RANSON'S FOLLY

BY

RICHARD HARDING DAVIS

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

Frederic Remington, Walter Appleton Clark, Howard Chandler Christy, E. M. Ashe& F. Dorr Steele

CONTENTS

RANSOM'S FOLLY Illustrated by Frederic Remington. 

THE BAR SINISTER Illustrated by E. M. Ashe. 

A DERELICT Illustrated by Walter Appleton Clark. 

LA LETTRE D'AMOUR Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. 

IN THE FOG Illustrated by Frederic Dorr Steele. 

ILLUSTRATIONS

"Throw up your hands, " he commanded. 

Ranson faced the door, spinning the revolver around his fourthfinger. 

"I suppose I'm the ugliest bull-dog in America". 

"Miss Dorothy snatches me up and kisses me between the ears. "

"We've got a great story! We want a clear wire. "

He played to the empty chair. 

The men around the table turned and glanced toward the gentleman infront of the fireplace. 

"What was the object of your plot?"

RANSON'S FOLLY

PART I

The junior officers of Fort Crockett had organized a mess at thepost-trader's. "And a mess it certainly is, " said Lieutenant Ranson. The dining-table stood between hogsheads of molasses and a blazinglog-fire, the counter of the store was their buffet, a pool-tablewith a cloth, blotted like a map of the Great Lakes, their sideboard, and Indian Pete acted as butler. But none of these things countedagainst the great fact that each evening Mary Cahill, the daughter ofthe post-trader, presided over the evening meal, and turned it into abanquet. From her high chair behind the counter, with the cash-register on her one side and the weighing-scales on the other, shegave her little Senate laws, and smiled upon each and all with thekind impartiality of a comrade. 

At least, at one time she had been impartial. But of late she smiledupon all save Lieutenant Ranson. When he talked, she now looked atthe blazing log-fire, and her cheeks glowed and her eyes seemed toreflect the lifting flame. 

For five years, ever since her father brought her from the convent atSt. Louis, Mary Cahill had watched officers come and officers go. Herknowledge concerning them, and their public and private affairs, wasvast and miscellaneous. She was acquainted with the traditions ofevery regiment, with its war record, with its peace-time politics, its nicknames, its scandals, even with the earnings of each company-canteen. At Fort Crockett, which lay under her immediate observation, she knew more of what was going forward than did the regimentaladjutant, more even than did the colonel's wife. If Trumpeter Tylerflatted on church call, if Mrs. Stickney applied to the quartermasterfor three feet of stovepipe, if Lieutenant Curtis were granted twodays' leave for quail-shooting, Mary Cahill knew it; and if Mrs. "Captain" Stairs obtained the post-ambulance for a drive to KiowaCity, when Mrs. "Captain" Ross wanted it for a picnic, she knew whatwords passed between those ladies, and which of the two wept. Sheknew all of these things, for each evening they were retailed to herby her "boarders. " Her boarders were very loyal to Mary Cahill. Herposition was a difficult one, and had it not been that the boy-officers were so understanding, it would have been much moredifficult. For the life of a regimental post is as circumscribed asthe life on a ship-of-war, and it would no more be possible for theship's barber to rub shoulders with the admiral's epaulets than thata post-trader's child should visit the ladies on the "line, " or thatthe wives of the enlisted men should dine with the young girl fromwhom they "took in" washing. 

So, between the upper and the nether grindstones, Mary Cahill wasleft without the society of her own sex, and was of necessity forcedto content herself with the society of the officers. And the officersplayed fair. Loyalty to Mary Cahill was a tradition at Fort Crockett, which it was the duty of each succeeding regiment to sustain. Moreover, her father, a dark, sinister man, alive only to money-making, was known to handle a revolver with the alertness of a town-marshal. 

Since the day she left the convent Mary Cahill had held but twoaffections: one for this grim, taciturn parent, who brooded over heras jealously as a lover, and the other for the entire United StatesArmy. The Army returned her affection without the jealousy of thefather, and with much more than his effusiveness. But when LieutenantRanson arrived from the Philippines, the affections of Mary Cahillbecame less generously distributed, and her heart fluttered hourlybetween trouble and joy. 

There were two rooms on the first floor of the post-trader's--thisbig one, which only officers and their women-folk might enter, andthe other, the exchange of the enlisted men. The two were separatedby a partition of logs and hung with shelves on which were displayedcalicoes, tinned meats, and patent medicines. A door, cut in one endof the partition, with buffalo-robes for portieres, permitted Cahillto pass from behind the counter of one store to behind the counter ofthe other. On one side Mary Cahill served the Colonel's wife withmany yards of silk ribbons to be converted into german favors, on theother her father weighed out bears' claws (manufactured in Hartford, Conn. , from turkey-bones) to make a necklace for Red Wing, the squawof the Arrephao chieftain. He waited upon everyone with gravity, andin obstinate silence. No one had ever seen Cahill smile. He himselfoccasionally joked with others in a grim and embarrassed manner. Butno one had ever joked with him. It was reported that he came from NewYork, where, it was whispered, he had once kept bar on the Bowery forMcTurk. 

Sergeant Clancey, of G Troop, was the authority for this. But when, presuming on that supposition, he claimed acquaintanceship withCahill, the post-trader spread out his hands on the counter andstared at the sergeant with cold and disconcerting eyes. "I neverkept bar nowhere, " he said. "I never been on the Bowery, never beenin New York, never been east of Denver in my life. What was it youordered?"

"Well, mebbe I'm wrong, " growled the sergeant. 

But a month later, when a coyote howled down near the Indian village, the sergeant said insinuatingly, "Sounds just like the cry of theWhyos, don't it?" And Cahill, who was listening to the wolf, unthinkingly nodded his head. 

The sergeant snorted in triumph. "Yah, I told you so!" he cried, "aman that's never been on the Bowery, and knows the call of the Whyogang! The drinks are on you, Cahill. "

The post-trader did not raise his eyes, but drew a damp cloth up anddown the counter, slowly and heavily, as a man sharpens a knife on awhetstone. 

That night, as the sergeant went up the path to the post, a bulletpassed through his hat. Clancey was a forceful man, and forceful men, unknown to themselves, make enemies, so he was uncertain as towhether this came from a trooper he had borne upon too harshly, orwhether, In the darkness, he had been picked off for someone else. The next night, as he passed in the full light of the post-trader'swindows, a shot came from among the dark shadows of the corral, andwhen he immediately sought safety in numbers among the Indians, cowboys, and troopers in the exchange, he was in time to see Cahillenter it from the other store, wrapping up a bottle of pain-killerfor Mrs. Stickney's cook. But Clancey was not deceived. He observedwith satisfaction that the soles and the heels of Cahill's boots werewet with the black mud of the corral. 

The next morning, when the exchange was empty, the post-trader turnedfrom arranging cans of condensed milk upon an upper shelf to face thesergeant's revolver. He threw up his hands to the level of his earsas though expressing sharp unbelief, and waited in silence. Thesergeant advanced until the gun rested on the counter, Its muzzlepointing at the pit of Cahill's stomach. "You or me has got to leavethis post, " said the sergeant, "and I can't desert, so I guess it'sup to you. "

"What did you talk for?" asked Cahill. His attitude was still that ofshocked disbelief, but his tone expressed a full acceptance of thesituation and a desire to temporize. 

"At first I thought it might be that new 'cruity' in F Troop, "explained the sergeant "You came near making me kill the wrong man. What harm did I do you by saying you kept bar for McTurk? What'sthere in that to get hot about?"

"You said I run with the Whyos. "

"What the h--l do I care what you've done!" roared the sergeant. "Idon't kmow nothing about you, but I don't mean you should shoot me inthe back. I'm going to tell this to my bunky, an' if I get shot up, the Troop'll know who done it, and you'll hang for it. Now, what areyou going to do?"

Cahill did not tell what he would do; for, from the other store, thelow voice of Mary Cahill called, "Father! Oh, father!"

The two men dodged, and eyed each other guiltily. The sergeant gazedat the buffalo-robe portieres with wide-opened eyes. Cahill's handsdropped from the region of his ears, and fell flat upon the counter. 

When Miss Mary Cahill pushed aside the portieres Sergeant Clancey, ofG Troop, was showing her father the mechanism of the new regulation-revolver. He apparently was having some difficulty with the cylinder, for his face was red. Her father was eying the gun with the criticalapproval of an expert. 

"Father, " said Miss Cahill petulantly, "why didn't you answer? Whereis the blue stationery--the sort Major Ogden always buys? He'swaiting. "

The eyes of the post-trader did not wander from the gun before him. "Next to the blank books, Mame, " he said. "On the second shelf. "

Miss Cahill flashed a dazzling smile at the big sergeant, andwhispered, so that the officer in the room behind her might notoverhear, "Is he trying to sell you Government property, dad? Don'tyou touch it. Sergeant, I'm surprised at you tempting my poorfather. " She pulled the two buffalo-robes close around her neck sothat her face only showed between them. It was a sweet, lovely face, with frank, boyish eyes. 

"When the major's gone, sergeant, " she whispered, "bring your gunaround my side of the store and I'll buy it from you. "

The sergeant nodded in violent assent, laughing noiselessly andslapping his knee in a perfect ecstasy of delight. 

The curtains dropped and the face disappeared. 

The sergeant fingered the gun and Cahill folded his arms defiantly. 

"Well?" he said. 

"Well?" asked the sergeant. 

"I should think you could see how it is, " said Cahill, "without myhaving to tell you. "

"You mean you don't want she should know?"

"My God, no! Not even that I kept a bar. "

"Well, I don't know nothing. I don't mean to tell nothing, anyway, soif you'll promise to be good I'll call this off. "

For the first time in the history of Fort Crockett, Cahill was seento smile. "May I reach under the counter NOW?" he asked. 

The sergeant grinned appreciatively, and shifted his gun. "Yes, butI'll keep this out until I'm sure it's a bottle, " he said, andlaughed boisterously. 

For an instant, under the cover of the counter, Cahill's hand touchedlongingly upon the gun that lay there, and then passed on to thebottle beside it. He drew it forth, and there was the clink ofglasses. 

In the other room Mary Cahill winked at the major, but that officerpretended to be both deaf to the clink of the glasses and blind tothe wink. And so the incident was closed. Had it not been for thefolly of Lieutenant Ranson it would have remained closed. 

A week before this happened a fire had started in the Willow Bottomsamong the tepees of some Kiowas, and the prairie, as far as one couldsee, was bruised and black. From the post it looked as though the skyhad been raining ink. At the time all of the regiment but G and HTroops was out on a practice-march, experimenting with a new-fangledtabloid-ration. As soon as it turned the buttes it saw from where thelight in the heavens came and the practice-march became a race. 

At the post the men had doubled out under Lieutenant Ranson with wethorse-blankets, and while he led G Troop to fight the flames, HTroop, under old Major Stickney, burned a space around the post, across which the men of G Troop retreated, stumbling, with their earsand shoulders wrapped in the smoking blankets. The sparks beat uponthem and the flames followed so fast that, as they ran, the blazinggrass burned their lacings, and they kicked their gaiters ahead ofthem. 

When the regiment arrived it found everybody at Fort Crockett talkingenthusiastically of Ranson's conduct and resentfully of the fact thathe had regarded the fire as one which had been started for hisespecial amusement. 

