, almost empty. "I'm going to see that you have just as
nice things as any of the women stopping here."

There was a silence as both of the women smiled in contented
anticipation. Mrs. Jones was the first to speak, a sudden doubt
expressing itself in an anxious frown and a narrowing of the eyes. "But
there's Bill," she said, with a start. "I'm so afraid of the way he'll
act!"

"Daddy 'll be all right, I'm sure."

Mrs. Jones composed herself and began planning. "When his pension comes,
you must take him to town and buy him some new clothes. Them others we
got before didn't fit a bit good."

Millie turned quickly at the mention of her father's pension,
remembering that it was time for it to arrive. She reminded her mother
of this fact.

Mrs. Jones's gaiety had brief life after Millie's remark. "He ain't back
with the mail! I'll bet--"

"Oh, mother!" Millie, deeply concerned, came from behind the desk and
went up to the older woman, questioning, "You don't suppose his pension
has come?"

"I think it's gone!" Mrs. Jones bowed emphatically in a rising voice and
hurried to the desk on the Nevada side, where she took a cursory but
none the less exhaustive look at the mail indexes. "I found him hanging
around this desk this morning, and when I come in he beat it, sayin',
before I could stop him, that he was goin' after the mail. I wonder--"
She stopped and gave a deep groan of acquiescence. "Huh! Huh!" She had
opened up the top of the desk to find a half-filled flask. "There!" she
exclaimed, holding it to the light. "He was waiting for a chance to get
this when I shooed him away!"

Millie put her arm around her and drew her into the middle of the room,
trying to soothe her. "Anyway, don't let's blame him for anything until
we're sure. He may come home perfectly all right. You know he loves the
woods and the lake and the autumn coloring which is so wonderful now. He
always lingers like this. Please go up-stairs and have a good rest."
Millie tried to lead her mother toward the stairs, but Mrs. Jones gently
shook the girl's arm from about her waist and went toward the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Millie asked, standing still, a puzzled frown
giving place to an understanding laugh as Mrs. Jones hesitated and
looked at the floor, answering in a manner half ashamed: "Why--well--I
thought--" she stammered, "he might come home soon, an' he's used to
findin' somethin' good kept warm--though he don't deserve it!"

She hesitated, her kindly, better nature shining in her eyes, battling
for expression. "Yes--please set a place for him, Millie!" And Mrs.
Jones hastily disappeared into the kitchen to avoid the girl's rippling
laugh of gentle amusement. Smiling to herself, Millie crossed the lobby
and went into the dining-room.

The moment she had left the lobby the street door of the hotel was
pushed open cautiously and an inquiring head thrust itself in. The head
was that of Bill Jones. Evidently satisfied that the coast was clear,
Bill came slowly into the lobby. Looking warily up at the stairs on
either side, and toward the dining-room and kitchen doors, he eased
himself softly over to the Nevada desk, raised the top and fumbled
expectantly inside.




CHAPTER VI


As Bill reached the desk and lifted the top, another gray-haired old
man, possibly the same age as Lightnin', though larger and huskier in
build, stole in through the street door and stood there doubtfully,
puffing a cigar. He looked about fearfully, evidently ready to decamp at
an instant's notice; but his glance, traveling back to the figure at the
desk, bespoke a childlike trustfulness in Bill Jones. This gentleman's
clothes were as disreputable as might be, as was his battered
slouch-hat. His face was very red and very unshaven, and his expression
was a comical mixture of uncertainty as to his welcome on the premises
and maudlin kindliness toward the world at large. He rejoiced in the
name of "Zeb," and was a down-and-out prospector, a relic of the past.
His only reason for existence these days seemed to be that he was a
crony and devout satellite of Bill's--to the great aggravation of Mrs.
Jones. There was a legend in the district that Zeb and Bill had spent
many years together in the old days, up and down the trails. There
seemed to be considerable truth in the story. Anyway, no efforts of Mrs.
Jones's or of anybody else's could make Bill forget his pal. Zeb was
always sure of a meal, or a drink and a cigar, provided Lightnin' could
find a way of producing those necessities of a broken-down prospector's
life.

Bill felt around in the desk for a minute, while Zeb watched, fearfully,
hopefully; then Lightnin' turned around, disappointment in his face. But
before he could break the sad news regarding the strange disappearance
of a half-filled flask, Zeb held up a warning finger and began to back
through the door. His ear, ever keen for the swish of Mrs. Jones's
skirts, reported danger.

"What's the matter, Zeb?" Bill asked. "Aw, come back. What ye 'fraid
of?" With a disgusted motion he beckoned Zeb into the room again.

But Zeb, answering the warning that had never failed him, stayed close
to the door, whispering back to Bill, "Where's your old woman?"

"That's all right. Come on in. She ain't here now." Bill, determined in
his search, lifted the lid a second time and began to take out the
contents of the drawer.

Zeb, taking heart, tiptoed up to him and, looking over his shoulder,
murmured, contemptuously, "I don't believe you've got a drop."

"I'll show ye!" Looking intently under the lid, Bill's voice was half
smothered. It stopped short when the kitchen door flew open and Mrs.
Jones burst with emphatic and quick tread into the room.

She did not pay heed to Bill at once. Zeb received the full force of her
mood. "Clear out now!" she called, in no gentle tone, as she swept up to
him--an unnecessary action, as Zeb, catching one glance of the irate
woman, made double-quick time in getting out of the door and down the
steps of the veranda.

Zeb disposed of, Mrs. Jones turned her attention to her errant husband.
Both arms akimbo, she stood still in the middle of the floor and
concentrated her glare upon him.

"Bill Jones," she asked, in a loud, rasping tone, "where have you been?"

Bill had put down the lid at the first hint of her entrance. While she
was addressing Zeb he had quietly slipped behind the desk and busied
himself with the mail which he had drawn from the back pocket of his
trousers. Whistling softly to himself, he sorted the letters, placing
them in their proper pigeonholes.

He did not answer Mrs. Jones at once, but went on whistling. After a
second in which he decided that a soft answer might draw the sting from
her wrath, he stood still and, without looking around, said, gently,
"Hello, mother." Without waiting for a reply, he went on sorting the
mail.

The fire in Mrs. Jones's eye flamed brighter. Nothing exasperated her as
did Bill's refusal to take her tempers seriously. It was not easy to do
all of the fighting--one reason why Bill usually succeeded in carrying
his idleness with a high hand. But this time she was not going to be
ignored. The conference with Hammond and Thomas, the knowledge that he
had been looking for his flask--that he was looking for it more for
Zeb's sake than his own, this time, made no difference--as well as
complaints by the guests because of Bill's tardiness with the mail, had
exhausted her patience and whetted her into bringing Bill to quick
order.

"Do you know what time it is?" She took a step closer to Bill, her
voice retaining its hard ring.

Bill paid no attention to the question, but went on whistling and
sorting the mail.

"It's after two o'clock!" She stamped her foot and glared at him.

Her glare fell on unseeing eyes, her tones on unheeding ears, for the
uneven tenor of Bill's whistle kept up and the spasmodic sorting of the
mail went on.

"Let's see," he said, softly, to himself, "Mrs. Taft's letter--she's in
Number Four, ain't she?" he addressed his wife. Receiving no answer
himself this time, he kept on with his soliloquy, changing the letter to
its proper place. "There! that's right. This one," he said, holding the
envelop to the light and studying it, "is for Mr. Thomas." He hesitated
and looked at it more closely. Placing the other letters on the desk, he
came from behind it and went toward Mrs. Jones.

Noting that Mrs. Jones was interested in the letter and that she had
made a quick move toward him, he changed his mind and sauntered to the
other side of the room, still scrutinizing the letter in his hand. As he
paused, he placed the envelop close to his eyes and read, "Raymond
Thomas Es-_Q._"

Mrs. Jones, her arms folded across her adamant breast, narrowed her eyes
into a quizzical stare. Satisfied that her estimate of Bill's condition
was correct, she hastened to verify it. Going close to him, she
demanded, "Bill, have you been drinkin'?"

For once in his life Bill could prove his innocence. He was quick to
avail himself of the opportunity, and, much to her surprise, he turned
and blew his blameless breath at her.

Mrs. Jones relaxed, exclaiming, in tones of relief, "Thank the Lord!"

"What's He got to do with it?" Bill asked, quickly.

Mrs. Jones smiled. For the time being her manner was mollified. She
followed him to the desk behind which he had returned to the mail-rack.
"You know," she explained, "it's 'way past dinner-time, and if you won't
work, the least you can do is to be on time for your meals."

"I been workin'," Bill chirped, as he placed the last letter in its box
and went toward the dining-room door.

Mrs. Jones placed herself in the middle of the room and in such a way
that Bill could not reach his goal without passing her. "What work have
you been doin'?" The sarcasm in the glance which pierced Bill's shifting
gaze did not pierce his good humor. He continued to chirp. "I got the
mail."

"The mail?" There was contempt in his wife's question and in the answer
she gave to it. "The mail came at ten o'clock."

"I got it, didn't I?" Bill registered another cheerful quip.

Suddenly Mrs. Jones's mind recurred to the day of the month. Her
contempt gave place to anxiety and she stepped close to her husband and
looked into his face again. "Bill, was there a letter for you?" she
asked.

Bill did not answer her with words. Instead he looked away from her and
shook his head slowly.

"Bill Jones," his wife persisted, her tones reverting to their former
clear coldness, "didn't your pension come to-day?"

"To-day?" Bill smiled a self-congratulatory smile for the word which
gave him the loophole of escape. Had his wife omitted that one word he
would have, for his honor's sake, been forced to admit that he had it.
For it was a part of his peculiar code that under no circumstances was
"mother" ever to be lied to. Prevarications, yes, but downright,
indisputable lies, no. And that with vigorous emphasis. But now she had
mentioned the day. The pension had not come to-day. It had reposed in
his pocket since yesterday, where, true to his promise to John Marvin,
it should remain until he had made up his mind to hand it over to his
family. So he felt the coins in his pocket and looked up at her with a
half-guilty grin, drawing out his words one by one, in halting tones.
"Not--to--day."

"Well, when it does come," she said, pleasantly, "Millie's going to go
to Truckee with you and buy you some clothes. You gotta have some new
ones for when we goes to the city."

It was on the tip of Bill's tongue to reaffirm, as he had countless
times, that he was never going to the city as long as he lived; but he
had begun to realize in the last few days that tact must enter into his
negotiations with his dissatisfied spouse. So he responded, mildly, "I
got clothes enough."

Mrs. Jones made an impatient gesture and tossed her head in dismay. "I
don't know what's got into you, Bill Jones. When you came courtin' me
you had good clothes."

"This is the same suit." Bill's jest might have brought further nagging
upon his shoulders, but Millie's entrance from the dining-room turned
Mrs. Jones's attention to her.

"Oh, daddy, you're back!" Millie went quickly to her foster-father and
attempted to put her arms about his neck.

He drew away from her, asking, quickly, "What of it?"

"Are you all right?" Her tones were anxious and her gaze not less so.
Whereupon Bill proved his sobriety just as he had proved it to her
mother.

"Now are you satisfied?" he asked, as she smiled at him.

Kissing him, Millie reminded him gently that it was past dinner-time and
that he had better go into the dining-room, where something hot awaited
him.

"Please come now, daddy," she added. "The girls want to get their work
done."

Bill hesitated. He glanced surreptitiously over at the Nevada desk,
where, to the best of his knowledge, he had deposited a half-filled
flask the night previous. His wife's eye, however, was on him. Suddenly
she stepped up to him and took him firmly by the arm.

"Bill Jones," she said, "you're comin' right inside now an' eat!
Whatever else is on your mind can wait--an' it might be a waste o' time,
anyway!"

Finding himself propelled toward the dining-room, Lightnin' cast an
appealing, whimsical glance at Millie, but she covertly shook her head
to indicate that even she could not gainsay Mrs. Jones just then.

Left alone, Millie busied herself at the desk with some accounts which
she wanted to finish before the arrival of a fresh contingent of guests,
due that afternoon. She put down her pencil after a few minutes of work,
however, and leaned her elbows on the desk, her chin in her hands
thoughtfully. She had a well-defined suspicion as to where Lightnin' had
been the night previous, and--well, Millie was curious about it.

Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Lemuel Townsend.
There was an air of importance about him. He was frock-coated and
altogether spick and span.

"Hello, Millie!" he said, walking up to the desk and shaking hands with
her. "I've been trying to get around here all week, but I'm mighty
pressed for time these days, you know! How is everything? You're all
filled up, I suppose?"

"Nevada is full," Millie answered, smiling; "it always is, but the
California side is often empty. Oh, it's great fun--I call it the Hotel
Lopside! Sometimes I'm sorry that we're giving it up."

"Oh! Then you've really decided to put through the idea of selling the
place!"

"Yes. Mother made up her mind this morning, and I more than approve it,
all things considered. Daddy hasn't--hasn't quite agreed, though, but
it's for his own good. I don't quite understand daddy's objections. I
wanted to talk to him this morning about it, but I didn't get a chance.
There's been something mysterious in his manner lately."

"Something mysterious--about Lightnin'?"

"Yes," said Millie, thoughtfully. "Mother hasn't noticed it, of course,
being so busy and worried--and outwardly daddy is his usual easy-going,
amiable self. But I have a feeling that he has--or thinks he
has--something up his sleeve. Daddy can't hide things from me, you know!
Another thing, he doesn't seem to like Mr. Thomas at all--is downright
rude to him at times. I can't understand it, for it isn't like daddy!"