"I assure you, " said Mrs. Bolland to the colonel, "if it hadn't beenfor young Ranson we would have been burned in our beds; but he wasmost aggravating. He treated it as though it were Fourth of Julyfireworks. It is the only entertainment we have been able to offerhim since he joined in which he has shown the slightest interest. "Nevertheless, it was generally admitted that Ranson had saved thepost. He had been ubiquitous. He had been seen galloping into theadvancing flames like a stampeded colt, he had reappeared like awraith in columns of black, whirling smoke, at the same moment hisvoice issued orders from twenty places. One instant he was visiblebeating back the fire with a wet blanket, waving it above himjubilantly, like a substitute at the Army-Navy game when his sidescores, and the next staggering from out of the furnace dragging anasphyxiated trooper by the collar, and shrieking, "Hospital-steward, hospital-steward! here's a man on fire. Put him out, and send himback to me, quick!"

Those who met him in the whirlwind of smoke and billowing flamerelated that he chuckled continuously. "Isn't this fun?" he yelled atthem. "Say, isn't this the best ever? I wouldn't have missed this fora trip to New York!"

When the colonel, having visited the hospital and spoken cheeringwords to those who were sans hair, sans eyebrows and with bandagedhands, complimented Lieutenant Ranson on the parade-ground before theassembled regiment, Ranson ran to his hut muttering strange andfearful oaths. 

That night at mess he appealed to Mary Cahill for sympathy. "Goodness, mighty me!" he cried, "did you hear him? Wasn't it awful?If I'd thought he was going to hand me that I'd have deserted. What'sthe use of spoiling the only fun we've had that way? Why, if I'dknown you could get that much excitement out of this rank prairie I'dhave put a match to it myself three months ago. It's the only funI've had, and he goes and preaches a funeral oration at me. "

Ranson came into the army at the time of the Spanish war because itpromised a new form of excitement, and because everybody else he knewhad gone into it too. As the son of his father he was made anadjutant-general of volunteers with the rank of captain, and unloadedon the staff of a Southern brigadier, who was slated never to leaveCharleston. But Ranson suspected this, and, after telegraphing hisfather for three days, was attached to the Philippines contingent andsailed from San Francisco in time to carry messages through the surfwhen the volunteers moved upon Manila. More cabling at the cost ofmany Mexican dollars caused him to be removed from the staff, andgiven a second lieutenancy in a volunteer regiment, and for two yearshe pursued the little brown men over the paddy sluices, burnedvillages, looted churches, and collected bolos and altar-cloths withthat irresponsibility and contempt for regulations which is foundchiefly in the appointment from civil life. Incidentally, he enjoyedhimself so much that he believed in the army he had found the oneplace where excitement is always in the air, and as excitement wasthe breath of his nostrils he applied for a commission in the regulararmy. On his record he was appointed a second lieutenant in theTwentieth Cavalry, and on the return of that regiment to the States--was buried alive at Fort Crockett. 

After six months of this exile, one night at the mess-table Ransonbroke forth in open rebellion. "I tell you I can't stand it a daylonger, " he cried. "I'm going to resign!"

From behind the counter Mary Cahill heard him in horror. SecondLieutenants Crosby and Curtis shuddered. They were sons of officersof the regular army. Only six months before they themselves had beenforwarded from West Point, done up in neat new uniforms. Thetraditions of the Academy of loyalty and discipline had been kneadedinto their vertebrae. In Ranson they saw only the horrible result ofgiving commissions to civilians. 

"Maybe the post will be gayer now that spring has come, " said Curtishopefully, but with a doubtful look at the open fire. 

"I wouldn't do anything rash, " urged Crosby. 

Miss Cahill shook her head. "Why, I like it at the post, " she said, "and I've been here five years--ever since I left the convent--and I---"

Ranson interrupted, bowing gallantly. "Yes, I know, Miss Cahill, " hesaid, "but I didn't come here from a convent. I came here from theblood-stained fields of war. Now, out in the Philippines there'salways something doing. They give you half a troop, and so long asyou bring back enough Mausers and don't get your men cut up, you canfight all over the shop and no questions asked. But all I do here istake care of sick horses. Any vet. In the States has seen as muchfighting as I have in the last half-year. I might as well have hadcharge of horse-car stables. "

"There is some truth in that, " said Curtis cautiously. "If you doresign, certainly no one can accuse you of resigning in the face ofthe enemy. "

"Enemy, ye gods!" roared Ranson. "Why, if I were to see a Moroentering that door with a bolo in each fist I'd fall on his neck andkiss him. I'm not trained to this garrison business. You fellows are. They took all the sporting blood out of you at West Point; one badmark for smoking a cigarette, two bad marks for failing to salute theinstructor in botany, and all the excitement you ever knew werecharades and a cadet-hop a t Cullum Hall. But, you see, before I wentto the Philippines with Merritt, I'd been there twice on a fellow'syacht, and we'd tucked the Spanish governor in his bed with his spurson. Now, I have to sit around and hear old Bolland tell how he putdown a car-strike in St. Louis, and Stickney's long-winded yarns ofTable Mountain and the Bloody Angle. He doesn't know the Civil War'sover. I tell you, if I can't get excitement on tap I've got to makeit, and if I make it out here they'll court-martial me. So there'snothing for it but to resign. "

"You'd better wait till the end of the week, " said Crosby, grinning. "It's going to be full of gayety. Thursday, paymaster's coming outwith our cash, and to-night that Miss Post from New York arrives inthe up stage. She's to visit the colonel, so everybody will have togive her a good time. "

"Yes, I certainly must wait for that, " growled Ranson; "thereprobably will be progressive euchre parties all along the line, andwe'll sit up as late as ten o'clock and stick little gilt stars onourselves. "

Crosby laughed tolerantly. 

"I see your point of view, " he said. "I remember when my father tookme to Monte Carlo I saw you at the tables with enough money in frontof you to start a bank. I remember my father asked the croupiers whythey allowed a child of your age to gamble. I was just a kid then, and so were you, too. I remember I thought you were the devil of afellow. "

Ranson looked sheepishly at Miss Cahill and laughed. "Well, so I was--then, " he said. "Anybody would be a devil of a fellow who'd beenbrought up as I was, with a doting parent who owns a trust anddoesn't know the proper value of money. And yet you expect me to behappy with a fifty-cent limit game, and twenty miles of burnedprairie. I tell you I've never been broken to it. I don't know whatnot having your own way means. And discipline! Why, every time I haveto report one of my men to the colonel I send for him afterward andgive him a drink and apologize to him. I tell you the army doesn'tmean anything to me unless there's something doing, and as there isno fighting out here I'm for the back room of the Holland House and arubber-tired automobile. Little old New York is good enough for me!"

As he spoke these fateful words of mutiny Lieutenant Ranson raisedhis black eyes and snatched a swift side-glance at the face of MaryCahill. It was almost as though it were from her he sought hisanswer. He could not himself have told what it was he would have hersay. But ever since the idea of leaving the army had come to him, Mary Cahill and the army had become interchangeable and had grown tomean one and the same thing. He fought against this condition of mindfiercely. He had determined that without active service the army wasintolerable; but that without Mary Cahill civil life would also proveintolerable, he assured himself did not at all follow. He had laughedat the idea. He had even argued it out sensibly. Was it reasonable tosuppose, he asked himself, that after circling the great globe threetimes he should find the one girl on it who alone could make himhappy, sitting behind a post-trader's counter on the open prairie?His interest in Miss Cahill was the result of propinquity, that wasall. It was due to the fact that there was no one else at hand, because he was sorry for her loneliness, because her absurd socialostracism had touched his sympathy. How long after he reached NewYork would he remember the little comrade with the brave, boyish eyesset in the delicate, feminine head, with its great waves of gorgeoushair? It would not be long, he guessed. He might remember the way sherode her pony, how she swung from her Mexican saddle and caught up agauntlet from the ground. Yes, he certainly would remember that, andhe would remember the day he had galloped after her and ridden withher through the Indian village, and again that day when they rode tothe water-fall and the Lover's Leap. And he would remember her faceat night as it bent over the books he borrowed for her, which sheread while they were at mess, sitting in her high chair with her chinresting in her palms, staring down at the book before her. And thetrick she had, whenever he spoke, of raising her head and lookinginto the fire, her eyes lighting and her lips smiling. They would bepleasant memories, he was sure. But once back again in the whirl andrush of the great world outside of Fort Crockett, even as memoriesthey would pass away. 

Mary Cahill made no outward answer to the rebellious utterance ofLieutenant Ranson. She only bent her eyes on her book and tried tothink what the post would hold for her when he had carried out histhreat and betaken himself into the world and out of her lifeforever. Night after night she had sat enthroned behind her barrierand listened to his talk, wondering deeply. He had talked of a worldshe knew only in novels, in history, and in books of travel. His viewof it was not an educational one: he was no philosopher, nor trainedobserver. He remembered London--to her the capital of the world--chiefly by its restaurants, Cairo on account of its execrable golf-links. He lived only to enjoy himself. His view was that of a boy, hearty and healthy and seeking only excitement and mischief. She hadheard his tales of his brief career at Harvard, of the reunions atHenry's American bar, of the Futurity, the Suburban, the Grand Prix, of a yachting cruise which apparently had encountered every form ofadventure, from the rescuing of a stranded opera-company to theramming of a slaver's dhow. The regret with which he spoke of thesefree days, which was the regret of an exile marooned upon a desertisland, excited all her sympathy for an ill she had never known. Hisdiscourteous scorn of the social pleasures of the post, from whichshe herself was excluded, rilled her with speculation. If he couldforego these functions, how full and gay she argued his former lifemust have been. His attitude helped her to bear the deprivations moreeasily. And she, as a loyal child of the army, liked him also becausehe was no "cracker-box" captain, but a fighter, who had fought withno morbid ideas as to the rights or wrongs of the cause, but for thefun of fighting. 

And one night, after he had been telling the mess of a Filipinoofficer who alone had held back his men and himself, and who at lastdied in his arms cursing him, she went to sleep declaring to herselfthat Lieutenant Ranson was becoming too like the man she had picturedfor her husband than was good for her peace of mind. He had told thestory as his tribute to a brave man fighting for his independence andwith such regret that such a one should have died so miserably, that, to the embarrassment of the mess, the tears rolled down his cheeks. But he wiped them away with his napkin as unconcernedly as thoughthey were caused by the pepper-box, and said simply, "He had sportingblood, he had. I've never felt so bad about anything as I did aboutthat chap. Whenever I think of him standing up there with his back tothe cathedral all shot to pieces, but giving us what for until hedied, it makes me cry. So, " he added, blowing his nose vigorously, "Iwon't think of it any more. "

Tears are properly a woman's weapon, and when a man makes use ofthem, even in spite of himself, he is taking an advantage over theother sex which is unfair and outrageous. Lieutenant Ranson neverknew the mischief the sympathy he had shown for his enemy caused inthe heart of Mary Cahill, nor that from that moment she loved himdeeply. 

The West Point graduates before they answered Ranson's ultimatumsmoked their cigarettes for some time in silence. 

"Oh, there's been fighting even at Fort Crockett, " said Crosby. "Inthe last two years the men have been ordered out seven times, haven'tthey, Miss Cahill? When the Indians got out of hand, and twice aftercowboys, and twice after the Red Rider. "

"The Red Rider!" protested Ranson; "I don't see anything exciting inrounding up one miserable horse thief. "

"Only they don't round him up, " returned Curtis crossly. "That's whyit's exciting. He's the best in his business. He's held up the stagesix times now in a year. Whoever the fellow is, if he's one man or agang of men, he's the nerviest road-agent since the days of AbeCase. "

Ranson in his then present mood was inclined toward pessimism. "Itdoesn't take any nerve to hold up a coach, " he contradicted. 

Curtis and Crosby snorted in chorus. "That's what you say, " mockedCurtis. 

"Well, it doesn't, " repeated Ranson. "It's all a game of bluff. Theetiquette is that the driver mustn't shoot the road-agent, and thatthe road-agent mustn't hurt the driver, and the passengers are tooscared to move. The moment they see a man rise out of the night theythrow up their hands. Why, even when a passenger does try to pull hisgun the others won't let him. Each thinks sure that if there's anyfiring he will be the one to get hurt. And, besides, they don't knowhow many more men the road agent may have behind him. I don't---"

A movement on the part of Miss Cahill caused him to pause abruptly. Miss Cahill had descended from her throne and was advancing to meetthe post-trader, who came toward her from the exchange. 

"Lightfoot's squaw, " he said. "Her baby's worse. She's sent for you. "

Miss Cahill gave a gasp of sympathy, snatched up her hat from thecounter, and the buffalo robes closed behind her. 

Ranson stooped and reached for his sombrero. With the flight of MissCahill his interest in the courage of the Red Rider had departedalso. 

But Crosby appealed to the new-comer, "Cahill, YOU know, " he said. "We've been talking of the man they call the Red Rider, the chap thatwears a red bandanna over his face. Ranson says he hasn't any nerve. That's not so, is it?"

"I said it didn't take any nerve to hold up a stage, " said Ranson;"and it doesn't. "

The post-trader halted on his way back to the exchange and rubbed onehand meditatively over the other arm. With him speech was golden anddifficult. After a pause he said: "Oh, he takes his chances. "

"Of course he does, " cried Crosby, encouragingly. "He takes thechance of being shot by the passengers, and of being caught by theposse and lynched, but this man's got away with it now six times inthe last year. And I say that takes nerve. "

"Why, for fifty dollars---" laughed Ranson. 

He checked himself, and glanced over his shoulder at the retreatingfigure of Cahill. The buffalo robes fell again, and the spurs of thepost-trader could be heard jangling over the earth-floor of theexchange. 

"For fifty dollars, " repeated Ranson, in brisk, businesslike tones, "I'll rob the up stage to-night myself!"

Previous knowledge of his moods, the sudden look of mischief in hiseyes and a certain vibration in his voice caused the two lieutenantsto jump simultaneously to their feet. "Ranson!" they shouted. 

Ranson laughed mockingly. "Oh, I'm bored to death, " he cried. "Whatwill you bet I don't?"

He had risen with them, but, without waiting for their answer, ran towhere his horse stood at the open door. He sank on his knees andbegan tugging violently at the stirrup-straps. The two officers, their eyes filled with concern, pursued him across the room. WithCahill twenty feet away, they dared not raise their voices, but inpantomime they beckoned him vigorously to return. Ranson came atonce, flushed and smiling, holding a hooded army-stirrup in eachhand. "Never do to have them see these!" he said. He threw thestirrups from him, behind the row of hogsheads. "I'll ride in thestirrup-straps!" He still spoke in the same low, brisk tone. 

Crosby seized him savagely by the arm. "No, you won't!" he hissed. "Look here, Ranson. Listen to me; for Heaven's sake don't be an ass!They'll shoot you, you'll be killed---"

--"And court-martialed, " panted Curtis. 

"You'll go to Leavenworth for the rest of your life!"

Ranson threw off the detaining hand, and ran behind the counter. Froma lower shelf he snatched a red bandanna kerchief. From another hedragged a rubber poncho, and buttoned it high about his throat. Hepicked up the steel shears which lay upon the counter, and snippingtwo holes in the red kerchief, stuck it under the brim of hissombrero. It fell before his face like a curtain. From his neck tohis knees the poncho concealed his figure. All that was visible ofhim was his eyes, laughing through the holes in the red mask. 

"Behold the Red Rider!" he groaned. "Hold up your hands!"

He pulled the kerchief from his face and threw the poncho over hisarm. "Do you see these shears?" he whispered. "I'm going to hold upthe stage with 'em. No one ever fires at a road agent. They justshout, 'Don't shoot, colonel, and I'll come down. ' I'm going to bring'em down with these shears. "

Crosby caught Curtis by the arm, laughing eagerly. "Come to thestables, quick, " he cried. "We'll get twenty troopers after himbefore he can go a half mile. " He turned on Ranson with a triumphantchuckle. "You'll not be dismissed this regiment, if I can help it, "he cried. 

Ranson gave an ugly laugh, like the snarl of a puppy over his bone. "If you try to follow me, or interfere with me, Lieutenant Crosby, "he said, "I'll shoot you and your troopers!"

"With a pair of shears?" jeered Crosby. 

"No, with the gun I've got in my pocket. Now you listen to me. I'mnot going to use that gun on any stage filled with women, driven by aman seventy years old, but--and I mean it--if you try to stop me, I'll use it on you. I'm going to show you how anyone can bluff astage full with a pair of tin shears and a red mask for a kicker. AndI'll shoot the man that tries to stop me. "

Ranson sprang to his horse's side, and stuck his toe into the emptystirrup-strap; there was a scattering of pebbles, a scurry of hoofs, and the horse and rider became a gray blot in the moonlight. 

The two lieutenants stood irresolute. Under his breath Crosby wasswearing fiercely. Curtis stood staring out of the open door. 

"Will he do it?" he asked. 

"Of course he'll do it. "

Curtis crossed the room and dropped into a chair. "And what--what hadwe better do?" he asked. For some time the other made no answer. Hisbrows were knit, and he tramped the room, scowling at the floor. Thenwith an exclamation of alarm he stepped lightly to the door of theexchange and threw back the curtain. In the other room, Cahill stoodat its furthest corner, scooping sugar from a hogshead. 

Crosby's scowl relaxed, and, reseating himself at the table, herolled a cigarette. "Now, if he pulls it off, " he whispered, "andgets back to quarters, then--it's a case of all's well. But, if he'sshot, or caught, and it all comes out, then it's up to us to prove hemeant it as a practical joke. "

"It isn't our duty to report it now, is it?" asked Curtis, nervously. 

"Certainly not! If he chooses to make an ass of himself, that's noneof our business. Unless he's found out, we have heard nothing andseen nothing. If he's caught, then we've got to stick by him, andtestify that he did it on a bet. He'll probably win out all right. There is nobody expected on the stage but that Miss Post and heraunt. And the driver's an old hand. He knows better than to fight. "

"There may be some cowboys coming up. "

"That's Ranson's lookout. As Cahill says, the Red Rider takes hischances. "

"I wish there was something we could do now, " Curtis protested, petulantly. "I suppose we've just got to sit still and wait for him?"

"That's all, " answered Crosby, and then leaped to his feet. "What'sthat?" he asked. Out on the parade ground, a bugle-call brokesuddenly on the soft spring air. It rang like an alarm. The noise ofa man running swiftly sounded on the path, and before the officersreached the doorway Sergeant Clancey entered it, and halted atattention. 

"The colonel's orders, " panted the sergeant, "and the lieutenant'sare to take twenty men from G and H Troops, and ride to Kiowa toescort the paymaster. "

"The paymaster!" Crosby cried. "He's not coming till Thursday. "

"He's just telegraphed from Kiowa City, lieutenant. He's ahead of hisschedule. He wants an escort for the money. He left Kiowa a fewminutes ago in the up stage. "

The two lieutenants sprang forward, and shouted in chorus: "Thestage? He is in the stage!"

Sergeant Clancey stared dubiously from one officer to the other. Hemisunderstood their alarm, and with the privilege of long serviceattempted to allay it. "The lieutenant knows nothing can happen tothe stage till it reaches the buttes, " he said. "There has never beena hold-up in the open, and the escort can reach the buttes longbefore the stage gets here. " He coughed consciously. "Colonel'sorders are to gallop, lieutenant. "

As the two officers rode knee to knee through the night, the payescort pounding the trail behind them, Crosby leaned from his saddle. "He has only ten minutes' start of us, " he whispered. "We are certainto overtake him. We can't help but do it. We must do it. We MUST! Ifwe don't, and he tries to stop Colonel Patten and the pay-roll, he'lldie. Two women and a deaf driver, that--that's a joke. But an Indianfighter like old Patten, and Uncle Sam's money, that means a finishfight-and his death and disgrace. " He turned savagely in his saddle. "Close up there!" he commanded. "Stop that talking. You keep yourbreath till I want it--and ride hard. "

After the officers had galloped away from the messroom, and SergeantClancey had hurried after them to the stables, the post-traderentered it from the exchange and barred the door, which they in theirhaste had left open. As he did this, the close observer, had one beenpresent, might have noted that though his movements were now alertand eager, they no longer were betrayed by any sound, and that hisspurs had ceased to jangle. Yet that he purposed to ride abroad wasevident from the fact that from a far corner he dragged out a heavysaddle. He flung this upon the counter, and swiftly stripped it ofits stirrups. These, with more than necessary care, he hid away uponthe highest shelf of the shop, while from the lower shelves hesnatched a rubber poncho and a red kerchief. For a moment, as heunbarred the door, the post-trader paused and cast a quick glancebefore and behind him, and then the door closed and there wassilence. A minute later it was broken by the hoofs of a horsegalloping swiftly along the trail to Kiowa City. 

PART II

That winter Miss Post had been going out a great deal more than wasgood for her, and when the spring came she broke down. The familydoctor recommended Aiken, but an aunt of Miss Post's, Mrs. Truesdall, had been at Farmington with Mrs. "Colonel" Bolland, and urgedvisiting her instead. The doctor agreed that the climatic conditionsexisting at Fort Crockett were quite as health-giving as those atAiken, and of the two the invalid decided that the regimental postwould be more of a novelty. 

So she and her aunt and the maid changed cars twice after leaving St. Louis and then staged it to Kiowa City, where, while waiting for"Pop" Henderson's coach to Fort Crockett, they dined with him onbacon, fried bread, and alkali water tinged with coffee. 

It was at Kiowa City, a city of four hundred houses on blue-printpaper and six on earth, that Miss Post first felt certain that shewas going to enjoy her visit. It was there she first saw, at largeand on his native heath, a blanket Indian. He was a tall, beautifulyouth, with yellow ochre on his thin, brown arms and blue ochre onhis cheekbones, who sat on "Pop's" steps, gazing impassively at thestars. Miss Post came out with her maid and fell over him. The maidscreamed. Miss Post said: "I beg your pardon"; and the braveexpressed his contempt by gutteral mutterings and by moving haughtilyaway. Miss Post was then glad that she had not gone to Aiken. For thetwelve-mile drive through the moonlit buttes to Fort Crockett therewas, besides the women, one other passenger. He was a travellingsalesman of the Hancock Uniform Company, and was visiting FortCrockett to measure the officers for their summer tunics. At dinnerhe passed Miss Post the condensed milk-can, and in other ways madehimself agreeable. He informed her aunt that he was in the MilitaryEquipment Department of the Army, but, much to that young woman'sdistress, addressed most of his remarks to the maid, who, to histaste, was the most attractive of the three. 

"I take it, " he said genially to Miss Post, "that you and the younglady are sisters. "

"No, " said Miss Post, "we are not related. "

It was eight o'clock, and the moon was full in the heavens when "Pop"Henderson hoisted them into the stage and burdened his driver, HunkSmith, with words of advice which were intended solely for the earsof the passengers. 