Townsend frowned in a puzzled way. "Perhaps you're taking some of dear
old Lightnin's notions too seriously, Millie," he remarked. "Though I
must say that I have a great deal of faith in Bill. I've been a little
out of touch with the situation lately," he went on, judicially, "but
from what you and mother have told me about the proposed sale, and from
the one or two talks I have had with Mr. Thomas, I am inclined to agree
with you and mother that this sale is an excellent idea. So far as I can
judge, it is a sound investment and all for the best."

"Of course it is!" said Millie. "But now--how about yourself? How is the
campaign going, Mr. Townsend?"

"Splendidly! But it's rather trying, as I have to do most of the
campaigning myself--even the odd jobs!"

He looked down at a bundle of large, printed placards which he carried
under his arm. Withdrawing one, he held it up for her inspection. Millie
read, "Vote for Lemuel Townsend for Superior Judge of the Second
Judicial District."

"Would you mind if I tacked up some of these in the lobby?" he asked,
joining in her laugh.

"Not at all!" Millie exclaimed. "I've a hammer and tacks right here in
the desk. Let me help you--and I do so hope you'll win!"

Chatting, they proceeded to embellish the lobby with Lem Townsend's name
and ambition. Their operations were brought to a pause by the arrival of
the expected new guests.




CHAPTER VII


As the motor-stage drew up to the door, Millie ran out on the veranda to
deliver a few commissions to the driver to execute when he got back to
town. She noted that Sheriff Blodgett was a passenger, and that he
jumped down and preceded the guests into the lobby.

The first of the new arrivals to step out of the stage and enter the
hotel was a chic little woman of about twenty-four, with big brown eyes
and auburn hair, dressed in a bright blue outing-flannel coat and skirt
and a tiny red hat from which hung a heavy veil. It was obvious that she
was suffering from great embarrassment, as she walked quickly about the
lobby, going from one register to the other, while a maid followed her
with an armful of bundles. The woman looked helplessly from wall to wall
and desk to desk. The presence of Blodgett and Townsend seemed to add to
her embarrassment, a condition still further aggravated by the
appearance of a third man, Everett Hammond, who chanced to come
strolling down from up-stairs at the moment. She fluttered up to Millie
as the girl came in from the veranda.

"Would you like to register?" Millie asked.

"How do you do," was the reply, uttered in a timid treble. "I am Mrs.
Harper. I understand--" Her head turned from side to side as she
hesitated. She clasped her hands and gazed pleadingly at Millie. "I've
been told--" Again she hesitated nervously, tears in her eyes. She
noticed Blodgett and Hammond gazing at her. In desperation, her blushes
showing under the heavy veil, she whispered, quaveringly, "Could I speak
to you privately?"

"Certainly," said Millie, hiding her amusement. "Just step into this
room," and she led the little woman away.

As they left the room, followed by the faithful maid, another guest
entered, an attractive woman of thirty. She was highly colored as to
hair and complexion, and she had about her an air far removed from the
chic, haughty member of the millionaire divorce colony that centered
about the Reno hotels. In type she was not unlike Mrs. Harper, except
that she did not show any special evidence of timidity. On the contrary,
she seemed perfectly at home. But she came in with the aid of a crutch
and leaning on the arm of the stage-driver. Her eyes took a calm
inventory of the lobby--including Townsend, on whom she smiled
coquettishly as she sighed with relief and sank into a chair.

Townsend was leaning against the California desk, and he had been
watching Blodgett and Hammond, who, conversing in low tones, had
strolled out to the veranda. He was surprised to note that the pair had
met before and seemed to know each other quite well. His attention,
however, was now drawn to the attractive new guest. Her smile was not
without effect. She turned to the driver.

"I'm all right now, thank you," she drawled, though her voice was soft
and pleasant. "Just drop my bag here." Fumbling in her purse for change
that did not seem to be there, she directed a glance toward Townsend and
smiled again. "Will you change five dollars for me?" she asked.

Townsend drew out his wallet and examined its contents, but put it back
again disappointedly. "I'm afraid I can't," he said, with obvious
regret.

"Well, then," said the attractive woman, with a frown, "pay the driver,
please."

Townsend gave a slight start of chagrin, feeling that his standing as a
candidate for a judgeship was suffering by her lack of discernment.
Then, as the truth of the situation dawned on him, he suppressed a
chuckle. Without a word, he handed some change to the driver.

"Charge it to my account," she ordered, settling herself comfortably in
the chair, extending one foot which was bound in a heavy bandage about
the ankle and clad in a soft slipper.

Townsend, still smiling, began: "Well--er--"

"I'm Mrs. Davis," she interrupted, ignoring his embarrassment. "Mrs.
Margaret Davis." She turned her wide blue eyes full upon him as she
switched in her chair, the movement bringing a twinge of pain to her
face.

Townsend left the desk and came toward her. "I'm very glad to meet you."
He extended an affable hand. "I'm Lemuel Townsend, and I--"

Mrs. Davis did not offer him her hand at once, but gave him an
inquisitive glance. "Will you show me to my room?" she asked.

"I don't know where it is," he said, laughing. By this time his ruffled
dignity was assuaged by the twinkle in Mrs. Davis's eye and the deep
dimple in her chin.

"Why, weren't you expecting me?" she asked, in astonishment, her mind as
yet refusing to grasp the situation.

"No, I wasn't." He was bending over her, a courtly flattery in his gaze.

"But I wrote you!" She turned clear about on her chair, forgetting for
the moment the pain in her foot, her eyes and mouth wide open with
surprise at the thought that she could be thus forgotten.

"No, you didn't write me. You see, I'm only a guest, just as you are."

Here they both laughed, while Townsend placed a chair close to hers and
sat down beside her.

Mrs. Davis prolonged her giggle and bent her head, her eyes seeking his
under her heavily beaded lashes. "And I said--Oh!" She put her two hands
to her mouth and sidled, "I took you for the clerk."

He nodded indulgently.

"Oh, and I made you pay the driver! I couldn't allow that. Just as soon
as somebody comes I'll return it. I hope you'll forgive me." By this
time her manner was as friendly as Townsend's feminine-loving soul could
wish. She sidled her chair a little closer to his, still holding him
with her eyes, wide as the innocent stare of a baby.

"I'm glad it happened," said Townsend.

"Will you allow me to introduce myself properly?"

She nodded, and he got up and went to the desk, returning with one of
his campaign cards and handing it to her. "Permit me," he said, "my
card." As she took it from him he explained, "I'm candidate for judge at
the next election."

Immediately Mrs. Davis's interest was aroused to fever pitch. With a
knowing look she leaned forward, placing a hand on his arm, while she
slowly and attentively dwelt upon the words on the card. "Oh, really?"
she drawled. "Where will you be judge?"

"If I'm elected--in Reno."

"Will you try divorce cases?" the question was snapped out.

He nodded.

"Oh, I'm awfully glad to meet you!" she gushed, shaking his arm.

"The pleasure is mutual, believe me," he responded, placing his hand on
top of hers. As she withdrew hers with a giggle, he went on, unabashed,
"Do you intend remaining here long?"

"I'm in for six months." She sighed like a hurt baby.

He was all sympathy as he leaned toward her and apologized: "Oh, I'm
very sorry for you, Mrs. Davis--If--"

"Oh, my case doesn't call for sympathy. Congratulations!
Congratulations!" she emphasized with a long-drawn-out inflection.

"Oh!!!" he shook his head wisely, adding, laughingly, "It's that way?"

A twinge from the invalid ankle concentrated Mrs. Davis's full attention
as she lifted her foot, adjusting it against the crutch, thinking to
stop the pain. When it had subsided she smiled up at Townsend again,
pointed to it and said, with an ingenue turn of the head, "I'd probably
never have been able to get a divorce if it had not been for this."

"You don't mean that your husband was brute enough to--" Townsend was
shocked at the thought, but was not allowed to deliver himself of his
full sympathy. Mrs. Davis was just getting into the lines of her part
and she was quick to catch her cues.

"Oh, heavens, no!" she broke in upon his condolences. "This was an
accident. It's a sprain, and it is quite serious, as I'm a dancer." She
beamed up at him and wriggled in the chair, continuing her explanation.
"It's probably all for the best. Of course it'll break into my
engagements. I'm in vaudeville, you know. I've wanted a divorce for
years, but I'm always booked solid and I never stay in one place long
enough to get one. When this happened I saw my chance to get a good long
rest, and my freedom in the bargain." Her eyes begged his for
understanding and received it.

While she had been talking Townsend had been drinking in every word she
said. Her variety of attractiveness was a new one to him. It appealed to
his small-town idea of being a gay blade. He had often cast longing eyes
at the Eastern wives sojourning in Reno for the six months necessary to
establish a residence and therefore their right to a quick freedom which
brought with it no restrictions in the matter of remarrying. The
majority of these prospective divorcees were of a larger world and
reckoned in figures of which Lemuel Townsend did not know the simplest
rules. The only notice he had received for his ambitions being a smile
to his face and a snicker at his back. But here was some one who not
only was taking notice of him, but was actually meeting his advances
half-way. Besides, she was pretty, and he could never withstand a pretty
woman. As she finished the first lap of her story he exclaimed, "That
certainly is a scheme!"

"It's nice of you to listen to it all," she murmured, apologetically,
moving her idle crutch up and down as if writing her mood in invisible
letters on the floor.

"I'm glad you told it to me. Do you know--" and he sidled in his chair,
while a sugar-laden approval beamed at her in a steady flow from over
the top of his glasses, "from the minute I saw you enter the door I was
worried about you--I was afraid--Well, it was a great relief to find
that you had two good--" he halted in hopeless confusion, as his eyes
sought her ankle. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his
nose furiously, hoping to hide the real reason for a blush that seemed
to have come to stay, having settled in a deep crimson even from the
nape of his neck to the top of a head whose sparse hair refused to hide
his embarrassment.

But Margaret Davis, seeing no reason for shyness, just smiled graciously
upon him and hastened to standardize her reputation. "Any one who has
seen me dance can inform you about--well--about--_them_," she said
seriously, adding by way of flavor to her remark another languishing
droop of her eyelids. There was a moment of coy silence for the two of
them. Then Mrs. Davis asked, "Are you stopping here for pleasure or are
you doing time?"

"I'm a bachelor."

"How nice!" she replied, in honeyed accents, as she leaned toward him
and put a soft hand on his arm. Undoubtedly in Lem Townsend she saw the
possibility of an easy divorce trial. Besides, Townsend was by no means
without personal attractions. Mrs. Davis gazed at him, her languishing
smile concealing the feminine appraisal in her eyes. She decided to
cultivate the possibility, and was about to say something in furtherance
of her object when she was startled by a gentle voice coming from
directly behind her and inquiring, pleasantly, "Rheumatism?"

Bill Jones had entered the lobby unobserved by the pair and was leaning
over the desk idly, looking at his new guest with kindly interest.
Townsend introduced Bill, and Mrs. Davis, with Lem's assistance, rose
and took up a pen.

"No," she said; "I have not acquired rheumatism as yet, Mr. Jones. I'll
register--you're reserving a room for me."

"How long you here for?" Bill asked.

"The usual," she sighed, and rolled her eyes toward Townsend.

"Eh?" Bill grinned and walked slowly from behind the desk.

"Six months," she drawled, wearily.

Politely staying her hand and taking the pen from her, Bill pointed to
the other desk. "This is the six months' side--over here," he said,
sauntering to the back of the Nevada desk.

When the lady was at last settled in her room, and Townsend had
left--having made an arrangement to dine with Mrs. Davis that
evening--Bill found himself strangely alone for the moment. Instantly he
seized on the opportunity to make a thorough investigation into the
mysterious disappearance of a half-filled flask. After turning the
Nevada desk inside out, at last he was convinced that the disappearance
was a fact and not a matter of imagination. "Guess mother has
seequesterated it," he remarked, to himself. "Not that I'm hankerin'
after it so much myself, but I told Zeb I had it, an' when he finds that
I 'ain't, the moral effect on Zeb will sure be bad."

As Bill, rolling a cigarette, meditated on this, Mrs. Harper, followed
by her maid and still casting about like a frightened bird in search of
cover, tiptoed into the lobby, went uncertainly to the California desk
and took up a pen.

Wisdom twitching at the corners of his mouth, Bill was beside her at
once.

"Is either o' you ladies gettin' a divorce?" he inquired, in a helpful
tone, his question including the indignant maid. "'Cause, if you are,"
he explained, "I just wanted to let you know that you are flockin' round
the wrong desk."

Mrs. Harper fluttered some more. "Oh, I--er--but--where--"

"This way, my dears," Bill said, in a gentle, fatherly tone, as he led
them to the Nevada desk.

Mrs. Harper signed her name. As Bill read it he looked up at her with
sudden interest. He put a detaining hand on her arm before she could
flutter away, and at the same time, turning to the maid, he directed her
to have a chair for a moment--at the other side of the lobby, out of
earshot.

When the maid had complied Bill looked down at the register. "Mrs.
Harper, Truckee," he repeated. Then, glancing up at the surprised and
startled little woman, he asked, "Does your husband happen to drive a
green automobile, ma'am?"

Mrs. Harper stared at him with the big, frightened eyes of a child.
"Why--er--yes. But--why do you ask?"

"I met him last night," said Bill. "He's a fast driver, ain't he? Gets
to Truckee in two hours!"

The color rose to the little woman's face. "I don't see--"

"He's a mighty fine feller!" Bill went on, calmly. "Got a pile o' money,
too, an' I bet he's some generous with it--specially to them what he
loves. People is always makin' fool mistakes. Say, you ain't really
goin' to git a divorce, are you?"

Now the astonished little woman's eyes filled with angry tears. "Oh!"
she gasped. "Oh! How dare you speak to me like this! It's none of your
business!"

"Sure it is," said Lightnin', his voice kindly, confidential. "I know
all about it. He didn't git that present for his stenographer."

"How do you know?" she snapped.