"You want to be careful of that near wheeler, Hunk, " he said, "orhe'll upset you into a gully. An' in crossing the second ford, bearto the right; the water's running high, and it may carry youse alldown stream. I don't want that these ladies should be drowned in anystage of mine. An' if the Red Rider jumps you don't put up no bluff, but sit still. The paymaster's due in a night or two, an' I've nodoubt at all but that the Rider's laying for him. But if you tell himthat there's no one inside but womenfolk and a tailor, mebbe he won'thurt youse. Now, ladies, " he added, putting his head under theleather flap, as though unconscious that all he had said had alreadyreached them, "without wishing to make you uneasy, I would adviseyour having your cash and jewelry ready in your hands. With road-agents it's mostly wisest to do what they say, an' to do it quick. Efyou give 'em all you've got, they sometimes go away without spillingblood, though, such being their habits, naturally disappointed. " Heturned his face toward the shrinking figure of the military tailor. "You, being an army man, " he said, "will of course want to protectthe ladies, but you mustn't do it. You must keep cool. Ef you pullyour gun, like as not you'll all get killed. But I'm hoping for thebest. Good-night all, an' a pleasant journey. "

The stage moved off with many creaks and many cracks of the whip, which in part smothered Hunk Smith's laughter. But after the firstmile, he, being a man with feelings and a family, pulled the mules toa halt. 

The voice of the drummer could instantly be heard calling loudly fromthe darkness of the stage: "Don't open those flaps. If they see us, they'll fire!"

"I wanted you folks to know, " said Hunk Smith, leaning from the box-seat, "that that talk of Pop's was all foolishness. You're as safe onthis trail as in a Pullman palace-car. That was just his way. Popwill have his joke. You just go to sleep now, if you can, and trustto me. I'll get you there by eleven o'clock or break a trace. Breakin' a trace is all the danger there is, anyway, " he added, cheerfully, "so don't fret. "

Miss Post could not resist saying to Mrs. Truesdall: "I told you hewas joking. "

The stage had proceeded for two hours. Sometimes it dropped withlocked wheels down sheer walls of clay, again it was dragged, careening drunkenly, out of fathomless pits. It pitched and tossed, slid and galloped, danced grotesquely from one wheel to another, fromone stone to another, recoiled out of ruts, butted against rocks, andswept down and out of swollen streams that gurgled between thespokes. 

"If ever I leave Fort Crockett, " gasped Mrs. Truesdall between jolts, "I shall either wait until they build a railroad or walk. "

They had all but left the hills, and were approaching the levelprairie. That they might see the better the flaps had been rolled up, and the soft dry air came freely through the open sides. The muleswere straining over the last hill. On either side only a few of thebuttes were still visible. They stood out in the moonlight as cleanlycut as the bows of great battleships. The trail at last was level. Mrs. Truesdall's eyes closed. Her head fell forward. But Miss Post, weary as she was in body, could not sleep. To her the night-ride wasfull of strange and wonderful mysteries. Gratefully she drank in thedry scent of the prairie-grass, and, holding by the frame of thewindow, leaned far out over the wheel. As she did so, a man spranginto the trail from behind a wall of rock, and shouted hoarsely. Hewas covered to his knees with a black mantle. His face was hidden bya blood-red mask. 

"Throw up your hands!" he commanded. There was a sharp creaking asthe brakes locked, and from the driver's seat an amazed oath. Thestage stopped with a violent jerk, and Mrs. Truesdall pitched gentlyforward toward her niece. 

"I really believe I was asleep, Helen, " she murmured. "What are wewaiting for?"

"I think we are held up, " said Miss Post. 

The stage had halted beyond the wall of rock, and Miss Post lookedbehind it, but no other men were visible, only a horse with hisbridle drawn around a stone. The man in the mask advanced upon thestage, holding a weapon at arm's-length. In the moonlight it flashedand glittered evilly. The man was but a few feet from Miss Post, andthe light fell full upon her. Of him she could see only two blackeyes that flashed as evilly as his weapon. For a period of suspense, which seemed cruelly prolonged, the man stood motionless, then helowered his weapon. When he opened his lips the mask stuck to them, and his words came from behind it, broken and smothered. "Sorry totrouble you, miss, " the mask said, "but I want that man beside you toget out. "

Miss Post turned to the travelling salesman. "He wants you to getout, " she said. 

"Wants me!" exclaimed the drummer. "I'm not armed, you know. " In alouder voice he protested, faintly: "I say, I'm not armed. "

"Come out!" demanded the mask. 

The drummer precipitated himself violently over the knees of theladies into the road below, and held his hands high above him. "I'mnot armed, " he said; "indeed I'm not. "

"Stand over there, with your back to that rock, " the mask ordered. For a moment the road agent regarded him darkly, pointing his weaponmeditatively at different parts of the salesman's person. Hesuggested a butcher designating certain choice cuts. The drummer'smuscles jerked under the torture as though his anatomy were beingprodded with an awl. 

"I want your watch, " said the mask. The drummer reached eagerly forhis waistcoat. 

"Hold up your hands!" roared the road agent. "By the eternal, if youplay any rough-house tricks on me I'll--" He flourished his weaponuntil it flashed luminously. 

An exclamation from Hunk Smith, opportunely uttered, saved thedrummer from what was apparently instant annihilation. "Say, Rider, "cried the driver, "I can't hold my arms up no longer. I'm going toput 'em down. But you leave me alone, an' I'll leave you alone. Isthat a bargain?" The shrouded figure whirled his weapon upon thespeaker. "Have I ever stopped you before, Hunk?" he demanded. 

Hunk, at this recognition of himself as a public character, softenedinstantly. "I dunno whether 'twas you or one of your gang, but--"

"Well, you've still got your health, haven't you?"

"Yes. "

"Then keep quiet, " snarled the mask. 

In retort Hunk Smith muttered audible threatenings, but sankobediently into an inert heap. Only his eyes, under cover of hissombrero, roamed restlessly. They noted the McClellan saddle on theRed Rider's horse, the white patch on its near fore-foot, the emptystirrup-straps, and at a great distance, so great that the eyes onlyof a plainsman could have detected it, a cloud of dust, or smoke, ormist, that rode above the trail and seemed to be moving swiftly downupon them. 

At the sight, Hunk shifted the tobacco in his cheek and nervouslycrossed his knees, while a grin of ineffable cunning passed acrosshis face. 

With his sombrero in his hand, the Red Rider stepped to the wheel ofthe stage. As he did so, Miss Post observed that above the line ofhis kerchief his hair was evenly and carefully parted in the middle. 

"I'm afraid, ladies, " said the road agent, "that I have delayed youunnecessarily. It seems that I have called up the wrong number. " Heemitted a reassuring chuckle, and, fanning himself with his sombrero, continued speaking in a tone of polite irony: "The Wells, Fargomessenger is the party I am laying for. He's coming over this trailwith a package of diamonds. That's what I'm after. At first I thought'Fighting Bob' over there by the rock might have it on him; but hedoesn't act like any Wells, Fargo Express agent I have ever tackledbefore, and I guess the laugh's on me. I seem to have been weepingover the wrong grave. " He replaced his sombrero on his head at arakish angle, and waved his hand. "Ladies, you are at liberty toproceed. "

But instantly he stepped forward again, and brought his face so closeto the window that they could see the whites of his eyes. "Before wepart, " he murmured, persuasively, "you wouldn't mind leaving mesomething as a souvenir, would you?" He turned the skull-likeopenings of the mask full upon Miss Post. 

Mrs. Truesdall exclaimed, hysterically: "Why, certainly not!" shecried. "Here's everything I have, except what's sewn inside my waist, where I can't possibly get at it. I assure you I cannot. Theproprietor of that hotel told us we'd probably--meet you, and so Ihave everything ready. " She thrust her two hands through the window. They held a roll of bills, a watch, and her rings

Miss Post laughed in an ecstasy of merriment "Oh, no, aunt, " sheprotested, "don't. No, not at all. The gentleman only wants akeepsake. Something to remember us by. Isn't that it?" she asked. Sheregarded the blood-red mask steadily with a brilliant smile. 

The road agent did not at once answer. At her words he had startedback with such sharp suspicion that one might have thought hemeditated instant flight. Through the holes in his mask he now glaredsearchingly at Miss Post, but still in silence. 

"I think this will satisfy him, " said Miss Post. 

Out of the collection in her aunt's hands she picked a silver coinand held it forward. "Something to keep as a pocket-piece, " she said, mockingly, "to remind you of your kindness to three lone females indistress. "

Still silent, the road agent reached for the money, and then growledat her in a tone which had suddenly become gruff and overbearing. Itsuggested to Miss Post the voice of the head of the family playingSanta Claus for the children. "And now you, miss, " he demanded. 

Miss Post took another coin from the heap, studied its inscription, and passed it through the window. "This one is from me, " she said. "Mine is dated 1901. The moonlight, " she added, leaning far forwardand smiling out at him, "makes it quite easy to see the date; aseasy, " she went on, picking her words, "as it is to see your peculiarrevolver and the coat-of-arms on your ring. " She drew her head back. "Good-night, " she cooed, sweetly. 

The Red Rider jumped from the door. An exclamation which might havebeen a laugh or an oath was smothered by his mask. He turned swiftlyupon the salesman. "Get back into the coach, " he commanded. "And you, Hunk, " he called, "if you send a posse after me, next night I ketchyou out here alone you'll lose the top of your head. "

The salesman scrambled into the stage through the door opposite theone at which the Red Rider was standing, and the road agent againraised his sombrero with a sweeping gesture worthy of D'Artagnan. "Good-night, ladies, " he said. 

"Good-night, sir, " Mrs. Truesdall answered, grimly, but exuding arelieved sigh. Then, her indignation giving her courage, she leanedfrom the window and hurled a Parthian arrow. "I must say, " sheprotested, "I think you might be in a better business. "

The road agent waved his hand to the young lady. "Good-by, " he said. 

"Au revoir, " said Miss Post, pleasantly. 

"Good-by, miss, " stammered the road agent, "I said 'Au revoir, '" repeated Miss Post. 

The road agent, apparently routed by these simple words, fledmuttering toward his horse. 

Hunk Smith was having trouble with his brake. He kicked at it and, stooping, pulled at it, but the wheels did not move. 

Mrs. Truesdall fell into a fresh panic. "What is it now?" she called, miserably. 

Before he answered, Hunk Smith threw a quick glance toward the columnof moving dust. He was apparently reassured. 

"The brake, " he grunted. "The darned thing's stuck!"

The road agent was tugging at the stone beneath which he had slippedhis bridle. "Can I help?" he asked, politely. But before he reachedthe stage, he suddenly stopped with an imperative sweep of his armfor silence. He stood motionless, his body bent to the ground, leaning forward and staring down the trail. Then he sprang upright. "You old fox!" he roared, "you're gaining time, are you?"

With a laugh he tore free his bridle and threw himself across hishorse. His legs locked under it, his hands clasped its mane, and witha cowboy yell he dashed past the stage in the direction of KiowaCity, his voice floating back in shouts of jeering laughter. Frombehind him he heard Hunk Smith's voice answering his own in a cry for"Help!" and from a rapidly decreasing distance the throb of manyhoofs. For an instant he drew upon his rein, and then, with a defiantchuckle, drove his spurs deep into his horse's side. 

Mrs. Truesdall also heard the pounding of many hoofs, as well as HunkSmith's howls for help, and feared a fresh attack. "Oh, what is it?"she begged

"Soldiers from the fort, " Hunk called, excitedly, and again raisedhis voice in a long, dismal howl. 

"Sounds cheery, doesn't it?" said the salesman; "referring to thesoldiers, " he explained. It was his first coherent remark since theRed Rider had appeared and disappeared. 

"Oh, I hope they won't--" began Miss Post, anxiously. 

The hoof-beats changed to thunder, and with the pounding on the drytrail came the jangle of stirrups and sling-belts. Then a voice, andthe coach was surrounded by dust-covered troopers and horsesbreathing heavily. Lieutenant Crosby pulled up beside the window ofthe stage. "Are you there, Colonel Patten?" he panted. He peeredforward into the stage, but no one answered him. "Is the paymaster inhere?" he demanded. 

The voice of Lieutenant Curtis shouted in turn at Hunk Smith. "Is thepaymaster in there, driver?"

"Paymaster? No!" Hunk roared. "A drummer and three ladies. We've beenheld up. The Red Rider--" He rose and waved his whip over the top ofthe coach. "He went that way. You can ketch him easy. "

Sergeant Clancey and half a dozen troopers jerked at their bridles. But Crosby, at the window, shouted "Halt!"

"What's your name?" he demanded of the salesman. 

"Myers, " stammered the drummer. "I'm from the Hancock Uniform--"

Curtis had spurred his horse beside that of his brother officer. "IsColonel Patten at Kiowa?" he interrupted. 

"I can't give you any information as to that, " replied Mr. Myers, importantly; "but these ladies and I have just been held up by theRed Rider. If you'll hurry you'll--"

The two officers pulled back their horses from the stage and, leaningfrom their saddles, consulted in eager whispers. Their men fidgetedwith their reins, and stared with amazed eyes at their officers. Lieutenant Crosby was openly smiling, "He's got away with it, " hewhispered. "Patten missed the stage, thank God, and he's met nothingworse than these women. "

"We MUST make a bluff at following him, " whispered Curtis. 

"Certainly not! Our orders are to report to Colonel Patten, and actas his escort. "

"But he's not at Kiowa; that fellow says so. "

"He telegraphed the Colonel from Kiowa, " returned Crosby. "How couldhe do that if he wasn't there?" He turned upon Hunk Smith. "When didyou leave Henderson's?" he demanded. 

"Seven o'clock, " answered Hunk Smith, sulkily. "Say, if you youngfellows want to catch--"

"And Patten telegraphed at eight, " cried Crosby. "That's it. Hereached Kiowa after the stage had gone. Sergeant Clancey!" he called. 

The Sergeant pushed out from the mass of wondering troopers. 

"When did the paymaster say he was leaving Kiowa?"

"Leaving at once, the telegram said, " answered Clancey. 

"'Meet me with escort before I reach the buttes. ' That's the messageI was told to give the lieutenant. "

Hunk Smith leaned from the box-seat. "Mebbe Pop's driving him overhimself in the buckboard, " he volunteered. "Pop often takes 'em overthat way if they miss the stage. "

"That's how it is, of course, " cried Crosby. "He's on his way now inthe buckboard. "

Hunk Smith surveyed the troopers dismally and shook his head. "If heruns up against the Red Rider, it's 'good-by' your pay, boys, " hecried. 

"Fall in there!" shouted Crosby. "Corporal Tynan, fall out with twomen and escort these ladies to the fort. " He touched his hat to MissPost, and, with Curtis at his side, sprang into the trail. "Gallop!March!" he commanded. 

"Do you think he'll tackle the buckboard, too?" whispered Curtis. 

Crosby laughed joyously and drew a long breath of relief. 

"No, he's all right now, " he answered. "Don't you see, he doesn'tknow about Patten or the buckboard. He's probably well on his way tothe post now. I delayed the game at the stage there on purpose togive him a good start. He's safe by now. "

"It was a close call, " laughed the other. "He's got to give us adinner for helping him out of this. "

"We'd have caught him red-handed, " said Crosby, "if we'd been fiveminutes sooner. Lord!" he gasped. "It makes me cold to think of it. The men would have shot him off his horse. But what a story for thosewomen! I hope I'll be there when they tell it. If Ranson can keep hisface straight, he's a wonder. " For some moments they raced silentlyneck by neck, and then Curtis again leaned from his saddle. "I hopehe HAS turned back to the post, " he said. "Look at the men howthey're keeping watch for him. They're scouts, all of them. "

"What if they are?" returned Crosby, easily. "Ranson's in uniform--out for a moonlight canter. You can bet a million dollars he didn'twear his red mask long after he heard us coming. "

"I suppose he'll think we've followed to spoil his fun. You know yousaid we would. "

"Yes, he was going to shoot us, " laughed Crosby. "I wonder why hepacks a gun. It's a silly thing to do. "

The officers fell apart again, and there was silence over theprairie, save for the creaking of leather and the beat of the hoofs. And then, faint and far away, there came the quick crack of arevolver, another, and then a fusillade. "My God!" gasped Crosby. Hethrew himself forwards digging his spurs into his horse, and rode asthough he were trying to escape from his own men. 

No one issued an order, no one looked a question; each, officer andenlisted man, bowed his head and raced to be the first. 

The trail was barricaded by two struggling horses and an overturnedbuckboard. The rigid figure of a man lay flat upon his back staringat the moon, another white-haired figure staggered forward from arock. "Who goes there?" it demanded. 

"United States troops. Is that you, Colonel Patten?"

"Yes. "

Colonel Patten's right arm was swinging limply at his side. With hisleft hand he clasped his right shoulder. The blood, black in themoonlight, was oozing between his fingers. 

"We were held up, " he said. "He shot the driver and the horses. Ifired at him, but he broke my arm. He shot the gun out of my hand. When he reached for the satchel I tried to beat him off with my leftarm, but he threw me into the road. He went that way--toward Kiowa. "

Sergeant Clancey, who was kneeling by the figure in the trail, raisedhis hand in salute. "Pop Henderson, lieutenant, " he said. "He's shotthrough the heart. He's dead. "

"He took the money, ten thousand dollars, " cried Colonel Patten. "Hewore a red mask and a rubber poncho. And I saw that he had nostirrups in his stirrup-straps. "

Crosby dodged, as though someone had thrown a knife, and then raisedhis hand stiffly and heavily. 

"Lieutenant Curtis, you will remain here with Colonel Patten, " heordered. His voice was without emotion. It fell flat and dead. "Deploy as skirmishers, " he commanded. "G Troop to the fight of thetrail, H Troop to the left. Stop anyone you see--anyone. If he triesto escape, cry 'Halt!' twice and then fire--to kill. Forward! Gallop!March! Toward the post. "

"No!" shouted Colonel Patten. "He went toward Kiowa. "

Crosby replied in the same dead voice: "He doubled after he left you, colonel. He has gone to the post. "

Colonel Patten struggled from the supporting arms that held him andleaned eagerly forward. "You know him, then?" he demanded. 

"Yes, " cried Crosby, "God help him! Spread out there, you, in openorder--and ride like hell!"

Just before the officers' club closed for the night Lieutenant Ransoncame in and, seating himself at the piano, picked out "The Queen ofthe Philippine Islands" with one finger. Major Stickney and otherswho were playing bridge were considerably annoyed. Ranson thendemanded that everyone present should drink his health in champagnefor the reason that it was his birthday and that he was glad he wasalive, and wished everyone else to feel the same way about it. "Or, for any other reason why, " he added generously. This frontal attackupon the whist-players upset the game entirely, and Ranson, enthronedupon the piano-stool, addressed the room. He held up a buckskintobacco-bag decorated with beads. 

"I got this down at the Indian village to-night, " he said. "That oldsquaw, Red Wing, makes 'em for two dollars. Crosby paid five dollarsfor his in New Mexico, and it isn't half as good. What do you think?I got lost coming back, and went all the way round by the buttesbefore I found the trail, and I've only been here six months. Theycertainly ought to make me chief of scouts. "

There was the polite laugh which is granted to any remark made by theone who is paying for the champagne. 

"Oh, that's where you were, was it?" said the post-adjutant, genially. "The colonel sent Clancey after you and Crosby. Clanceyreported that he couldn't find you. So we sent Curtis. They went toact as escort for Colonel Patten and the pay. He's coming up to-nightin the stage. " Ranson was gazing down into his glass. Before heraised his head he picked several pieces of ice out of it and thendrained it. 

"The paymaster, hey?" he said. "He's in the stage to-night, is he?"

"Yes, " said the adjutant; and then as the bugle and stamp of hoofssounded from the parade outside, "and that's him now, I guess, " headded. 

Ranson refilled his glass with infinite care, and then, in spite of asmile that twitched at the corners of his mouth, emptied it slowly. 

There was the jingle of spurs and a measured tramp on the veranda ofthe club-house, and for the first time in its history four enlistedmen, carrying their Krags, invaded its portals. They were led byLieutenant Crosby; his face was white under the tan, and full ofsuffering. The officers in the room received the intrusion in amazedsilence. Crosby strode among them, looking neither to the left norright, and touched Lieutenant Ranson upon the shoulder. 

"The colonel's orders, Lieutenant Ranson, " he said. "You are underarrest. "

Ranson leaned back against the music-rack and placed his glass uponthe keyboard. One leg was crossed over the other, and he did notremove it. 

"Then you can't take a joke, " he said in a low tone. "You had to runand tell. " He laughed and raised his voice so that all in the clubmight hear, "What am I arrested for, Crosby?" he asked. 

The lines in Crosby's face deepened, and only those who sat nearcould hear him. "You are under arrest for attempting to kill asuperior officer, for the robbery of the government pay-train--andfor murder. "

Ranson jumped to his feet. "My God, Crosby!" he cried. 

"Silence! Don't talk!" ordered Crosby. "Come along with me. "

The four troopers fell in in rear of Lieutenant Crosby and theirprisoner. He drew a quick, frightened breath, and then, throwing backhis shoulders, fell into step, and the six men tramped from the cluband out into the night. 

PART III

That night at the post there was little sleep for any one. The feetof hurrying orderlies beat upon the parade-ground, the windows of theOfficers' Club blazed defiantly, and from the darkened quarters ofthe enlisted men came the sound of voices snarling in violentvituperation. At midnight, half of Ranson's troop, having attackedthe rest of the regiment with cavalry-boots, were marched underarrest to the guard-house. As they passed Ranson's hut, where hestill paced the veranda, a burning cigarette attesting hiswakefulness, they cheered him riotously. At two o'clock it wasannounced from the hospital that both patients were out of danger;for it had developed that, in his hurried diagnosis, Sergeant Clanceyhad located Henderson's heart six inches from where it should havebeen. 

When one of the men who guarded Ranson reported this good news theprisoner said, "Still, I hope they'll hang whoever did it. Theyshouldn't hang a man for being a good shot and let him off becausehe's a bad one. "

At the time of the hold-up Mary Cahill had been a half-mile distantfrom the post at the camp of the Kiowas, where she had gone in answerto the cry of Lightfoot's squaw. When she returned she found IndianPete in charge of the exchange. Her father, he told her, had riddento the Indian village in search of her. As he spoke the post-traderappeared. "I'm sorry I missed you, " his daughter called to him. 

At the sound Cahill pulled his horse sharply toward the corral. "Ihad a horse-deal on--with the chief, " he answered over his shoulder. "When I got to Lightfoot's tent you had gone. "

After he had dismounted, and was coming toward her, she noted thathis right hand was bound in a handkerchief, and exclaimed withapprehension. 

"It is nothing, " Cahill protested. "I was foolin' with one of the newregulation revolvers, with my hand over the muzzle. Ball went throughthe palm. "

Miss Cahill gave a tremulous cry and caught the injured hand to herlips. 

Her father snatched it from her roughly. 