"I heard him tellin' all about it to Marvin, the boy what sold him that
timber up yonder. I knocked," Bill explained, whimsically, "but they
didn't seem to hear, an' I was kinder forced to listen in from the
outside. Your husband was all het up an' near committin' suicide 'cause
you thought he done what he didn't. He told Marvin he bought that
present for you when he was in Noo York. He was just a-showin' it to his
office lady when you walked in."

"Nonsense!"

"No, it ain't. It's truth. There's some things I don't go wrong on, an'
this is one, Mrs. Harper. Your husband's a mighty fine feller an'--"

With a stamp of her foot, the little woman flung away from the desk
and, followed by the faithful maid, hurried up-stairs, where--and
perhaps Bill suspected this--she buried her head in a pillow and cried
and cried.

Bill stood at the desk with his head cocked on one side, idly tapping
his ear with a pen. He heard the door of Mrs. Harper's room slam and he
grinned amiably.

"Eatin' her heart out for him," he mused. "Just eatin' her heart out,
but too spunky to back down!"

He gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes; then slowly he
reached into the drawer and took out a telegram blank. His eyes twinkled
as he wrote a brief message. He folded up the blank, stuffed it into his
pocket, and was turning away from the desk with the intention of seeking
the telegraph-office, when Hammond and Sheriff Blodgett came strolling
back into the lobby.

"Oh, so you're actually here, are you?" exclaimed Hammond, glaring at
Bill. "Have you signed that deed yet?"

Hammond, direct, bulldozing, totally lacking in Thomas's smooth
diplomacy, had lost all patience with Bill Jones. That morning he had
decided that the only way to handle Bill was to ride over him
rough-shod. "Have you signed that deed?" he repeated, loudly.

"Deed?" remarked Lightnin', carelessly. "Oh, I'd kinder forgot about
that little matter. Nope. 'Ain't had time, old top--nope!" Ignoring the
glares of the two men, he started to amble toward the door.

"Look here," Hammond called after him, "is Mr. Thomas in?"

"I guess so," replied Bill, pausing directly in front of Hammond and
gazing up at him with a calm, shrewd light in his half-shut eyes. "He
seems to stick around pretty close."

"Well," said Hammond, with a heavy frown, "just be good enough to step
up and tell him that Sheriff Blodgett and I would like to see him!"

"Step up yourself," said old Bill, quietly, without shifting either his
gaze or his position. "You ain't crippled, be you? An' I don't think as
your friend Thomas'll fall off'n his chair with surprise if you drop in
on him unexpected."

Without waiting for a reply, Bill turned away and ambled out of the
lobby. Hammond swore; then strode angrily up-stairs, followed by
Blodgett.




CHAPTER VIII


A few minutes after Lightnin' disappeared down the trail, headed for the
local telegraph-office, John Marvin approached the hotel from the
opposite direction. He paused when some distance away and viewed the
place. It was his first visit in many weeks, and naturally his first
since the great transformation. It could be surmised, however, that this
visit was not one of idle curiosity; neither was his pause due to a mere
desire to observe the various changes recently made. He watched the
establishment closely for a minute; then came on slowly, keeping a sharp
eye on his surroundings. As he reached the steps Millie came out on the
veranda. She was engaged in what, these days, had become one of the
chief occupations of nearly every one in the Hotel Calivada--searching
for Lightnin' Bill Jones, whose persistent faculty of being absent when
most wanted was fast assuming the dimensions of a public aggravation.

"Why, hello, stranger!" Millie exclaimed, with a welcoming smile. "I
thought you had forgotten all about us! You haven't been here for ever
so long!"

Marvin came up the steps and seized both her hands, which she let him
hold for a moment.

"I haven't forgotten _you_, Millie," he said, gently, smiling down into
her brown eyes. "But--well, you know I went away last time with an idea
that you didn't care to see me."

"Silly boy!" Her tone was gaily impersonal, but her red lips puckered
into a pretty pout as she walked to a chair in the corner of the veranda
and sat down.

"I thought that maybe you had returned to Mr. Thomas's office," he
remarked, following her and standing beside her chair.

"No; I'm not going back, not now," said Millie, thoughtfully. She did
not look up at him, but fixed her gaze on her hands, folded in her lap.
"What a tremendous student you were in his office! I never saw any one
work so hard as you did."

"Except when you were in the room--then I was looking at you, most of
the time!" Marvin bent over her, but she gave no sign that she read his
attitude.

"If you'd been looking at me, I'd have seen you." She smiled and raised
her eyes. "You've not given up the study of law, have you?" There was
concern in the lift of her brow.

"Oh no! But I'm not going back into Mr. Thomas's office. Why did you
leave him, Millie? Was there any trouble?"

"Trouble? Of course not! How could any one have trouble with Mr.
Thomas?" Surprise and annoyance stood in her eyes.

Marvin did not reply at once, but drew up another chair and sat down
facing her. He leaned forward, his eyes searching hers as he questioned,
"You like Mr. Thomas--like him very much, don't you, Millie?"

"I more than like him!" An angry color suffused her cheeks as she looked
Marvin up and down. "I adore him!" she added. "You've no idea how fine
he is!"

Marvin started at this--naturally. The situation was going to be more
difficult than he had anticipated. Could it be that Millie was really in
love with Raymond Thomas? Or had he merely convinced her that his
business motives were all that they should be? Perhaps it was both!
Anyway, it was obvious that the girl had Thomas up on some sort of
pedestal; she was in a spunky mood, and Marvin saw that he was going to
have his hands full trying to convince her that the feet on the pedestal
were made of clay. Marvin flushed himself; he did not relish his
position; he shrank from seemingly disparaging another man behind his
back, especially to a girl. If there had been only himself to consider,
he would not have spoken at all. Neither was it altogether for Millie's
sake. She was young, capable, quick-witted; she would see through Thomas
of her own accord, soon enough--if she were not actually in love with
him! But Marvin was thinking of the old people, of hard-working, simple
Mrs. Jones, and of amiable, careless Bill. Millie was the young, strong
member of the Jones household, and it was Millie who must be convinced
and won over, if possible. Thus ran Marvin's thoughts--but quite
honestly he admitted to himself that his love for the girl might be
coloring his logic and his motives just a little.

"I'd like to tell you something I know about Thomas--"

"Oh, I know!" Millie interrupted, quickly. "He sold some property for
your mother, isn't that it?"

"Yes; he sold it to the railroad--for a big price."

"I know--he told me all about it. He's a splendid business man! Why,
that's exactly what he is doing for us! Hasn't daddy told you about it?"
She glanced at him quickly, but he gave no sign of having heard this
wonderful news. "I should think you'd like to see Mr. Thomas. He's
up-stairs packing, now. He's leaving this evening. He came all the way
from San Francisco just to help me--to help us all!"

"To help you?" Marvin asked.

Millie clasped her hands over her knees and went on, enthusiastically:
"Why, this hotel idea has turned out splendidly, you know. But a week or
two ago, Mr. Thomas wrote to mother, saying that he had heard that the
railroad company had got wind of our success and contemplated putting up
a rival hotel just back of us. Mother was nearly crazy at the news, and
I wrote to Mr. Thomas, asking him his advice. He telegraphed that he
would be right out to see us! Wasn't that just like him?"

"Exactly," said Marvin, dryly. "And I presume that when Mr. Thomas
arrived he suggested that you let him persuade the railroad to buy this
place and erect the new hotel here, instead of next door!"

"Why, John--aren't you clever!" Millie exclaimed. "How did you guess it?
That is exactly what he suggested, and now it's all arranged! And
they're going to pay enough to make mother and daddy comfortable for the
rest of their lives!"

With a hopeless gesture, Marvin got to his feet and took a pace or two
up and down the veranda. The girl watched him, puzzled.

"Are they going to pay cash?" Marvin asked, pausing in front of her.

"It's much better than cash! It's shares of stock that pay ten per cent.
a year! It seems almost too good to be true."

"It does--it certainly does!" came from Marvin.

The girl had risen, glowing with enthusiasm. Quite naturally she put her
hand on his arm and looked up at him happily, intimately, naively
seeking his approval.

In the midst of his perplexity Marvin's heart gave a bound. That naive
touch on his arm and the intimate light in the brown eyes told him that,
in one respect at least, all was not lost--not yet! He was about to take
her hands and break into a rush of words when the girl suddenly turned
her attention from him, remarking, eagerly: "Here comes daddy. We were
afraid he'd deserted again!"

Marvin swung around. Much as he wanted to see Lightnin' to-day, he
wished, just then, that Bill could have seen fit to delay his appearance
a few minutes longer. Bill Jones, however, came serenely up the steps
and stood with his hands in his pockets, shrewdly and humorously
inspecting the pair.

"Sorry to interrupt the billin' an' cooin'," he remarked. "But say,
John, ain't you takin' some chances round here? Did you know that
Blodgett's here? I seen him go up-stairs when I went out."

Millie had flushed and turned away at her foster-father's first words,
but now she looked curiously from one to the other.

"What on earth do you mean, daddy?" she questioned.

"He's just _helping me_, Millie," said Marvin, grinning at Bill. "Thanks
for the tip, Lightnin', but I wanted to see you particularly to-day, so
I--"

He stopped abruptly, for Bill had raised a warning hand.

Marvin recognized a familiar voice talking in the lobby. Glancing in,
he saw Raymond Thomas standing in the center of the room, holding Mrs.
Jones in conversation. Hammond and Blodgett had just come down the
stairs and were joining the other two.

"Better beat it, John!" Lightnin' whispered.

But Marvin stood there. He was thinking quickly. He had caught a word or
two of what Thomas was saying, and he gathered that matters were coming
to a climax. Suddenly his expression cleared and he grinned.

"Never mind about that, Lightnin'," he said, mechanically opening the
door for Millie, who, seeing that they were ignoring her, tripped in
with a petulant toss of her head. "I think I have a little scheme that
will fool our friend Blodgett. But first--Bill, promise me that you
won't sign that deed without consulting me!"

"All right," said Lightnin', slowly. "I promise. But you better be
careful, John, an'--"

"Come on!" Marvin interrupted, leading the way himself. "I've a great
desire to be in on these proceedings!"

Seeing that the young man was not to be stopped, Bill said no more as he
slid through the door and ambled after him into the lobby.




CHAPTER IX


"I think it is only fair to tell you, Mrs. Jones," Thomas was saying, a
delicate, apologetic note creeping into his voice as he caught sight of
Millie, "that this Marvin is not a proper person for your daughter to
see. I fully believed that he was a fine young man myself once, and you
cannot imagine my surprise when I discovered that he is the head of a
gang of thieves who are going all over this part of the country,
stealing timber."

"Mercy me!" cried Mrs. Jones. "A thief, no less!" Then, seeing Marvin
unexpectedly present in person, she glared at him. "Somethin' always
warned me against you, John Marvin! Oh, Millie, Millie! How many times
have I told you you was makin' a terrible mistake lettin' him annoy
you!"

Millie was evidently too astonished and puzzled to say anything.
Meanwhile, Thomas had flushed deeply on finding himself confronted by
the man he was in the act of damning. Instinctively he took a step back.
Blodgett made a quick move toward Marvin, but Hammond seized his arm and
stopped him.

"Hold on a minute, Blodgett," he whispered. "You can nab him later--he
can't very well get away from us now. I want to have a word, first--I'm
going to show this young cub just where he stands!"

Meanwhile, though the sheriff's move did not escape him, Marvin, a grim
smile on his face, was gazing steadily at Thomas.

"Go on, Thomas," he said, quietly. "I'm interested! What else were you
going to say to Mrs. Jones?"

Indifferently he strolled over beside Lightnin', who was in front of the
California desk, his hands in his pockets, his half-shut eyes roving
from one to another of the group. To look at him, one would not imagine
that Bill Jones had any special interest in the proceedings. He drew out
his bag of tobacco and papers and idly rolled a cigarette.

Thomas, having regained his poise again, turned to Mrs. Jones with his
dazzling smile. "I'm really very glad that the young man chanced to
present himself at this moment, Mrs. Jones, because--"

"That's all right, Thomas!" Hammond interrupted, suddenly thrusting
himself forward and waving the other aside. "But we have something much
more important on hand. Let's get to it! I can't monkey around here any
longer.

"Mrs. Jones," he went on, "I've been trying to get you all together
before I left, but you seem such busy people that it is as if I wouldn't
have this opportunity. I wanted to tell you that the company for which I
am acting has just wired me to close the transaction, and so I am ready
to take over the property at once!"

Mrs. Jones, bewildered by his briskness and the swift sequence of
events, stared at him, then transferred a gaze no less confounded to
Thomas. "You mean," she questioned, "that--that you want us to leave at
once?"

"Oh no! That's not necessary. But now that you have put your signature
to the deed, the transfer will be made at once and we'll take over the
management, allowing you to remain on until you have made your
arrangements for the future."

With a sharp nod to her and an insolent sneer directed at Bill, Hammond
swung on his heel and busied himself with a portfolio of papers he had
dropped on the Nevada desk.

"I'm sure you can have no objections to these arrangements, Mrs. Jones,"
said Thomas, his voice as smooth as glass, though there was a slight
quiver of his eyelids as he avoided Marvin's steady gaze and caught a
strange gleam that emanated from Bill's puckered-up eyes.

Mrs. Jones had forgotten all about Bill and his part in the signing of
the deed. But a multitude of thoughts were running through her mind,
confused as it was. All that she could think of now was the simplest
answer to Thomas's question. She stepped up to him and put a hand of
confidence on his arm.

"Certainly I do not mind," she said. "I'm delighted and relieved that it
is all settled!" Turning to Hammond, she added: "I want to leave the
whole matter in Mr. Thomas's hands. I'll do just as he advises."