"Let go!" he growled. "It serves me right. "

A few minutes later Mary Cahill, bearing liniment for her father'shand, knocked at his bedroom and found it empty. When she peered fromthe top of the stairs into the shop-window below she saw him busilyengaged with his one hand buckling the stirrup-straps of his saddle. 

When she called, he sprang upright with an oath. He had faced her sosuddenly that it sounded as though he had sworn, not in surprise, butat her. 

"You startled me, " he murmured. His eyes glanced suspiciously fromher to the saddle. "These stirrup-straps--they're too short, " heannounced. "Pete or somebody's been using my saddle. "

"I came to bring you this 'first-aid' bandage for your hand, " saidhis daughter. 

Cahill gave a shrug of impatience. 

"My hand's all right, " he said; "you go to bed. I've got to begintaking account of stock. "

"To-night?"

"There's no time by day. Go to bed. "

For nearly an hour Miss Cahill lay awake listening to her fathermoving about in the shop below. Never before had he spoken roughly toher, and she, knowing how much the thought that he had done so woulddistress him, was herself distressed. 

In his lonely vigil on the veranda, Ranson looked from the post downthe hill to where the light still shone from Mary Cahill's window. Hewondered if she had heard the news, and if it were any thought of himthat kept sleep from her. 

"You ass! you idiot!" he muttered. "You've worried and troubled her. She believes one of her precious army is a thief and a murderer. " Hecursed himself picturesquely, but the thought that she might possiblybe concerned on his account, did not, he found, distress him asgreatly as it should. On the contrary, as he watched the light hisheart glowed warmly. And long after the light went out he stilllooked toward the home of the post-trader, his brain filled withthoughts of his return to his former life outside the army, the oldlife to which he vowed he would not return alone. 

The next morning Miss Cahill learned the news when the junior officercame to mess and explained why Ranson was not with them. Her onlycomment was to at once start for his quarters with his breakfast in abasket. She could have sent it by Pete, but, she argued, when one ofher officers was in trouble that was not the time to turn him over tothe mercies of a servant. No, she assured herself, it was not becausethe officer happened to be Ranson. She would have done as much, or aslittle, for any one of them. When Curtis and Haines were ill of thegrippe, had she not carried them many good things of her own making?

But it was not an easy sacrifice. As she crossed the parade-groundshe recognized that over-night Ranson's hut, where he was a prisonerin his own quarters, had become to the post the storm-centre ofinterest, and to approach it was to invite the attention of thegarrison. At head-quarters a group of officers turned and looked herway, there was a flutter among the frocks on Mrs. Bolland's porch, and the enlisted men, smoking their pipes on the rail of thebarracks, whispered together. When she reached Ranson's hut over fourhundred pairs of eyes were upon her, and her cheeks were flushing. Ranson came leaping to the gate, and lifted the basket from her armas though he were removing an opera-cloak. He set it upon the gate-post, and nervously clasped the palings of the gate with both hands. He had not been to bed, but that fact alone could not explain thestrangeness of his manner. Never before had she seen him disconcertedor abashed. 

"You shouldn't have done it, " he stammered. "Indeed, indeed, you aremuch too good. But you shouldn't have come. "

His voice shook slightly. 

"Why not?" asked Mary Cahill. "I couldn't let you go hungry. "

"You know it isn't that, " he said; "it's your coming here at all. Why, only three of the fellows have been near me this morning. Andthey only came from a sense of duty. I know they did--I could feelit. You shouldn't have come here. I'm not a proper person; I'm anoutlaw. You might think this was a pest-house, you might think I wasa leper. Why, those Stickney girls have been watching me all morningthrough a field-glass. " He clasped and unclasped his fingers aroundthe palings. "They believe I did it, " he protested, with thebewildered accents of a child. "They all believe it. "

Miss Cahill laughed. The laugh was quieting and comforting. Itbrought him nearer to earth, and her next remark brought him stillfurther. 

"Have you had any breakfast?" she asked. 

"Breakfast!" stammered Ranson. "No. The guard brought some, but Icouldn't eat it. This thing has taken the life out of me--to thinksane, sensible people--my own people--could believe that I'd steal, that I'd kill a man for money. "

"Yes, I know, " said Miss Cahill soothingly; "but you've not had anysleep, and you need your coffee. " She lifted the lid of the basket. "It's getting cold, " she said. "Don't you worry about what peoplethink. You must remember you're a prisoner now under arrest. Youcan't expect the officers to run over here as freely as they used to. What do you want?" she laughed. "Do you think the colonel shouldparade the band and give you a serenade?" For a moment Ranson staredat her dully, and then his sense of proportion returned to him. Hethrew back his head and laughed with her joyfully. 

From verandas, barracks, and headquarters, the four hundred pairs ofeyes noted this evidence of heartlessness with varied emotions. But, unmindful of them, Ranson now leaned forward, the eager, searchinglook coming back into his black eyes. They were so close to MaryCahill's that she drew away. He dropped his voice to a whisper andspoke swiftly. 

"Miss Cahill, whatever happens to me I won't forget this. I won'tforget your coming here and throwing heart into me. You were the onlyone who did. I haven't asked you if you believe that I--"

She raised her eyes reproachfully and smiled. "You know you don'thave to do that, " she said. 

The prisoner seized the palings as though he meant to pull apart thebarrier between them. He drew a long breath like one inhaling adraught of clean morning air. 

"No, " he said, his voice ringing, "I don't have to do that. "

He cast a swift glance to the left and right. The sentry's bayonetwas just disappearing behind the corner of the hut. To the fourhundred other eyes around the parade-ground Lieutenant Ranson'sattitude suggested that he was explaining to Cahill's daughter whathe wanted for his luncheon. His eyes held her as firmly as though thepalings he clasped were her two hands. 

"Mary, " he said, and the speaking of her name seemed to stop thebeating of his heart. "Mary, " he whispered, as softly as though hewere beginning a prayer, "you're the bravest, the sweetest, thedearest girl in all the world. And I've known it for months, and nowyou must know. And there'll never be any other girl in my life butyou. "

Mary Cahill drew away from him in doubt and wonder. 

"I didn't mean to tell you just yet, " he whispered, "but now thatI've seen you I can't help it. I knew it last night when I stood backthere and watched your windows, and couldn't think of this trouble, nor of anything else, but just you. And you've got to promise me, ifI get out of this all right--you must--must promise me--"

Mary Cahill's eyes, as she raised them to his, were moist andglowing. They promised him with a great love and tenderness. But atthe sight Ranson protested wildly. 

"No, " he whispered, "you mustn't promise--anything. I shouldn't haveasked it. After I'm out of this, after the court-martial, then you'vegot to promise that you'll never, never leave me. "

Miss Cahill knit her hands together and turned away her head. Thehappiness in her heart rose to her throat like a great melody andchoked her. Before her, exposed in the thin spring sunshine, was thesquare of ugly brown cottages, the bare parade-ground, in its centreTrumpeter Tyler fingering his bugle, and beyond on every side anocean of blackened prairie. But she saw nothing of this. She sawinstead a beautiful world opening its arms to her, a world smilingwith sunshine, glowing with color, singing with love and content. 

She turned to him with all that was in her heart showing in her face. 

"Don't!" he begged, tremblingly, "don't answer. I couldn't bear it--if you said 'no' to me. " He jerked his head toward the men whoguarded him. "Wait until I'm tried, and not in disgrace. " He shookthe gate between them savagely as though it actually held him aprisoner. 

Mary Cahill raised her head proudly. 

"You have no right. You've hurt me, " she whispered. "You hurt me. "

"Hurt you?" he cried. 

She pressed her hands together. It was impossible to tell him, it wasimpossible to speak of what she felt; of the pride, of the trust andlove, to disclose this new and wonderful thing while the gate wasbetween them, while the sentries paced on either side, while thecurious eyes of the garrison were fastened upon her. 

"Oh, can't you see?" she whispered. "As though I cared for a court-martial! I KNOW you. You are just the same. You are just what youhave always been to me--what you always will be to me. "

She thrust her hand toward him and he seized it in both of his, andthen released it instantly, and, as though afraid of his own self-control, backed hurriedly from her, and she turned and walked rapidlyaway. 

Captain Carr, who had been Ranson's captain in the Philippines, andwho was much his friend, had been appointed to act as his counsel. When later that morning he visited his client to lay out a line ofdefence he found Ranson inclined to treat the danger which threatenedhim with the most arrogant flippancy. He had never seen him in a moreobjectionable mood. 

"You can call the charge 'tommy-rot' if you like, " Carr protested, sharply. "But, let me tell you that's not the view any one else takesof it, and if you expect the officers of the court-martial and thecivil authorities to take that view of it you've got to get down towork and help me prove that it IS 'tommy rot. ' That Miss Post, assoon as she got here, when she thought it was only a practical joke, told them that the road agent threatened her with a pair of shears. Now, Crosby and Curtis will testify that you took a pair of shearsfrom Cahill's, and from what Miss Post saw of your ring she canprobably identify that, too; so--"

"Oh, we concede the shears, " declared Ranson, waving his handgrandly. "We admit the first hold-up. "

"The devil we do!" returned Carr. "Now, as your counsel, I advisenothing of the sort. "

"You advise me to lie?"

"Sir!" exclaimed Carr. "A plea of not guilty is only a legal form. When you consider that the first hold-up in itself is enough to loseyou your commission--"

"Well, it's MY commission, " said Ranson. "It was only a silly joke, anyway. And the War Department must have some sense of humor or itwouldn't have given me a commission in the first place. Of course, we'll admit the first hold-up, but we won't stand for the second one. I had no more to do with that than with the Whitechapel murders. "

"How are we to prove that?" demanded Carr. "Where's your alibi? Wherewere you after the first hold-up?"

"I was making for home as fast as I could cut, " said Ranson. Hesuddenly stopped in his walk up and down the room and confronted hiscounsel sternly. "Captain, " he demanded, "I wish you to instruct meon a point of law. "

Carr's brow relaxed. He was relieved to find that Ranson had awakenedto the seriousness of the charges against him. 

"That's what I'm here for, " he said, encouragingly. 

"Well, captain, " said Ranson, "if an officer is under arrest as I amand confined to his quarters, is he or is he not allowed to send tothe club for a bottle of champagne?"

"Really, Ranson!" cried the captain, angrily, "you are impossible. "

"I only want to celebrate, " said Ranson, meekly. "I'm a very happyman; I'm the happiest man on earth. I want to ride across the prairieshooting off both guns and yelling like a cowboy. Instead of which Iam locked up indoors and have to talk to you about a highway robberywhich does not amuse me, which does not concern me--and of which Iknow nothing and care less. Now, YOU are detailed to prove meinnocent. That's your duty, and you ought to do your duty, But don'tdrag me in. I've got much more important things to think about. "

Bewilderment, rage, and despair were written upon the face of thecaptain. 

"Ranson!" he roared. "Is this a pose, or are you mad? Can't youunderstand that you came very near to being hanged for murder andthat you are in great danger of going to jail for theft? Let me putbefore you the extremely unpleasant position in which you have beenass enough to place yourself. You don't quite seem to grasp it. Youtell two brother-officers that you are going to rob the stage. To doso you disguise yourself in a poncho and a red handkerchief, and youremove the army-stirrups from your stirrup-leathers. You then do robthis coach, or at least hold it up, and you are recognized. A fewminutes later, in the same trail and in the same direction you havetaken, there is a second hold-up, this time of the paymaster. The manwho robs the paymaster wears a poncho and a red kerchief, and he hasno stirrups in his stirrup-leathers. The two hold-ups take placewithin a half-mile of each other, within five minutes of each other. Now, is it reasonable to believe that last night two men were hidingin the buttes intent upon robbery, each in an army poncho, eachwearing a red bandanna handkerchief, and each riding withoutstirrups? Between believing in such a strange coincidence and thatyou did it, I'll be hanged if I don't believe you did it. "

"I don't blame you, " said Ranson. "What can I do to set your mind atrest?"