"All right, Hammond," said Thomas, deliberately turning his back on old
Bill. "We shall deliver the deed to you at once, and you can take charge
of the place immediately. I presume you will want to have--"

"Hold on there, young feller!" Lightnin's usual lackadaisical monotone
was raised to a degree which bespoke a greater interest than his
careless attitude indicated. He stepped forward and stood in front of
Thomas, looking up at him with his shrewd gaze. When he felt that the
man was ready to give him sufficient attention, Bill returned to his
customary drawl.

"We ain't goin' to sell this place, my boy," he said. "Not until I
consult my lawyer!"

His words brought his wife to his side instantly, her eyes blazing.
"Bill Jones," she cried, "you just be quiet! What in the world's the
matter with you--tryin' to throw away a chance to be nice and
comfortable the rest o' your life! Are you crazy?"

"Nope. I'm the only one that ain't--'cept John, here."

Bill's steady, quiet grin exasperated Hammond and Thomas to white heat,
but they were too near their goal to miss it by a step. They knew that
under ordinary conditions Bill, in spite of his many shortcomings, held
first place in Mrs. Jones's affections, and that any show of harshness
toward him on their part might rally her unexpectedly to his support. So
they smothered their rage. Hammond leaned an elbow on the desk and
nonchalantly twirled his watch-chain, his mouth drawn into an ugly
sneer. Thomas continued his air of deference toward Mrs. Jones, leaning
over her with an appealing smile. Reacting to it, she took Bill by the
arm and shook it roughly.

"You just got to listen to reason, Bill!" she said, transfixing him with
angry eyes. "I set my heart on sellin' the place an' goin' to the city,
as you oughter know by now. An', besides, it's 'most all fixed up,
anyways--all but you signin' that deed. You got to do it, Bill!"

"You're all het up, mother," replied Bill, gazing at her with kindly
eyes. "Ease up a bit! Nope. I ain't goin' to sign no deed for them two
scamps--leastways not until I consult my lawyer!" And Bill pushed back
his battered slouch-hat and stuck his thumbs in his faded vest.

"Scamps--!"

But before Mrs. Jones could complete her sentence Marvin stepped forward
and put a friendly arm over Bill's shoulder.

"Bill's right, Mrs. Jones," he said, gently, though there was a fighting
light in his eyes as he met those of Thomas. "Lightnin' has no need to
apologize for anything he may say about these two men. This sale is a
nice little scheme of theirs. They are trying to rob you."

Millie, who had been listening to it all, amazed and abashed, now stared
at Marvin defiantly. "How dare you say that?" she blazed. "What right
have you to interfere?" She rallied to Mrs. Jones's side and placed an
affectionate arm around her waist.

Mrs. Jones was crying by this time. She wiped her eyes on her apron and
looked at Marvin. "So it's you who's been puttin' Bill up to this!" she
exclaimed. "I might have known--it's right in line with what we just
heard about you! Well, he don't need none o' your advice--you just leave
Bill alone!"

Marvin held out a deprecating hand. "But, Mrs. Jones, you don't
understand--"

Blodgett, at a sign from Hammond, strode up to Marvin and put a hand on
his shoulder. Marvin shook him off.

"Don't interrupt me now!" he said. "I've something more important to--"

"I'll show you how important it is!" said Blodgett, jingling a pair of
handcuffs in front of Marvin. "I got a warrant for your arrest for
stealin' timber! Put out your hands!"

Mrs. Jones and Millie stood by, bewildered, while Thomas, with
supercilious satisfaction in his smile, sank into a chair and crossed
his legs with an air. Hammond laughed coarsely.

Bill, his arm drawn through Marvin's, looked on, his enigmatic grin
between his half-closed eyes and half-open mouth betokening an
unswerving confidence in the ultimate.

"I can't be bothered with you now," said Marvin, addressing Blodgett.
"Bill needs--"

"None o' your lip!" Blodgett grabbed him roughly and attempted to place
a handcuff on one of his wrists, but Marvin flung him off and the
sheriff went sprawling. Marvin stepped back a pace or two as Blodgett
got up and came at him again, bawling, "Now you're worse off than
ever--resisting an officer of the law!"

Marvin, however, did not seem to be worried. He faced Blodgett with an
amused smile and pointed to the floor, where an uncovered space left
between two rugs indicated the now famous state line.

"Law?" Marvin echoed. "Why, Blodgett, old boy, don't you know any more
about law than to try to serve me with a Nevada warrant when I'm in the
state of California?"

"By jiminy, he's right!" cried Lightnin', clapping Marvin on the back.
"You got 'em where--where the rugs is short, John. Guess I didn't build
this house on the state line for nothin'!"

Blodgett started back with a howl of disgust, while Thomas and Hammond
looked at each other, making no effort to hide their chagrin. Millie had
given an exclamation--an exclamation that sounded very much like one of
relief, when she saw the sudden turn of the tables; but if it was an
expression of her inner and secret feelings, she quickly smothered it.
Mrs. Jones glared at Marvin with keen disgust and disappointment.

Lightnin', grinning, evidently was enjoying the scene hugely. Cocking
his old hat over one ear, he struck a pose of comic nonchalance against
the California desk and looked across the lobby at the furious Hammond.

"Hello, Hammond, old top!" he called, airily. "How's everythin' in
Nevada? Come on over to California, an'--an' have a glass o' water!"




CHAPTER X


The unexpected denouement between Marvin and Sheriff Blodgett brought
consternation to those who had contrived toward his apprehension.
Everett Hammond, in consultation with Thomas, would have taken the young
man by force--for Hammond was a strapping six feet two or thereabouts,
and Marvin was but a stripling in strength. But Thomas, cool and
controlled, and always an advocate of keeping within the letter of the
law, counseled him against any such hot-headed procedure, explaining
that it might militate against them in a court where outside operators
in land or mining stocks were not looked upon with any too friendly a
spirit. Mrs. Jones and Millie, astounded and uncomfortable in a
situation far afield from their uneventful lives, were too perplexed to
speak, contenting themselves with staring at Marvin in unbridled
disgust. Millie felt something of compassion for his predicament, but
the thought that any one she knew should be accused of theft filled her
with horror. Besides, it was he who was preventing her foster-father
from signing the deed which would place them all in easy circumstances
as against the difficulties of the present. Whatever of pity she had
quickly disappeared. With one long look of disdain toward Marvin, she
led Mrs. Jones up-stairs.

Blodgett, after his first surprise, was overcome with rage at the
knowledge that a whippersnapper such as he considered Marvin should have
placed him in such a ludicrous position. He, too, like Hammond, would
have liked to have tried force, but he knew that Marvin stood well among
the lumbermen in Washoe County and his attempt at re-election was too
close at hand to permit of his taking any chances when those to gain by
them were strangers without a voice in the politics of the section.

With a covert eye he watched Marvin, who stood a few feet from the line
and smiled down at Bill, the latter grinning up at him, warming to the
affectionate arm placed about his shoulder. As the two women went up the
stairs, Marvin watched them, a half-shadow in his eyes as he caught
Millie's disdainful glance. Giving Bill a good-by pat, Marvin, hat in
hand, made a sweeping bow which took in Hammond, Thomas, and Blodgett.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he laughed ironically. Sidling with his back
to the California desk, he reached the door, where he waved his hand at
his astonished persecutors and slid out upon the veranda and down the
steps, where he wandered off in the twilight.

Blodgett walked to the door and looked after him. "Guess I'll stick
'round a bit," he grumbled to Thomas, who had followed him to the door
and was gazing after Marvin.

Hammond remained where he was, leaning up against the desk, watching
Thomas and Blodgett with surly eyes. "You two are a nice pair of
mollycoddles," he sneered, "letting him make a get-away like that. If
either of you had any gumption you'd have knocked him over the line."

"Yes?" drawled the sheriff. "'N' be arrested for assault. My
jurisdiction stops on this side of the line." He was silent, while he
took a piece of tobacco from his pocket and cut off a bite. After a
minute he grunted: "Humph! He'ain't gone yet. I'm goin' to stay here
'til to-morrow mornin'. By that time he'll be home, for he 'ain't got no
place else to go. Then I'll nab him good 'n' quick."

All this time Bill had stood in the middle of the floor, listening to
all that was said, saying never a word himself. Now he went slowly to
one side of the room, took a chair that stood against the California
wall and placed it in front of the table, close to the dividing line.
Blodgett, thinking there was reason for his act, so deliberate was it,
took a chair from its place near the Nevada wall and placed it parallel
with Bill's, seating himself in it.

The two men contemplated each other in silence. Thomas and Hammond stood
in short consultation, and then the latter went to his room on the
California side of the hotel, Thomas sauntering to a rocking-chair on
the veranda. He lighted a cigar and sat looking out over the lake, where
the moon was rising over the rim of the bordering Sierras.

There was scrutiny in the eye with which Blodgett viewed Bill. There was
distrust in the steady look which thrust itself between Bill's half-open
lids and struck straight in the center of Blodgett's pupil. The latter
opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, as steps were heard on the
veranda and Rodney Harper entered the lobby.

"Do you know where I can find John Marvin?" he asked of the two men
whose backs he faced. Both immediately turned in their chairs, the
sheriff alert for any news he might obtain of the habits and customs of
the man he was pursuing. Bill, when he saw who it was, arose and slowly
went toward him, holding out his hand.

"Oh! Hello, old chap! I got your telegram, also one from Marvin. Where
is he?" Harper grasped Bill's hand and gave it a hearty shake, glancing
anxiously about the lobby.

Bill ignored the last question, keeping a slanting eye on Blodgett.
"Your wife's up-stairs," he whispered, with a nod toward the Nevada
up-stairs hallway.

"Where?" Harper turned in the direction of Bill's nod.

"In Nevada," Bill drawled, with a slow grin.

Harper shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Bill, continuing with his
subject, "What's the number of her room?"

"You'd better go slow." Bill thrust his hands in his pockets, assuming
an air of counselor. "I told her I thought you'd be here."

"What did she say?" Harper was at the register and going quickly down
the list. He came to his wife's name, letting his finger run across the
page until he came to the number of her room; then he swept past Bill
and had his foot on the first step when Bill stopped him.

"Ye'll spoil it all, if ye ain't careful." The old man drew the younger
one's head close to his mouth, speaking in low tones.

"What makes you say that? In your telegram you made me believe
everything was all right," Harper said, as he leaned against the
newel-post.

"So 'twill be if you listen to some one that knows summat 'bout women.
If you chase chickens they run like wild-fire 'n' ye can't catch 'em
unless you get 'em in a corner. But if you holds out your hand with a
little feed, by 'n' by they eat right out of it."

Harper laughed. "That's what you think, is it?"

"I know," Bill chuckled. "You oughter heard what she said to me." Bill
loved to think that he knew something the other fellow would like to
know. Even his sympathy with Harper and his desire to see all well
between him and his wife could not contain him when it came to holding
out in a matter of mere curiosity. "I was goin' to tell you, but I'd
better not," he added, with a wise look. "'Twan't very encouragin'," he
added.

Harper walked away from the stairway, his arm through Bill's. "Don't you
think you'd better tell me?" There was real concern in Harper's voice
and Bill knew it was the expression of the anxiety in his heart. Too,
Bill knew that it required tact to approach Mrs. Harper in her present
hysterical mood.

So he answered, with a brusk shake of his head, "Nope."

"Well, of all the damned-fool things!" Harper stood still, letting go of
Bill's arm.

"I wouldn't call her that," Bill remonstrated, moving away from Harper
with a quick look of astonishment.

"Who's calling her that?" Harper paced up and down, a scowl on his face.
"I mean the whole situation. It's such a silly mistake. And yet she
won't believe it."

"Same here." There was a warm sense of comradeship in the same sad cause
in the air with which Bill made his last remark. It brought Harper to a
standstill. With a smile he listened to the old man's explanation.
"Folks don't believe nothin' I tell 'em. Women never do believe you when
you tell 'em the truth, but tell 'em a lie 'n' they swallows it hook 'n'
bait. Why don't you write her a letter? Ef she knows yer here 'n' ain't
too anxious ye got a good chance."

"I believe I'll do that. It sounds like a good scheme. Give her a chance
to think things over instead of running in on her all of a sudden. Have
you got a room?" Harper went to the Nevada desk and took up the pen to
register, but Bill interrupted him.

"Come on over here," Bill nodded to the California desk, following his
own gesture to a place back of the counter. "We always got plenty of
room on this side."

"Where's the bar?"

At this question put by Harper, Bill's head struck an interesting and
inquisitive attitude. "Down to the saloon," he said.

But he was doomed to disappointment. "Never mind, then," was Harper's
disheartening reply.

Bill's interest slackened, but was quickly revived as Harper, in the
middle of scribbling a note to his wife, looked up long enough to add,
"I've got a flask in my bag."

It did not take Bill long to get from behind the desk. That bag was a
friend. He had promised Marvin that he would not spend his pension, and
Mrs. Jones had carefully removed the flask from its corner in the Nevada
desk. "I'll show you right up," he exclaimed, making an undue and
unaccustomed haste toward the stairs, bag in hand.

At the top of the stairs he stood, waiting for Harper to seal the
envelop.

Harper came up the stairs, two at a time, and handed the letter to Bill,
offering to take the bag from Bill as he did so. But Bill shook his hand
loose. "I'd better take the bag to the room for you first. Ye must be
pretty tired." There was a hidden implication in the monotone in which
the last speech was delivered.

Rodney Harper was too possessed of his own affairs to feel it, and with
an impatient gesture he stooped to take his bag from Bill, pleading,
"Please, old man, won't you deliver the letter?"

But Bill, attuned to a rare occasion, had quickly evaded Harper's
outstretched hand and was down the hallway with the bag. He opened the
door of Harper's room and went in first, depositing the bag on the
floor. Then he went up to the frowning guest, caught hold of his arm,
and whispered:

"Marvin's here, but I didn't want them folks down-stairs to know it.
They come to git him fer cuttin' down your timber, but he jumped over
the California line. He'll be back by 'n' by, I'm thinkin'."

Harper was interested in the news and asked Bill to let him know when
Marvin was about again, but he was not interested enough to make him
forget what was his present paramount concern. He gave a desperate
glance toward the letter in Bill's hand.

But Bill had no intention of leaving until his own possessive intention
was fulfilled. He backed away from the bed where he had placed the bag,
slowly retreating until he came to the door, which Harper had left open
for Bill's exit. When he reached the sill he grasped the knob with one
hand, half closing it, while he stood in front of it on the inside. The
anxiety in Harper's contracted brow met the slow grin that wrinkled
about Bill's eyes and mouth. A question started from Harper's tongue.

Bill forestalled it. "I'm sorry," he said, slowly and gently, but with a
wise twinkle in his blue eyes, "thet there ain't no bar. Mother she
doesn't like drink." He paused a moment to see what effect his words
were having. As he saw his intention was slowly penetrating through
Harper's absorption in his own affairs, Bill made his final coup. "She
lifted my flask from the desk, or I could be askin' you to have a swig."

Harper threw back his head and laughed. "So that's it!" he exclaimed,
hurriedly opening his bag and extracting the flask. "Well, I tell you
what I'll do. If you'll beat it in quick time with that note I'll treat
you to the whole darned flask."

Bill needed no second bidding. With flask secure in his back pocket he
lost no time in descending the California stairs and mounting the flight
to the Nevada half of the hotel and leaving the letter with Mrs. Harper.
On the way back to the lobby he slightly diminished the contents of the
flask.

He entered the lobby with a smile whose target was the whole world and
threw himself whole-heartedly into the pleasure of tormenting Blodgett.
He knew that Blodgett was furious at the manner of Marvin's escape as
much as at the fact itself. So he dropped into the chair next to the
sheriff, drawling, "You goin' over to Truckee to get a California
warrant?"

Blodgett gave Bill a mean look, sneering, as he sniffed at the air,
"Say, you're collecting something, ain't you?"

"I didn't get nothin' from you," Bill answered, shortly. Which answer
was not without its point, Blodgett's reputation as one of the closest
men in Washoe County not being unknown to Bill.

"Don't get sore. I wished I was in your place," said Blodgett, as he
fidgeted about in his chair and looked through the doorway.

Thomas, who had been on the veranda all this time, came indoors just as
Blodgett finished his remark.

Bill caught it quickly, his smile flashing into a gleam of humor toward
Thomas.

"In my place?" asked Bill, with a twinkle. With a nod toward Thomas, he
added, "You're like that other fellow."

Thomas flushed, but ignored the innuendo. Taking a paper from his
pocket, he looked through it. At the California desk he stopped to sign
his name at the end of it. Then he called to Bill, "Did you tell your
wife we were waiting for her?"

"No, I didn't. I've been up visiting my friend Harper. He's a big
millionaire. Havin' trouble with his wife. Patched it up. Told him to
write her a note 'n' I brought it to her. He gimme this fer the idea."
Bill produced the flask from his pocket and extended it toward Blodgett,
but when it was half-way on its journey he jerked it back, just as Mrs.
Harper emerged from between the portieres of the Nevada upper hallway.

Clad in a fluffy, silken negligee, she tiptoed half-way down the stairs
before she saw Thomas, who had left the desk and was standing in the
doorway with his face toward the moonlit lake. She gave a smothered cry
and was about to turn back. Bill held up a warning finger toward
Blodgett, who quickly obeyed the injunction to look straight ahead.

Arising from his seat, the old man made a friendly motion toward the
frightened little creature on the stairs and she came down to where he
stood in the middle of the floor, casting bewildered glances to right
and left and trembling as he whispered in her ear:

"He's in Number Four. Hurry now, before any one catches on."

"Do they all know he's my husband?" she flittered as she sped lightly up
the California stairs.

"I won't say nothin' about it." Bill could not resist a wink, which met
with a toss of Mrs. Harper's pretty head as she glided between the
portieres toward her husband's room.

Bill went back to his chair again. Everett Hammond came into the room
from the porch outside. Laying his hat on the California desk, he went
around behind the counter and turned the pages of the register.

Bill did not sit down, but wandered over to the desk where Hammond stood
and gazed at him through half-open eyes. "Oh, you runnin' the place
now?" he questioned.

Hammond did not answer him at once, but kept on running over the names
on the list. But there was a compelling force in the mild gaze of the
old man which made Hammond stop to reckon with him. "Yes," he said,
bruskly, while he frowned at Bill. "I've just settled everything with
your wife. All that's needed now is for you to sign that deed."

There was no answer forthcoming from Bill. Instead, he slowly took the
flask from his pocket and held it in front of him. "I'll take a drink
with you," he said, with a slow smile.

Hammond did not glance up, but answered, with a half-smile, "I'm sorry,
but I, haven't got anything."

"I have," said Bill, shuffling toward him with the flask.

Blodgett twisted about in his chair and called, "You look and act as if
you'd had enough."

Bill left the desk and seated himself beside Blodgett again. "I don't
want it for myself," he said, putting the spurned flask back in his
pocket; "it's just for social--ability. I don't drink."

"Don't tell me that," scoffed the sheriff. "You're a booze-fighter."

"No, I ain't," Bill answered, quickly.

Then seeing a chance for romance, he added, "I'm an Indian-fighter."

"Is that so?" Blodgett drew out his answer in an accent that spoke of
disbelief.

"You bet it's so. Did you ever know Buffalo Bill?" Bill leaned forward
so he could see what impression he was making upon the sheriff.

Out of the corner of his eyes Blodgett was watching Bill. "Yes, I knew
him well," said the sheriff, gruffly.

Bill leaned closer to Blodgett and looked squarely into his eyes, which
showed the same doubt as his own. "I learned him all he knew about
killing Indians. Did he ever tell you about the duel I fought with
Settin' Bull?"

"Settin' Bull?" The sheriff sat up straight and let his glance travel
the length of Bill's body and back again to the old man's eyes, which
were not quivering a lash.

"He was standin' when I shot him," grinned Bill. "I never took advantage
of nobody, not even an Indian."

The sheriff relaxed contemptuously into his chair again. "You've got a
bee in your bonnet, 'ain't you?"

"What do you know 'bout bees?" Bill started to roll a cigarette.

"Not much. Do you?" was Blodgett's reply as he looked straight ahead.

Bill slowly rolled the weed, put it in his mouth, and chewed on the end
of it. Then he made slow answer, halting between sentences, his eyes
slanting toward Blodgett to gather the effect of his words:

"I know all about 'em. I used to be in the bee business. Drove a swarm
of bees across the plains in the dead of winter once. And never lost a
bee. Got stung twice."

The sheriff jumped to his feet and directed a scornful glance Bill's way
as he straightened his coat about his shoulders, twisted his belt, and
started for the door, taking his chair and putting it in its place
against the wall on his way. "I got enough. I'm going outside."

Hammond, who had been busy going over the register all this while, now
came from behind the desk and walked toward Bill. "Now look here, Mr.
Jones--"

"Won't do no good fer you to talk," Bill interrupted him, but did not
even glance up, remaining seated in the middle of the lobby. "I ain't
goin' to sign nothin'--understand that," he said, not ungently.

Hammond planted himself squarely in front of Bill, setting his doubled
fists on his hips. "Well, if you don't," he snarled in a loud voice,
"you'll find yourself without a home. You understand that--if you're not
too drunk." He delivered the last remark with a sneer that was almost a
bark.

"Do you think I'm drunk?" Bill went close to Hammond, his head thrown
back the better to look into his opponent's shifting eyes.

But Hammond made him no answer, for just then Mrs. Jones, dressed in an
evening gown of the latest cut, appeared on the stairs leading from the
California side and walked self-consciously down on the arm of Thomas.

At first Bill did not recognize her. He thought it was some one of the
boarders, who often wore evening dress for dinner. He hurried toward the
Nevada desk, asking, as his eyes began at Mrs. Jones's feet incased in
shining silver slippers and wandered slowly up the folds of handsome
yellow brocade to the wide expanse of bare neck and shoulder, "Do you
want your key?"

Mrs. Jones blushed, and the tears sprang to her eyes, as she wrapped the
lace scarf flung over her shoulders closer across her bosom. Turning
toward Bill, she did not answer him, but took up the pen and pointed to
the paper which Hammond had placed on the desk, ready for them both to
sign.

By this time Bill's glance had reached her face. For a moment he stared
in astonishment. Then he gave a gasp and stood back, his arms limp at
his sides. "Mother, 'tain't you?" he gasped.

"Yes, it's me," Mrs. Jones replied, angrily, as she gulped to keep back
the tears which were forcing themselves to the surface, part in timidity
and part in rage at her spouse, who she thought was making fun of her.

Bill straightened himself and, with a droll nod of his head, replied to
Hammond, "You're right, I'm drunk."

Thomas stifled the smile that rose to his lips in spite of himself. He
was standing on the other side of Mrs. Jones. Now he came around and
stood in front of Bill. "Don't you approve, Lightnin'?" he asked,
pleasantly. "She's dressed in the height of fashion."

"Looks higher 'n that to me," Bill drawled, as his eyes twinkled at the
eight inches of bare ankle between Mrs. Jones's skirt edge and her
silver pumps.

Mrs. Jones, with an insulted toss of her head, dropped the pen with
which she had signed the paper and hurried across the lobby to the
dining-room door. She was crying, but Bill did not see her tears. His
eyes were still fastened upon her ankles. "The mosquitoes 'll give you
hell in that this summer," he called out as she slammed the door behind
her.

Thomas shrugged his shoulders and smiled indulgently. He had made up his
mind to leave matters entirely in Hammond's hands now; so he went up the
California stairs, calling out to Bill, "You'll get yourself disliked
around here, if you don't look out."

"So'll you," Bill called back as he shambled to the same stairway.

But he got no farther than the first step. Hammond laid a detaining hand
on his arm, pulling him around in front of him. "See here, Jones," he
said, harshly, "I've taken over the management of this place and I don't
propose to stand any more nonsense from you, and unless you do as your
wife tells you to, sign this deed, I'll kick you out."

Bill pulled himself loose from Hammond and stood facing him, a defiant
grin antagonizing Hammond to greater fury. "No, you won't!" Bill
laughed, never flinching in the half-open eyes with which he held
Hammond's eyes.

"What's the reason I won't?" Hammond asked, making a threatening move.

Still Bill remained unmoved. "'Cause you talk too much about it."

Hammond stood and looked in fury at Bill. But he knew that any harsh
treatment on his part might spoil the whole game, which he now felt to
be near an end, which meant victory for his plans, so he smothered his
desire to lay hands on the old man, and with sudden impulse, born of a
desire to end the discussion, he hurried up-stairs to his room, calling
back, "You'll see whether I will or not."




CHAPTER XI


When Bill was once more alone he meandered slowly to the Nevada desk and
leaned against it, looking abstractedly toward the veranda. Outside, the
moon was shining in long shafts of silver light through the branches of
the tall cedars. Beyond the lake lay, itself a moon of silver on the
floor of the valley. He could hear the hoot of a hundred billy owls.
Unthinkingly he went to the door and stood there, sniffing at the
fragrance of the pines. Then he went back to the desk again.

As Mrs. Jones had closed the dining-room door behind her, he had seen
that she was crying. Her tears had acted like a knife on his obstinacy.
If there was one method of bringing Bill to a realization of his
shortcomings, it was the knowledge that he had brought his wife to
tears. No matter what the occasion, through the years of his many
omissions, he had never failed to awaken to a sense of duty at the
slightest hint of a sob on her part. And now remorse was gnawing heavily
at his heart. He knew that she was sorely tried by his laziness. He knew
that ever since she had come from the city she had longed for some of
the luxuries which she had tasted for the first and only time in those
few brief days when Thomas had given her a bit of every woman's
paradise. And as he looked out he wondered in his slow, but none the
less logical, way what it mattered, after all, if the place did go, just
so long as mother was happy. To be sure, the place was worth much more
than Hammond was willing to pay them. But it was enough for their humble
needs. From the door beyond he could hear the sound of her sobs. He went
half-way across the room. "Yes," he reasoned with himself, "after all,
the property is hers. I gave her my part of it to do as she pleased
with." And a sudden resolve to do her will possessed him.

But as he reached the middle of the lobby he heard some one on tiptoe
behind him. He turned to see Marvin, crouched down by the desk, so that
any one coming from up-stairs could not see him.

"'Sh!" Bill put up a warning hand. "Blodgett's outside there some
place."

"He's snoring in his buggy," Marvin whispered back, with a half-smile.
"Bill," he added, quickly, "I've been outside and I've heard every word
they've been saying to you. I haven't time to tell you all I want to
just now. Promise me again that you won't sign that deed until you've
talked further with me about it."

[Illustration: "PROMISE ME YOU WON'T SIGN THE DEED." ... BILL HESITATED]

Bill hesitated. "Well, mother wants to awful bad," he answered, slowly.

From the dining-room voices could be heard. "Ye'd better get out," said
Bill.

"Not until you promise," persisted Marvin.

Bill wavered an instant. He wanted mother to be happy, and yet, another
day did not make so much difference--especially when Marvin was in
danger. The door in back of him swung open. Leaning quickly down to
Marvin, as the latter crept toward the outer door, he whispered: "All
right. I promise."

Mrs. Jones walked into the room with a swagger, half of indignation,
half of sorrow. She was still wiping the tears from her eyes. The deed
and the pen were in her hand.