"Well, tell me exactly what persons knew that you meant to hold upthe stage. "

"Curtis and Crosby; no one else. "

"Not even Cahill?"

"No, Cahill came in just before I said I would stop the stage, but Iremember particularly that before I spoke I waited for him to getback to the exchange. "

"And Crosby tells me, " continued Carr, "that the instant you had gonehe looked into the exchange and saw Cahill at the farthest cornerfrom the door. He could have heard nothing. "

"If you ask me, I think you've begun at the wrong end, " said Ranson. "If I were looking for the Red Rider I'd search for him in KiowaCity. "

"Why?"

"Because, at this end no one but a few officers knew that thepaymaster was coming, while in Kiowa everybody in the town knew it, for they saw him start. It would be very easy for one of thosecowboys to ride ahead and lie in wait for him in the buttes. Thereare several tough specimens in Kiowa. Any one of them would rob a manfor twenty dollars--let alone ten thousand. There's 'Abe' Fisher andFoster King, and the Chase boys, and I believe old 'Pop' Hendersonhimself isn't above holding up one of his own stages. "

"He's above shooting himself in the lungs, " said Carr. "Nonsense. No, I am convinced that someone followed you from this post, and perhapsCahill can tell us who that was. I sent for him this morning, andhe's waiting at my quarters now. Suppose I ask him to step over here, so that we can discuss it together. "

Before he answered, Ranson hesitated, with his eyes on the ground. Hehad no way of knowing whether Mary Cahill had told her fatheranything of what he had said to her that morning. But if she had doneso, he did not want to meet Cahill in the presence of a third partyfor the first time since he had learned the news. 

"I'll tell you what I wish you would do, " he said. "I wish you'd letme see Cahill first, by myself. What I want to see him about hasnothing to do with the hold-up, " he added. "It concerns only us two, but I'd like to have it out of the way before we consult him as awitness. "

Carr rose doubtfully. "Why, certainly, " he said; "I'll send him over, and when you're ready for me step out on the porch and call. I'll besitting on my veranda. I hope you've had no quarrel with Cahill--Imean I hope this personal matter is nothing that will prejudice himagainst you. "

Ranson smiled. "I hope not, too, " he said. "No, we've not quarrelled--yet, " he added. 

Carr still lingered. "Cahill is like to be a very important witnessfor the other side--"

"I doubt it, " said Ranson, easily. "Cahill's a close-mouthed chap, but when he does talk he talks to the point and he'll tell the truth. That can't hurt us. "

As Cahill crossed the parade-ground from Captain Carr's quarters onhis way to Ranson's hut his brain was crowded swiftly with doubts, memories, and resolves. For him the interview held no alarms. He hadno misgivings as to its outcome. For his daughter's sake he wasdetermined that he himself must not be disgraced in her eyes and thatto that end Ranson must be sacrificed. It was to make a lady of her, as he understood what a lady should be, that on six moonlit raids hehad ventured forth in his red mask and robbed the Kiowa stage. Thatthere were others who roamed abroad in the disguise of the Red Riderhe was well aware. There were nights the stage was held up when hewas innocently busy behind his counter in touch with the wholegarrison. Of these nights he made much. They were alibis furnished byhis rivals. They served to keep suspicion from himself, and he, working for the same object, was indefatigable in proclaiming thatall the depredations of the Red Rider showed the handiwork of one andthe same individual. 

"He comes from Kiowa of course, " he would point out. "Some feller wholives where the stage starts, and knows when the passengers carrymoney. You don't hear of him holding up a stage full of recruits orcow-punchers. It's always the drummers and the mine directors thatthe Red Rider lays for. How does he know they're in the stage if hedon't see 'em start from Kiowa? Ask 'Pop' Henderson. Ask 'Abe'Fisher. Mebbe they know more than they'd care to tell. "

The money which at different times Cahill had taken from the Kiowastage lay in a New York bank, and the law of limitation made it nowpossible for him to return to that city and claim it. Already hissavings were sufficient in amount to support both his daughter andhimself in one of those foreign cities, of which she had so oftentold him and for which he knew she hungered. And for the last fiveyears he had had no other object in living than to feed her wants. Through some strange trick of the mind he remembered suddenly andvividly a long-forgotten scene in the back room of McTurk's, when hewas McTurk's bouncer. The night before a girl had killed herself inthis same back room; she made the third who had done so in the month. He recalled the faces of the reporters eyeing McTurk in cold distasteas that terror of the Bowery whimpered before them on his knees. "Butmy daughters will read it, " he had begged. "Suppose they believe I'mwhat you call me. Don't go and give me a bad name to them, gentlemen. It ain't my fault the girl's died here. You wouldn't have mydaughters think I'm to blame for that? They're ladies, my daughters, they're just out of the convent, and they don't know that there issuch women in the world as come to this place. And I can't have 'emturned against their old pop. For God's sake, gentlemen, don't let mygirls know!"

Cahill remembered the contempt he had felt for his employer as hepulled him to his feet, but now McTurk's appeal seemed just andnatural. His point of view was that of the loving and considerateparent. In Cahill's mind there was no moral question involved. If tomake his girl rich and a lady, and to lift her out of the life of theExchange, was a sin the sin was his own and he was willing to "standfor it. " And, like McTurk, he would see that the sin of the fatherwas not visited upon the child. Ranson was rich, foolishly, selfishlyrich; his father was a United States Senator with influence enough, and money enough, to fight the law--to buy his son out of jail. Sooner than his daughter should know that her father was one of thosewho sometimes wore the mask of the Red Rider, Ranson, for all hecared, could go to jail, or to hell. With this ultimatum in his mind, Cahill confronted his would-be son-in-law with a calm and assuredcountenance. 

Ranson greeted him with respectful deference, and while Cahill seatedhimself, Ranson, chatting hospitably, placed cigars and glassesbefore him. He began upon the subject that touched him the mostnearly. 

"Miss Cahill was good enough to bring up my breakfast this morning, "he said. "Has she told you of what I said to her?"

Cahill shook his head. "No, I haven't seen her. We've been takingaccount of stock all morning. "

"Then--then you've heard nothing from her about me?" said Ranson. 

The post trader raised his head in surprise. "No. Captain Carr spoketo me about your arrest, and then said you wanted to see me firstabout something private. " The post trader fixed Ranson with his keen, unwavering eyes. "What might that be?" he asked. 

"Well, it doesn't matter now, " stammered Ranson; "I'll wait untilMiss Cahill tells you. "

"Any complaint about the food?" inquired the post trader. 

Ranson laughed nervously. "No, it's not that, " he said. He rose, and, to protect what Miss Cahill evidently wished to remain a secret, changed the subject. "You see you've lived in these parts so long, Mr. Cahill, " he explained, "and you know so many people, I thoughtmaybe you could put me on the track or give me some hint as to whichof that Kiowa gang really did rob the paymaster. " Ranson was pullingthe cork from the whiskey bottle, and when he asked the questionCahill pushed his glass from him and shook his head. Ranson looked upinterrogatively and smiled. "You mean you think I did it myself?" heasked. 

"I didn't understand from Captain Carr, " the post trader began inheavy tones, "that it's my opinion you're after. He said I might bewanted to testify who was present last night in my store. "

"Certainly, that's all we want, " Ranson answered, genially. "I onlythought you might give me a friendly pointer or two on the outside. And, of course, if it's your opinion I did the deed we certainlydon't want your opinion. But that needn't prevent your taking a drinkwith me, need it? Don't be afraid. I'm not trying to corrupt you. AndI'm not trying to poison a witness for the other fellows, either. Help yourself. "

Cahill stretched out his left hand. His right remained hidden in theside pocket of his coat. "What's the matter with your right hand?"Ranson asked. "Are you holding a gun on me? Really, Mr. Cahill, you're not taking any chances, are you?" Ranson gazed about the roomas though seeking an appreciative audience. "He's such an importantwitness, " he cried, delightedly, "that first he's afraid I'll poisonhim and he won't drink with me, and now he covers me with a gun. "

Reluctantly, Cahill drew out his hand. "I was putting the bridle onmy pony last night, " he said. "He bit me. "

Ranson exclaimed sympathetically, "Oh, that's too bad, " he said. "Well, you know you want to be careful. A horse's teeth really arepoisonous. " He examined his own hands complacently. "Now, if I had abandage like that on my right hand they would hang me sure, no matterwhether it was a bite, or a burn, or a bullet. "

Cahill raised the glass to his lips and sipped the whiskeycritically. "Why?" he asked. 

"Why? Why, didn't you know that the paymaster boasted last night tothe surgeons that he hit this fellow in the hand? He says--"

Cahill snorted scornfully. "How'd he know that? What makes him thinkso?"

"Well, never mind, let him think so, " Ranson answered, fervently. "Don't discourage him. That's the only evidence I've got on my side. He says he fired to disarm the man, and that he saw him shift his gunto his left hand. It was the shot that the man fired when he held hisgun in his left that broke the colonel's arm. Now, everybody knows Ican't hit a barn with my left. And as for having any wounds concealedabout my person"--Ranson turned his hands like a conjurer to show thefront and back--"they can search me. So, if the paymaster will onlystick to that story--that he hit the man--it will help me a lot. "Ranson seated himself on the table and swung his leg. "And of courseit would be a big help, too, if you could remember who was in yourExchange when I was planning to rob the coach. For someone certainlymust have overheard me, someone must have copied my disguise, andthat someone is the man we must find. Unless he came from Kiowa. "

Cahill shoved his glass from him across the table and, placing hishands on his knees, stared at his host coldly and defiantly. Hiswould-be son-in-law observed the aggressiveness of his attitude, but, in his fuller knowledge of their prospective relations, smiledblandly. 

"Mr. Ranson, " began Cahill, "I've no feelings against you personally. I've a friendly feeling for all of you young gentlemen at my mess. But you're not playing fair with me. I can see what you want, and Ican tell you that you and Captain Carr are not helping your case byasking me up here to drink and smoke with you, when you know that I'mthe most important witness they've got against you. "

Ranson stared at his father-in-law-elect in genuine amazement, andthen laughed lightly. 

"Why, dear Mr. Cahill, " he cried, "I wouldn't think of bribing youwith such a bad brand of whiskey as this. And I didn't know you weresuch an important witness as all that. But, of course, I knowwhatever you say in this community goes, and if your testimony isagainst me, I'm sorry for it, very sorry. I suppose you will testifythat there was no one in the Exchange who could have heard my plan?"

Cahill nodded. 

"And, as it's not likely two men at exactly the same time should havethought of robbing the stage in exactly the same way, I must haverobbed it myself. "

Cahill nursed his bandaged hand with the other. "That's the court'sbusiness, " he growled; "I mean to tell the truth. "

"And the truth is?" asked Ransom

"The truth is that last night there was no one in the Exchange butyou officers and me. If anybody'd come in on the store side you'dhave seen him, wouldn't you? and if he'd come into the Exchange I'dhave seen him. But no one come in. I was there alone--and certainly Ididn't hear your plan, and I didn't rob the stage. When you fellowsleft I went down to the Indian village. Half the reservation canprove I was there all the evening--so of the four of us, that lets meout. Crosby and Curtis were in command of the pay escort--that'stheir alibi--and as far as I can see, lieutenant, that puts it up toyou. "

Ranson laughed and shook his head. "Yes, it certainly looks thatway, " he said. "Only I can't see why you need be so damned pleasedabout it. " He grinned wickedly. "If you weren't such a respectablemember of Fort Crockett society I might say you listened at the door, and rode after me in one of your own ponchos. As for the Indianvillage, that's no alibi. A Kiowa swear his skin's as white as yoursif you give him a drink. "

"And is that why I get this one?" Cahill demanded. "Am I a Kiowa?"