Bill went to her, placing an affectionate hand on her bare arm. "Mother,
ain't you cold?" He could not resist another tilt at her unusual
costume.

"No." She stamped her foot at him, withdrawing her arm from his hand.
"I'm hot all over at you, insulting me before those gentlemen." Hurrying
to the California desk, she buried her head on her crossed arms and
began to cry. "Makin' fun of me," she sobbed, "because I try to look
presentable for once in my life."

Following her to the desk, Bill patted her gently on the back. "It's
gettin' late, mother," he coaxed. "You're tired and you've been working
hard. You're all tuckered out. Now you go up-stairs and put on some
clothes and go to bed."

Mrs. Jones shook him from her and went to the other desk, where she
stood facing him, her face red and swollen from her tears. "Oh!" she
wrung her hands as she looked at him with blazing eyes. "You ought to be
ashamed of yourself with the gentlemen here to buy the place and you
around the office drinking liquor."

"No, I ain't." Bill answered her outburst mildly, backing away from her
lest she should discover the flask in his back pocket.

He was too late. Her eye, accustomed to just such investigations, had
detected the lines of the flask as it protruded from his back pocket.
Taking hold of him, she put her hand in his pocket and produced the
flask, holding it, half empty, to the light.

"That belongs to Mr. Harper," was Bill's ready excuse, given in the
monotone which invariably masked a world of guilt. Seeing the doubt in
his wife's eye, he added, "You can go up-stairs and ask him, if you
don't believe it."

Mrs. Jones did not reply to his last remark. Instead of which she went
back to the California desk, where she set down the flask, taking up the
deed and holding it out to him. "Now, Bill," she said, in a coaxing
voice, "I want you to put your name to this paper." She smiled kindly
upon him for the first time in many hours.

Bill wavered before her smile. It was difficult for him to withstand it,
especially as he knew how sorely he had tried her. But a promise was a
promise with Bill, and his one pride was that he had kept intact through
all the years of his digressions this one principle--he never broke his
word. He had told Marvin he would not sign the deed without consulting
him further, so he turned his eyes from his wife's face and answered, in
a low voice, "I can't, mother."

"What's the reason you can't?" Mrs. Jones planted herself in front of
him, determined that he should not evade her this time.

"Because I promised my lawyer I wouldn't," he answered, his head turned
away from her.

Mrs. Jones took him by the arm and swung him into line with her gaze.
"Now see here, Bill," she snapped, "I've been working my fingers to the
bone and I'm entitled to a rest and you sha'n't stop my having it. Mr.
Thomas is going to take Millie and me to the city to live. If you sign
that you can come with us. If you don't you've got to look out for
yourself for a while."

Bill had not paid much heed to Hammond's threat delivered a few minutes
back. But now something in his wife's tone brought it, recurrent, to his
mind. He wondered if, after all, there was some truth behind it.

Pausing to gather his points together, Bill nodded toward the stairs.
"Mother, that fellow, Hammond, said he'd throw me out. Do you want me to
get out? Is that what you mean?"

It was not what Mrs. Jones had meant at all. But the events of the day
had strained her nerves to breaking-point. Since daylight Thomas and
Hammond had been after her to force Bill to do as she wished him to. To
their suggestions that she teach him a lesson by leaving him for a while
she had turned a deaf ear. But now they came surging back and, in answer
to her call for a method of persuasion, clamored for recognition. Before
she had time to stifle them they had their way. "I mean just that,
Bill." There was silence as she thrust the words from her mouth. Bill
stood still, gazing steadily at her.

She lowered her lids.

Then he came closer and looked up under her eyes, in the hope that he
would find a relenting gleam there. But she turned away from him.

"All right, mother--I'll go."

Without another word he turned and walked toward the door. Mrs. Jones
took a quick step forward, then paused. "Where'll you go?" she asked,
half in surprise, half in defiance, for she had not believed that he
would accept her challenge.

"Oh, 'most anywhere," he said, gaily, forcing a whistle, though his lips
quivered. "I'll be all right, mother."

His wife stepped forward again, extending a staying hand, but her
resentment had her in its grip. Her hand fell back to her side.

"Well," she called out to him as suddenly she turned from him and
hurried up the stairs, "I mean every word I've said! It's one thing or
the other! Either you make up your mind to sign this," and she tapped
the paper in her hand, "or I'm through with you!" Without a backward
glance--fearing, perhaps, that she might weaken--she disappeared along
the upper hallway.

Bill took his hand from the door and came slowly back into the room. He
strolled to the California desk, pushed back his old hat, and stood
there with his hands in his pockets, thoughtfully. Of a sudden his
absent eyes lighted on the flask resting on the desk, where Mrs. Jones
had put it down. Bill stroked his stubbled chin and gazed at the flask.
It seemed to suggest an idea to him. Satisfying himself that there was
no one around at the moment, he strolled to the door, poked his head
out, and gave a peculiar whistle; then he walked back to the desk and
leaned against it, waiting.

In a few minutes Zeb's unkempt visage silently framed itself in the
softly opened door. Lightnin' jerked his head as a sign to enter.
Stealthily, with many a wary glance to right and left, his disreputable
partner of the past eased himself across the lobby and stood before
Bill, childlike, trustful inquiry in his eyes.

"What's the idee, Lightnin'?" he rumbled, puffing at the frayed remains
of a cigar.

With a gesture of calm triumph Bill pointed to the flask on the desk.

"I said I had it, Zeb," he remarked, in the tone one uses when
confronting and confounding a skeptic with ocular proof, "an' there it
is!"

"Why, so it be!" said Zeb, reaching out for the prize.

But Lightnin' stopped him. "Hold on a minute, partner. The evidence
ain't to be absorbed just yet. In fact, brother, we better keep it
intact for future use, 'cause you're goin' on a long journey, Zeb. You
an' me is goin' to hit the trail again, old-timer!"

"Gosh! You mean it, Lightnin'?" Zeb showed almost human delight and
anticipation. "But for why? You had a row with your old woman?"

"Nope," Bill replied. "Can't call it that, exactly. You needn't worry
them brains o' yours about why we're goin', Zeb. It's just that I got a
notion to teach some people 'round here a lesson, an'--an' maybe I can
bring poor mother to her senses," he added, gently.

"When we goin'?" Zeb questioned, his eyes on the flask.

"Right away--this here minute, in fact," said Bill.

Zeb looked at him dazedly. "Just as we is? Where 're we hittin' fer?"

"I ain't telling that just yet," said Bill, slowly. "Where we are goin'
is a secret."

"Oh," Zeb answered, with a nod of wisdom. "I--see. You ain't tellin' 'em
you be goin'--not even your old woman, eh?"

"Them brains o' yours is pickin' up a bit, ain't they, Zeb?" Bill
commented, with encouraging approval. "Well, you hit it, all right!
Nope, we ain't tellin' nobody. We're goin' to kinder disappear
completely for a pretty good space. Mother ain't to be able to locate me
a-tall. There's some others as 'll likely find out, but I ain't worryin'
about them--they want to get rid o' me, an' they ain't likely to exhaust
themselves any tryin' to find me. I got a object, Zeb. It ain't none o'
your business what that object is--by which I merely mean to say,
old-timer, that you wouldn't have no particular interest in it. Come
on--let's get out now, afore they begins to gather 'round me again!"

Picking up the flask and sliding it into his coat pocket, Lightnin'
walked away toward the door. Nodding wisely, Zeb followed, eyes
hopefully on the pleasant bulge in his old partner's coat.




CHAPTER XII


"Well!" Millie, appearing with a tray of late supper to take up-stairs
to one of the guests' rooms along about ten o'clock that evening, almost
ran into Marvin, who had returned to the hotel in the hope of seeing
Bill and giving him the full reason for his not being a party to the
sale of the place. The lights in the lobby were turned low and he had
managed to evade the sheriff, who was sitting in his buck-board outside,
waiting for Lemuel Townsend, who was to return to Reno with him.

Millie's exclamation, because of her surprise in seeing Marvin again,
escaped her in pleasant tones, but her memory asserted itself and the
smile rapidly faded from her face and she gave a haughty toss of her
head, saying, as he stepped in front of her when she started for the
stairs, "Will you please let me pass?"

But Marvin had wanted to see her quite as much as he did Bill, the
impression she had given him of her liking for Thomas having cut deeper
than the events of the earlier part of the day had given him time to
realize. Ignoring her request, he removed his hat and said, as he
searched her eyes for some play of the old light that had often
gladdened his heart in the days when they were together in Thomas's
office in San Francisco, "I suppose you are surprised to find me here
still?"

Millie swayed toward the Nevada desk, depositing her tray upon it. She
faced him, her eyes flashing, her cheeks flushed. Her first impulse was
not to answer him. She could not understand his interference in the
matter of the deed. Neither did she believe one word he had uttered
against Hammond and Thomas. On the contrary, Thomas's apparent interest
in her and her mother and his constant flattery and attentions had
attained their end. She believed in him implicitly and therefore had
given credence to every word he had said against Marvin. Nevertheless,
the charge that he was not honest could not quite overcome the
quickening of her interest which had manifested itself lately in a heart
that ran far ahead of itself at his approach.

After a silence in which she stared at him steadily, his eyes answering
hers with an unflinching candor mixed with a vague wistfulness, she
answered him. "I don't think anything you could do would surprise me,
after all that has happened to-day and all that I've been told about
you."

"Millie!" Marvin awkwardly rolled his hat in his hands, while his speech
faltered. "I've been waiting around here now for two hours in the hope
that I could explain to you why I wanted to stop that sale. And I cannot
bear to have you believe that I am a thief and--"

Millie was touched by his attitude. Her hand left her hip and started
toward his arm in friendly contact. But again returned the whole picture
of the afternoon's events and she coolly turned from him and went to
take up her tray again.

"Will you please let me pass?" she asked a second time, as he tried to
prevail upon her by taking the tray from her and setting it down again.
"I wish to have nothing to say to you. I do not believe your excuses.
Mr. Thomas is the best friend I have in the world. I won't listen to a
word against him, and I am sure he is too fine a gentleman to say
anything about any one unless he were sure that it was true." As she
came to the last words she swallowed to keep back the tears, for
although they were uttered in perfect faith, her words burned into her
own heart with as much bitterness as they were directed toward Marvin.

He was too filled with his mission and too sure that Millie's interest
in him was gone to notice the catch in her voice or to attribute it to
any sense of affection for him, had he noticed it. He took her hands in
his and shook them gently in an endeavor to get her to look into his
eyes again. "Millie, please listen to me! I know what I'm talking about
when I say that Mrs. Jones is being cheated and robbed--"

She broke away from him, and stood glaring at him, as she stamped her
foot. "Don't you dare to say another word about Raymond Thomas to me!
Anyway, it is none of your business if he is cheating us!"

"Millie, Millie." Marvin's voice was full of pleading as he persisted,
going close to her again and shaking his head sadly. "Why do you allow
yourself to be taken in this way? Don't you know that the only reason I
am concerned is because I care--Oh, well." He turned away with a sigh
and went over to the Nevada desk and took up the tray. "I won't say any
more. Will you let me carry the tray up-stairs for you? I'll go then,
and you won't be bothered with me any more."

The glare in her eyes melted and she made a gesture as if she would
call him to her side again. But she could not forget so easily, and she
said, without turning to look at him, in tones less sharp, "Why didn't
you tell me before that you suspected him?"

"How could I? You told me how much you thought of Raymond Thomas. I
hadn't realized that before--" He put the tray down and came to her side
once more.

"Do you mean to say," Millie was again angered, "that I told you I loved
Mr. Thomas?"

"That's what I understood," Marvin replied.

The two stood there, Millie glancing at him in contempt, while his whole
heart went out to her from his eyes.

He was the first to break the silence. Almost touching her hand with
his, he said, softly, "You mean you don't love him?"

Millie snatched her hand away and went back to the desk. "You're always
wrong! I told you he was my best friend and he is. I never said I loved
him."

If Marvin had not been attracted by the arabesque of the faded
rose-garlanded rug at that moment, he would have found some solace in
the lowered lids and half-smile which Millie vouchsafed him. But he did
not see it. Slowly he followed her back to the desk, this time standing
aside as she made her way toward the stairs. "Well, say it now--I
mean"--he hesitated, embarrassed, then went on--"I mean--say you don't
care for him. And then if you'll only give me time I'll find out what
their game is."

Millie stood at the newel-post, steadying the tray against it. Looking
down at him, the hard gleam returned to her eyes as she replied,
emphatically: "Oh, I don't want you to find out anything about it! I
know you're mistaken and you're not going to prevent mother's selling
the place, because it's already sold. As soon as daddy's name is signed
to it we get the money."

"Well, you sha'n't have that, Millie." Marvin swung his hat against the
post without looking up at her. Through the window he traced the
moonbeams as they filtered through the pines outside. Above the hoot of
an owl the swish of the lake came in to them. They both stood there,
gazing out to where so few weeks ago they had walked in the happiness of
an unconscious awakening.

It was within Millie's heart to relax as she saw him sigh. From above
just then came the sound of Mrs. Jones's voice. It brought back her
concern for the tired woman above-stairs. With it returned her anger at
Marvin. "You're trying to prevent this sale just to hurt Mr. Thomas in
my eyes!" she snapped.

He turned and met her with the question, "Thomas told you that, didn't
he?"

She nodded.

"Just the same, Millie," and here Marvin mounted the step and stood
close to her as he looked squarely in her eyes, "I'll never let Bill
sign that deed. Some day you'll thank me for it."

This was more than her patience could stand. In her anger she almost
dropped the tray, but she managed to hold it taut against the balustrade
as she frowned at him and stamped her foot.

"Thank you?" she asked, in no gentle voice. "I shall always hate and
despise you for it. Always! I hope I shall never see you again, and if I
do I shall never notice you--nor speak to you the longest day I live!"
Exhausted with her temper, she turned to mount the stairs, when she
looked out toward the veranda and saw a figure slowly and stealthily
coming up the steps. She recognized it at once and shrieked out, just as
the sheriff entered the door, "John, look out!"

But Marvin had been watching her, and the fear in her eyes as she saw
Blodgett had been warning enough for him. He gave three quick skips to
the other side of the lobby, making mock obeisance toward her, laughter
in his voice because of her betrayal of her solicitude in spite of all
that she had said.

"Thank you, Miss Buckley," he called as he went up the California stairs
to the hall above, just as the sheriff had reached out for him, "thank
you, Miss Buckley! I shall be grateful to you--always!"




CHAPTER XIII


Bill's disappearance brought quick changes to the little hotel at
Calivada. His ready acceptance of Mrs. Jones's alternative was a
complete surprise, and it was several days before she and Millie
realized that he had taken her at her word. Even then they thought he
had gone off on one of his temporary jaunts in the hills. When the days
grew into a fortnight and he did not return they instituted a search
among the near-by villages and mining-camps. Everett Hammond and Raymond
Thomas were solicitous aids in the inquiry, not for the two women they
were defrauding, nor because they felt any concern for Bill's welfare.
Rather was their full attention turned toward securing a deed which the
Pacific Railroad would consider law-proof. Had the property been
entirely within the state of Nevada, Bill's signature would not have
been imperative, but the California laws regarding the sale of property
were evadable by numerous small technicalities, and shrewd counsel
demanded that bona-fide deeds must appear as freewill transfers from
both the husband and wife. It was for this reason that Bill's
disappearance was a matter of deep satisfaction to both Hammond and
Thomas. They had begun to despair of his putting his name to the deed.
Now, should he not return within six months, they evolved a new scheme
and one which would be law-proof if it could be carried through.

If Mrs. Jones could be persuaded into a divorce, and the decree obtained
with full rights to the property, the deed would be legal without Bill's
name. It was for this reason that Hammond and Thomas put themselves at
Mrs. Jones's service and did everything in their power to discover
Bill's whereabouts. It was several weeks before they traced him to
Sacramento and from there to the veterans' home at Yountville. By this
time Mrs. Jones was quite beside herself, for, in spite of Bill's
shiftlessness, which was quite enough to wear away the patience of the
average woman, she felt a deep affection for the generous-hearted,
whimsical old creature and his companionship through fifteen years, and
at a time when her father's death had left her desolate had relieved the
monotony of a life which had had little else but hard work. Millie, too,
missed her foster-father, whose frequent sallies kept humor alive when
work and poverty pressed hard. In reverent and grateful memory she held
the thought of his care for her when she had been left a waif by her own
father's death. And so, together, Millie and Mrs. Jones pressed Thomas
for news of Bill.

He knew that if they learned his whereabouts they would not rest until
they had brought him home again. Mrs. Jones's persistent melancholy
since Bill's departure told Thomas that in order to get Bill back, the
deed itself would be abrogated by her, should that be one of his
conditions of return. Therefore both he and Hammond determined that they
would not let the two women know of Bill's whereabouts. Instead, they
said they had traced him as far as Placerville, known to old-timers as
the Hangtown of the gold days, and that from there he had taken the
trail up over the Georgetown Divide, where he said he was going to find
work in the mines. Search throughout the entire district, Hammond and
Thomas informed her, had failed to locate him, and they assured her and
Millie that inquiry should be kept up until he was found.

Winter came, bringing with it no news from Bill, and Mrs. Jones settled
into a melancholy resignation wherein she seldom smiled and where she
spent most of her time in the rocking-chair by the front window, gazing
down the path up which Bill had usually zigzagged his recalcitrant way.
Thomas was quick to recognize her symptoms and he resolved upon his
master-stroke.

One day toward the end of March when a heavy storm had blown up from the
lake and the entire forest was torn and twisted by a wind in high and
angry mood, Mrs. Jones sat crying in front of the window, wondering
where Bill was and beset with the fear that some place beyond the ridge
in that vast ocean of mountain billows Bill might be homeless and cold
and without food. A sudden gust shook the hillside, bringing down a
grizzled pine that had stood close to the house. The crash of its
falling resounded down the slope and Mrs. Jones, keyed to high pitch by
her vigil of three months, was brought to a sudden burst of despair just
as Thomas, who had come to Calivada to superintend the wiring of the
house which was now to be put on modern basis, came down the stairs. It
was his chance and he took it.

"Mrs. Jones!" There was a surcharge of pity in his voice as he glided
across the room and stood over her chair, placing a gentle hand upon
her shoulder. "I hate to see you upset. We've done everything in our
power to find Mr. Jones and we will leave no stone unturned until we
succeed. In the mean time you must think of yourself and Millie."

"It was thinking of myself and Millie that drove him out of his home."
Mrs. Jones buried her head on her hand and leaned against the
window-sill. The wind, with renewed shock, beat the sleet against the
window-pane. "He may be out this minute wandering the hills with no
place to go," she sobbed, "and he ain't young no more, neither.

"Of course, I thought all along," she went on, "that by selling the
place I could take care of him in his old age, and now he ain't here and
the place can't be sold."

"The place can be sold, Mrs. Jones, and you will then have enough money
to institute a real search for Mr. Jones." Thomas's emphasis of the
possibility of a sale without Bill's signature relaxed Mrs. Jones's mood
and she sat up straight in her chair, lifting questioning eyes toward
him.

"There is a way." He answered her unspoken inquiry with calm
deliberation, while he scrutinized her for the least sign of
encouragement or of antagonism as his plan unfolded. "It is a difficult
way and one which you may balk at pursuing, but it will justify itself
in the end."

"Oh, what is it, Mr. Thomas?" Mrs. Jones's brown eyes widened and hope
returned to them as she smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in her gingham
apron and folded her arms across her waist, rocking expectantly back and
forth. "I'd do 'most anything if I thought it'd bring Bill back," she
exclaimed, raising her voice to an enthusiastic pitch.

Thomas brought an arm-chair from the center-table and sat down beside
her. Clasping his hands, he leaned forward, "You can get a divorce,
and--"

"Oh, I could never do that!" Mrs. Jones protested and stopped rocking as
she lifted up her hands in horror. "He 'ain't never done anything; and
besides--"

"That's not the question." Thomas was quick to interrupt her flow of
excuses. "I know he has done nothing, Mrs. Jones. But as things stand at
present you have neither Bill nor the money for the place. You can't
give a clear title to the place while you are married to Mr. Jones
unless it bears his signature. You have not the money to find him. A
divorce will straighten all this out. You can sell the place for enough
money to find Bill. You can remarry him and you will both have a
comfortable old age."

"Oh!!!" Mrs. Jones drew the word out with a long inflection of surprise,
and she shook her head in the wisdom of a new light. "I see what ye
mean." After a moment's abstraction in which she pondered Thomas's
suggestion, she continued, "Some way or 'nuther it don't seem straight
by Bill."

"It's the only way I see to settle matters. But I sha'n't try to
persuade you against your will, Mrs. Jones." Thomas brought to bear on
the situation his finest modulations, both in voice and manner, as he
sat nonchalantly in his chair, one knee cocked over the other and his
foot swinging listlessly back and forth, portraying a personal
indifference which Mrs. Jones's simple mind could not penetrate.

"It does seem a good way," she mused aloud, adding, in little spurts,
"but I guess--maybe--Well--I think I'll talk it over with Millie."

Mrs. Jones did talk it over with Millie. Also, she had several prolonged
interviews with Thomas on the subject, and three days later she put her
name to the petition which asked for a divorce from Bill Jones without
so much as giving the document a thorough reading. Whatever Thomas
proposed was to her, by the very fact of its being his idea, a thing
worthy to be done. Millie, being of the same turn of mind, aided her in
accepting his decision. And it was only when the first publication of
summons appeared in the Reno papers that her heart sank at the words
which characterized Bill as a drunkard and a man who was cruel to his
wife--lies which Thomas justified as necessary to strengthen the one
truthful ground for the divorce--that of failure to provide. Even that
Mrs. Jones felt was beside the truth, for although Bill had never
exerted himself needlessly, he had performed the chores, gone after the
mail, made beds, and, by his gift to her on their marriage day of his
three hundred and twenty acres, which were far the better portion of the
property, he had made some slight concession to his responsibilities.
Bill's digressions had been those of omission rather than those of
commission, and Mrs. Jones's misgivings were frequent during the three
months that followed.

In the mean time, Thomas and Hammond were quick to inaugurate a new
regime at the hotel. Mrs. Jones and Millie remained on in the capacity
of guests, while a clerk and a housekeeper were brought from the city to
take over the management. Modern improvements and equipment soon turned
it into a hostelry that verged on the fashionable. With the early spring
freshet augmenting the waterfall and the stream into a cataract whose
potential horse-power did not escape Everett Hammond, he made a hurried
trip from San Francisco with an official of the Pacific Railroad and
succeeded in persuading the company to advance a comfortable sum of
money for an option on the Jones property. Mrs. Jones and Millie,
fretting under the suspense and without funds, were given a small amount
to tide them over until the sale should be consummated, when they were
to receive a large block of certificates in the Golden Gate Land
Company.

All would have been well with Thomas, who saw life spreading before him
in a panorama of ease and elegance, had it not been for two
people--Lemuel Townsend and John Marvin. Lemuel Townsend had been placed
by the November elections on the list of Superior Court judges, where he
immediately came into his own as presiding judge in the majority of
divorce cases in Reno. Thomas, unable to withstand the role of popular
and irresistible Beau Brummell among the prospective divorcees at the
hotel, had run against Townsend's displeasure two days before the
election, when he had dared to play interloper in Lemuel Townsend's
attentions to Mrs. Margaret Davis. With Townsend, it had been love at
first sight. With Mrs. Davis it was something less, her only idea at
that time being a quick snatch at freedom and a hurried trip back to
Broadway, where she hoped to sign up for the summer circuit. Lem
Townsend did well enough to pass the time, and it was her own diversion
rather than any feeling for him which bade her accept his attentions.
Thomas on frequent trips had scattered his flatteries between Millie and
the various divorcees. Mrs. Davis came in for her full share and several
times there had been clashes between the two men, Thomas invariably
stepping aside, but only after verbal skirmishes with Townsend.

Marvin had not been seen in the neighborhood since a few days after Bill
Jones had disappeared. He had returned to his cabin, after having
established himself in an office in San Francisco with the intention of
taking Bill back with him. During the days spent on the trails in search
of the old man he had successfully evaded Sheriff Blodgett and had gone
back to his office, where he had received a forwarded letter from Bill
at the veterans' home at Yountville. He had taken one trip to the home
with the purpose of persuading Bill to return with him to the city. But
when he saw how comfortable Bill was there in the hillside country,
surrounded by the old veterans who vied with one another in recounting
their past prowess, he decided to let him alone until such time as he
could effect a reconciliation between Bill and Mrs. Jones.

This, he trusted, would be at the termination of the case brought
against him by the Pacific Railroad to recover the timber which he had
sold to Rodney Harper previous to the sale of his timber-land to the
Golden Gate Land Company by Mrs. Marvin. Then, too, he hoped the way
would be made straight for him and Millie, although he had half lost
hope under his realization of Thomas's superior eligibility.

These things, known to the latter, destroyed his composure and made the
lapse between the filing of Mrs. Jones's divorce suit and the
termination of its three months' summons by publication, required by
law, a period of anxiety. He knew that if Marvin were vindicated before
Mrs. Jones could secure her divorce his whole framework would collapse,
as Millie and Mrs. Jones, straightforward as they were, would brook no
hint of dishonesty on his part. Once discovered as unworthy of trust,
their confidence in him would be broken and Marvin would be restored to
full standing, not only in Millie's affections, but in Mrs. Jones's
approval.

In the latter part of March he took a hurried trip to Reno, where, in
conference with Blodgett, who had never been able to forgive Marvin's
evasion of arrest, maneuvers to have the two suits tried at the same
time sent him back to San Francisco rejoicing in the anticipation that
his days of discomfort would soon be over and he could return to his
own world again.




CHAPTER XIV


Mid-April came with its arabesquan days of sunlight and shadow and its
fragile broidery of new leaf and timid blossom. It was as if its coming
had stirred anew the life in Reno's divorce colony. All winter the
courts had been dull, most of the men and women seeking divorces
arriving in the early fall and biding their time of six months by
hibernating through the long, cold season. But now there was a renewed
activity in divorce circles. The court calendars were full and there was
a steady stream of gaily clad applicants making their way in and out of
the Washoe County court-house, going in with nervous, hasty, anxious
tread and coming out with a gait which spoke of a new freedom and a
smile that bespoke life as once again worth living.

It was one morning just after the flux of spring divorces had begun that
Sheriff Blodgett stood looking over the calendar in Judge Lemuel
Townsend's court-room. He scowled as he read the words announcing that
the first case was that of the Railroad Company versus John Marvin. He
patted the warrant which still occupied the waiting list in his pocket.
Placing a chair close to the court-room door, he waited for the crowd to
begin to file in. He knew that he could not arrest a man in the
court-room, but he intended to keep his eye on the corridor, and to that
end had propped one of the doors open with a chair so that he could see
clear to the swinging doors that led in from the street. If Marvin put
in an appearance, he intended to arrest him at once. The thought gave
him satisfaction and he sat twirling his long, drooping mustache with
one hand and fondling the handcuffs in his coat pocket with the other.
Revenge at last would play its part to-day, for, even if Marvin failed
to appear and therefore balked him again, the railroad company would get
judgment, anyway.

It was at this point in his reverie that Thomas entered the court-room,
greeting the sheriff with a genial, "Oh, hello there, Blodgett! I guess
our day's come."

With a patronizing pat on Blodgett's shoulder, Thomas passed and went to
the clerk, where he procured a list of the day's cases. He, too, nodded
in satisfaction, as he saw that the Pacific Railroad case, in which he
was attorney, was to come up first. Running his finger down the line, he
stopped at another close to the end, smiled again, and turned to the
sheriff.

"The Marvin case is first," he observed.

The sheriff nodded and a frown slowly puckered his brow. He walked
slowly up to Thomas, who stood at the clerk's desk just within the
railing. He hesitated, clearing his throat, and found the courage to
ask, with a slight timidity in his voice and manner, "You ain't a-goin'
to bring up the old story of my serving the warrant at Calivada, are
you?"

Thomas laughed. "No," he replied; "I don't think I'll have to go into
that. But I will ask you about the time you went to Marvin's camp."

Blodgett heaved his shoulders in relief, and, with hands in his pockets,
went back to his station at the door. "That's all right!" He exhaled a
full breath once again.

Thomas turned the leaves of the calendar, looked ahead for a day or two,
without noticing much that he saw, then turned the leaves back again to
the day's list. He went to the court-room window and looked out upon the
valley that ran from Reno up toward the foothills. He sniffed the keen,
cool air that was blown up to him. He stood contemplating the rushing
waters of the Truckee River below. After several minutes' thought he
faced Blodgett again.

"I'm going to ask you what time you were at Marvin's camp, for I want to
show he was taking down the timber," he announced.

"I didn't get out where the timber was," the sheriff replied.

"But you know he had a gang of lumbermen there?" In Thomas's tone and in
the gleam on his cold, blue eyes the sheriff caught the message of
persuasion.

"Oh, sure." He nodded with the air of a man who understood what was
wanted of him.

"And they drove you off by force?"

Blodgett nodded again.

"And you remember the date?"

"I guess I won't fergit it." There was emphasis in Blodgett's answer and
he arose impatiently from his chair and stood, his arms akimbo, peering
down the corridor. "Do you think Marvin'll be here to-day?" This time he
was interlocutor. "I got a notion he won't," he added, fathering his
disappointment by admitting the possibility of frustration in the one
desire that had held him ever since Marvin had foiled him by the
technicality of the state boundary-line. He was bound, however, that
there should be no opportunity for escape this time.

"I don't care whether he turns up or not," Thomas answered, going to the
lawyers' table, opening his brief-case, and setting them out before him
as he swung gracefully into a chair. "The case is a cinch," he
emphasized, with a grin that found reflection in Blodgett's eyes.

With a warning to the clerk to keep an eye on things until he should
return, Blodgett left the court-room and swaggered up the corridor,
stopping at the door of the other rooms and taking a frowning survey of
the occupants, hoping that Marvin had entered one of them by mistake. If
John Marvin was in Reno he was not going to escape arrest this day. With
this comforting conclusion in mind, he took up his stand just outside of
the court-house door at the top of the steps.

In the mean time Everett Hammond, escorting Mrs. Jones and Millie
Buckley, entered Judge Townsend's court-room and were greeted effusively
by Thomas.

"Oh, good morning!" He bowed low over Mrs. Jones's hand, which he held
in his. "I'm glad to see you." Staring at Millie, who looked very
fetching in a trim blue serge tailor suit, he beamed. "How fine you look
this morning; quite irresistible, I assure you!"

Millie blushed and looked with frightened glance from the judge's bench
to the lawyers' table, and from there to the witness-stand and back
toward the door, for all the world as if she were contemplating a rapid
escape. She took a deep breath. "I don't feel irresistible," she said.
"I feel just as if I wanted to cry and run away." She pouted at Thomas,
with entreaty in her pretty eyes.

Thomas laughed, put his hand on her arm in deprecation, and shrugged her
fears away. "Oh, the trial won't amount to anything, little lady. What
do you say to that, Mrs. Jones?"

The older woman's brown eyes were staring straight ahead, as if she saw
a real horror and was without power to controvert it. "All I can say,"
she replied, in a high-pitched, high-strung voice, "is that I'm here."
She waited for a moment, casting furtive glances at Hammond and Thomas,
who stood one on each side of her. Having found the courage to assert
herself, she burst out, "And I wish I wasn't!"

"Now, now, Mrs. Jones!" There was banter in Hammond's voice, but there
was concern in the wise direction of his eyes toward Thomas. "You're a
mighty brave woman and I know you're going through with this, for it
means that you'll be in a much better position to find your husband and
look out for your old age after you get the money for the place."

Mrs. Jones made no response, but cast anxious eyes about the room, and
she folded her hands in resignation across her ample waist-line.

"It's like going to the dentist. The worst part is making up your mind
to it." Thomas leaned over Mrs. Jones and smiled his most engaging
smile. He received no answer to it, so he turned to Millie, who stood at
the other side of him.

Before he could speak, the girl rid herself of the question that had
been ever present in her mind now for six months, and one which she had
never failed to ask him every time she saw him or wrote to him.

"Have you heard anything of daddy?"

Thomas's smile disappeared. He left the little group of four in the
middle of the space inside of the rails and sat down again at the table,
annoyance in the slump with which he threw himself into his chair. "No,
we haven't been able to locate him." He would have been sullen had he
dared, but his game was too nearly played and he did not wish to foozle
at the last, so he controlled his mood and forced a smile as he thought
of a method of getting away from his client's importunity for awhile.

"It must be distasteful for you two women to remain in here any longer
than possible," he said, rising from his chair again and pointing to a
door at one side of the court-room. "Lennon," he called to the clerk,
"my clients can wait in there, can't they?"

The clerk acquiescing, he and Hammond courteously escorted Mrs. Jones
and Millie to the door and showed them into a small room which had been
fitted up for hysterical women overcome with the proceeding in their
cases, or for those who, like Mrs. Jones and Millie, wished to avoid the
embarrassment of a long wait in the court-room.

As the two women went through the door, Thomas turned to Hammond and
advised, in a low voice: "You better go, too, Hammond. Keep them
cheered up."

With bad grace in his shrug and in his eyes, he followed Thomas's
suggestion, first murmuring in his partner's ear: "I'll be damn glad
when this day is over. All I've been doing this last week is to keep
these darned women from backing out."




CHAPTER XV


By this time the court-room was filling up with its usual motley crowd
of interested parties and spectators. There were the seekers after
freedom, a heterogeneous collection of them, in all sorts and conditions
of clothes, of all ages and of all kinds of faces and figures. There
were the women from the millionaire colonies of the East, chic, sleek,
and composed. They retired into a far corner with their attorneys,
conferring in low tones, or else sitting, apparently unperturbed, while
waiting for their cases to be called. There were always the adventuress
types, chic, too, but made up with an eye to future conquest, their
skirts always tighter or wider or shorter or longer than the style
decreed, their hair a little more so-so, their lips redder, their cheeks
rosier, and their faces whiter than their more conservative sisters of a
narrower way. There were tired women from far states not allowing
divorces for cruelty or desertion. They sat, in nondescript clothes,
most of them, with eyes heavy-lidded, as if they were too weary to care
much what happened to them. There were gay young creatures, dancers and
small-time vaudeville actresses, who refused to take life seriously and
who availed themselves of a dull season to make themselves free for
another venture. There was a sprinkling of men, one of them a lumber
magnate from an Eastern state, another a noted cabaret entertainer. They
sat around, restlessly out of place, but at the same time taking an
interest in those about them.

Supplementing these were the spectators. Among them were tourists who
came to Reno for the express purpose of attending the divorce trials.
Inquisitive folk, regular residents of the town, dropped in to pass an
hour's time and to gather gossip for the afternoon tea-table.
Club-women, anxious to find food for reform, took up their seats close
to the railing, determined that no word of the testimony or proceedings
should escape them. And there were the usual hangers-on, old men and
women with nothing to do, who found entertainment in listening to the
human dramas unfolded from the witness-stand.

Raymond Thomas, before taking his seat at the lawyers' table, took a
comprehensive view of his audience. Lifting the skirt of his frock-coat,
he sat down, viewing the world and himself complacently. He heard the
court-room door swing to, and, looking up, he saw the sheriff coming
toward him with Mrs. Margaret Davis by his side.

Mrs. Davis's six months' residence in Nevada had been established and
she had come over from Calivada, where she had become quite one of the
Jones family, to get her decree. She had expected to meet Mrs. Jones at
the Riverside Hotel, but she had been late and had hurried over, her
effort flushing her cheeks even beyond the heavy coat of peach-bloom
with which she hid the natural roses of her cheeks. She had been
scurrying like a chicken around the corridors when she had caught sight
of Sheriff Blodgett and importuned him to see her safely to a seat in
the court-room.

As soon as she saw Thomas she dismissed the sheriff summarily, while
Thomas arose and went forward, opening the swinging gates that admitted
the lawyers and witnesses behind the railing. Their greeting was
effusive, and Thomas held Mrs. Davis's hand for a moment. She blushed
vigorously and simpered:

"Oh, Mr. Thomas, my case comes up to-day, and I'm just worried sick
about it. Do you think I could see Lem--" she stopped, hung her head,
and looked coquettishly up at Thomas as she bit her lip, correcting
herself, "I mean Judge Townsend?"

Thomas looked around to see if any one were listening. "I'm afraid you
can't see him just now," he replied, leading her to a chair just under
the judge's desk, which was set upon a high platform. "Is there anything
I can do?" he asked, in his smooth, bland voice.

"I don't know." Mrs. Davis whined and twisted in her chair. "My lawyer's
sick. I telephoned his doctor, who was just as mean as could be and said
he couldn't come to court to-day. If I could only tell the judge--" She
gave Thomas a look laden with understanding.

"There shouldn't be any trouble about that," laughed Thomas, dropping
easily into the chair beside her. "You can explain the circumstances to
the judge when your case is called, and--"

"But I don't want it postponed! A court-room scares me just half to
death. I'll die if I have to put it off and go through screwing up my
courage again. I just will!" She nodded her head emphatically until the
bright blue plumes that fell from the back of her enormous picture-hat
threatened Thomas's eyes.

He moved away from them, offering, after a moment's thought: "Well, I'll
be very glad to represent you if you care to have me. There's nothing to
your case, anyhow. The judge is a friend of yours, isn't he?"

Mrs. Davis hesitated and rolled her baby-blue eyes at him from under her
heavily beaded lashes as she giggled. "Oh yes--he's a friend," and then,
thinking better of her confidence, she ended, with a sigh, "that is, I
know him--slightly."

Thomas smiled to himself, reassuring her. "Then don't give it a thought.
Just leave everything to me."

A grateful hand was laid upon his arm and she looked up at him with
fervid admiration. "You are so smart and so kind, Mr. Thomas. You've
taken such a load off my mind. If anything went wrong after waiting all
these months I'd just die--that's all there is about it."

At this moment the door of the judge's chambers opened and Lemuel
Townsend appeared, clad in a Prince Albert suit and beaming on Mrs.
Davis, who arose and walked well into the middle of the floor so that
she should not escape his immediate attention.

This was a moment of great satisfaction for Thomas, who looked about the
court-room, scrutinizing every man in it, his face brightening as he saw
that John Marvin had not put in an appearance. When the sheriff had
finished opening court he arose from his place at the lawyers' table,
for he knew that the case of the railroad against John Marvin was the
first upon the day's calendar. He pulled his revers together with a
pompous gesture and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could do so
Judge Townsend called to the clerk, whose desk was at one side of the
bench, and suggested in low tones:

"I think this first case can go over--"

Thomas caught the words and disappointment drove the self-satisfaction
from his face. He ventured to address the court: "If it please your
Honor, this is an action for the wrongful taking of timber, and I've
come a long way and I would like to get home--"

Townsend had not been listening to a word, his attention being
concentrated on the tip of an upstanding feather on Mrs. Davis's hat,
which could barely be seen over the top of his desk. "Eh? What's that?"
he asked, sharply, not too pleased to be interrupted in his endeavor to
catch further sight of Mrs. Davis.

Marvin not having put in an appearance, Thomas's hopes of winning the
case for the railroad by default were high. He did not think Marvin
would appear, but every delay might be fatal and it took an effort on
his part to appear unperturbed. However, he managed to answer in urbane
tones, "I was saying, your Honor, that--"

"Oh yes." Townsend bent his head and looked down with severe eyes over
the top of his glasses. "Just a moment, please," he added, as Thomas
would have finished his plea. Turning to the clerk, he ordered, "Let me
see the list."

The list was handed to him and he ran down it, finally remarking to the
clerk, "I think I will dispose of these short cases first." Half rising
in his chair, he looked over the top of his desk to where Mrs. Davis was
twisting and turning in her chair in an effort to get a look at him.

"Mrs. Davis," he called in gentle tones, "are you ready?"

She hurriedly precipitated herself into the middle of the space in front
of the platform. "Why, yes," she answered, looking about as if she did
not know where to turn and gathering her sealskin cape about her.

"I'll take your case at two o'clock," the judge said to Thomas, who
shrugged his shoulders, but did not sit down as Townsend had expected
him to do.

As the clerk called the case, "Davis _versus_ Davis," Thomas moved close
to the bench, exclaiming, "If it please your Honor--"

He was interrupted by a glower from Townsend, who said, "This case is
Davis _versus_ Davis, Mr. Thomas," his eyes wrinkling into a broad smile
as he again turned his attention to Mrs. Davis, who stood, bewildered,
not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

"I am quite aware that it is the Davis case, your Honor," Thomas
answered, not without a note of triumph in his voice and demeanor. "I am
the attorney for Mrs. Davis."

Thomas's announcement shocked Townsend into dropping a document he held
in his hand. It fell on the desk and was blown by the strong east wind
that cam

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/34280