Ranson laughed and shoved the bottle toward his father-in-law-elect. 

"Oh, can't you take a joke?" he said. "Take another drink, then. "

The voice outside the hut was too low to reach the irate Cahill, butRanson heard it and leaped to his feet. 

"Wait, " he commanded. He ran to the door, and met Sergeant Clancey atthe threshold. 

"Miss Cahill, lieutenant, " said the sergeant, "wants to see herfather. "

Cahill had followed Ranson to the door, "You want to see me, Mame?"he asked. 

"Yes, " Miss Cahill cried; "and Mr. Ransom, too, if I may. " She caughther father eagerly by the arm, but her eyes were turned joyfully uponRanson. They were laughing with excitement. Her voice was tremblingand eager. 

"It is something I have discovered, " she cried; "I found it out justnow, and I think--oh, I hope!--it is most important. I believe itwill clear Mr. Ranson!" she cried, happily. "At least it will showthat last night someone went out to rob the coach and went dressed ashe was. "

Cahill gave a short laugh. "What's his name?" he asked, mockingly. "Have you seen him?"

"I didn't see him and I don't know his name, but--"

Cahill snorted, and picked up his sombrero from the table. "Then it'snot so very important after all, " he said. "Is that all that broughtyou here?"

"The main thing is that she is here, " said Ranson; "for which thepoor prisoner is grateful--grateful to her and to the man she hasn'tseen, in the mask and poncho, whose name she doesn't know. Mr. Cahill, bad as it is, I insist on your finishing your whiskey. MissCahill, please sit down. "

He moved a chair toward her and, as he did so, looked full into herface with such love and happiness that she turned her eyes away. 

"Well?" asked Cahill. 

"I must first explain to Lieutenant Ranson, father, " said hisdaughter, "that to-day is the day we take account of stock. "

"Speaking of stock, " said Ranson, "don't forget that I owe you for ared kerchief and a rubber poncho. You can have them back, if youlike. I won't need a rain coat where I am going. "

"Don't, " said Miss Cahill. "Please let me go on. After I brought youyour breakfast here, I couldn't begin to work just at once. I wasthinking about--something else. Everyone was talking of you--yourarrest, and I couldn't settle down to take account of stock. " Shethrew a look at Ranson which asked for his sympathy. "But when I didstart I began with the ponchos and the red kerchiefs, and then Ifound out something. " Cahill was regarding his daughter in strangedistress, but Ranson appeared indifferent to her words, and intentonly on the light and beauty in her face. But he asked, smiling, "Andthat was?"

"You see, " continued Miss Cahill, eagerly, "I always keep a dozen ofeach article, and as each one is sold I check it off in my day-book. Yesterday Mrs. Bolland bought a poncho for the colonel. That lefteleven ponchos. Then a few minutes later I gave Lightfoot a redkerchief for his squaw. That left eleven kerchiefs. "

"Stop!" cried Ranson. "Miss Cahill, " he began, severely, "I hope youdo not mean to throw suspicion on the wife of my respected colonel, or on Mrs. Lightfoot, 'the Prairie Flower. ' Those ladies are mypersonal friends; I refuse to believe them guilty. And have you everseen Mrs. Bolland on horseback? You wrong her. It is impossible. "

"Please, " begged Miss Cahill, "please let me explain. When you wentto hold up the stage you took a poncho and a kerchief. That shouldhave left ten of each. But when I counted them this morning therewere nine red kerchiefs and nine ponchos. "

Ranson slapped his knee sharply. "Good!" he said. "That isinteresting. "

"What does it prove?" demanded Cahill. 

"It proves nothing, or it proves everything, " said Miss Cahill. "Tomy mind it proves without any doubt that someone overheard Mr. Ranson's plan, that he dressed like him to throw suspicion on him, and that this second person was the one who robbed the paymaster. Now, father, this is where you can help us. You were there then. Tryto remember. It is so important. Who came into the store after theothers had gone away?"

Cahill tossed his head like an angry bull. 

"There are fifty places in this post, " he protested, roughly, "wherea man can get a poncho. Every trooper owns his slicker. "

"But, father, we don't know that theirs are missing, " cried MissCahill, "and we do know that those in our store are. Don't think I amfoolish. It seemed such an important fact to me, and I had hoped itwould help. "

"It does help--immensely!" cried Ranson. 

"I think it's a splendid clue. But, unfortunately, I don't think wecan prove anything by your father, for he's just been telling me thatthere was no one in the place but himself. No one came in, and he wasquite alone--" Ranson had begun speaking eagerly, but either his ownwords or the intentness with which Cahill received them caused him tohalt and hesitate--"absolutely--alone. "

"You see, " said Cahill, thickly, "as soon as they had gone I rode tothe Indian village. "

"Why, no, father, " corrected Miss Cahill. "Don't you remember, youtold me last night that when you reached Lightfoot's tent I had justgone. That was quite two hours after the others left the store. " Inher earnestness Miss Cahill had placed her hand upon her father's armand clutched it eagerly. "And you remember no one coming in beforeyou left?" she asked. "No one?"

Cahill had not replaced the bandaged hand in his pocket, but hadshoved it inside the opening of his coat. As Mary Cahill caught hisarm her fingers sank into the palm of the hand and he gave a slightgrimace of pain. 

"Oh, father, " Miss Cahill cried, "your hand! I am so sorry. Did Ihurt it? Please--let me see. "

Cahill drew back with sudden violence. 

"No!" he cried. "Leave it alone! Come, we must be going. " But MissCahill held the wounded hand in both her own. When she turned hereyes to Ranson they were filled with tender concern. 

"I hurt him, " she said, reproachfully. "He shot himself last nightwith one of those new cylinder revolvers. "

Her father snatched the hand from her. He tried to drown her voice bya sudden movement toward the door. "Come!" he called. "Do you hearme?"

But his daughter in her sympathy continued. "He was holding it so, "she said, "and it went off, and the bullet passed through here. " Shelaid the tip of a slim white finger on the palm of her right hand. 

"The bullet!" cried Ranson. He repeated, dully, "The bullet!"

There was a sudden, tense silence. Outside they could hear the crunchof the sentry's heel in the gravel, and from the baseball field backof the barracks the soft spring air was rent with the jubilant crackof the bat as it drove the ball. Afterward Ranson remembered thatwhile one half of his brain was terribly acute to the moment, theother was wondering whether the runner had made his base. It seemedan interminable time before Ranson raised his eyes from Miss Cahill'spalm to her father's face. What he read in them caused Cahill to drophis hand swiftly to his hip. 

Ranson saw the gesture and threw out both his hands. He gave ahysterical laugh, strangely boyish and immature, and ran to placehimself between Cahill and the door. "Drop it!" he whispered. "MyGod, man!" he entreated, "don't make a fool of yourself. Mr. Cahill, "he cried aloud, "you can't go till you know. Can he, Mary? Yes, Mary. " The tone in which he repeated the name was proprietary andcommanding. He took her hand. "Mr. Cahill, " he said, joyously, "we'vegot something to tell you. I want you to understand that in spite ofall I'VE done--I say in spite of all I'VE done--I mean getting intothis trouble and disgrace, and all that--I've dared to ask yourdaughter to marry me. " He turned and led Miss Cahill swiftly towardthe veranda. "Oh, I knew he wouldn't like it, " he cried. "You see. Itold you so. You've got to let me talk to him alone. You go outsideand wait. I can talk better when you are not here. I'll soon bringhim around. "

"Father, " pleaded Miss Cahill, timidly. From behind her back Ransonshook his head at the post-trader in violent pantomime. "She'd bettergo outside and wait, hadn't she, Mr. Cahill?" he directed. 

As he was bidden, the post-trader raised his head and nodded towardthe door. The onslaught of sudden and new conditions overwhelmed andparalyzed him. 

"Father!" said Miss Cahill, "it isn't just as you think. Mr. Ransondid ask me to marry him--in a way--At least, I knew what he meant. But I did not say--in a way--that I would marry him. I mean it wasnot settled, or I would have told you. You mustn't think I would haveleft you out of this--of my happiness, you who have done everythingto make me happy. "

She reproached her father with her eyes fastened on his face. His ownwere stern, fixed, and miserable. "You will let it be, won't you, father?" she begged. "It--it means so much. I--can't tell you--" Shethrew out her hand toward Ranson as though designating a superiorbeing. "Why, I can't tell HIM. But if you are harsh with him or withme it will break my heart. For as I love you, father, I love him--andit has got to be. It must be. For I love him so. I have always lovedhim. Father, " she whispered, "I love him so. "

Ranson, humbly, gratefully, took the girl's hand and led her gentlyto the veranda and closed the door upon her. Then he came down theroom and regarded his prospective father-in-law with an expression ofamused exasperation. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of hisriding-breeches and nodded his head. "Well, " he exclaimed, "you'vemade a damned pretty mess of it, haven't you?"

Cahill had sunk heavily into a chair and was staring at Ranson withthe stupid, wondering gaze of a dumb animal in pain. During themoments in which the two men eyed each other Ranson's smiledisappeared. Cahill raised himself slowly as though with a greateffort. 

"I done it, " said Cahill, "for her. I done it to make her happy. "

"That's all right, " said Ranson, briskly. "She's going to be happy. We're all going to be happy. "

"An' all I did, " Cahill continued, as though unconscious of theinterruption, "was to disgrace her. " He rose suddenly to his feet. His mental sufferings were so keen that his huge body trembled. Herecognized how truly he had made "a mess of it. " He saw that all hehad hoped to do for his daughter by crime would have been done forher by this marriage with Ranson, which would have made her a "lady, "made her rich, made her happy. Had it not been for his midnight raidsshe would have been honored, loved, and envied, even by the wife ofthe colonel herself. But through him disgrace had come upon her, sorrow and trouble. She would not be known as the daughter of SenatorRanson, but of Cahill, an ex-member of the Whyo gang, a highwayrobber, as the daughter of a thief who was serving his time in Stateprison. At the thought Cahill stepped backward unsteadily as thoughhe had been struck. He cried suddenly aloud. Then his hand whippedback to his revolver, but before he could use it Ranson had seizedhis wrist with both hands. The two struggled silently and fiercely. The fact of opposition brought back to Cahill all of his greatstrength. 

"No, you don't!" Ranson muttered. "Think of your daughter, man. Dropit!"

"I shall do it, " Cahill panted. "I am thinking of my daughter. It'sthe only way out. Take your hands off me--I shall!"

With his knuckles Ranson bored cruelly into the wounded hand, and itopened and the gun dropped from it; but as it did so it went off witha report that rang through the building. There was an instant rush offeet upon the steps of the veranda, and at the sound the two mensprang apart, eyeing each other sheepishly like two discoveredtruants. When Sergeant Clancey and the guard pushed through the doorRanson stood facing it, spinning the revolver in cowboy fashionaround his fourth finger. He addressed the sergeant in a tone ofbitter irony. 

"Oh, you've come at last, " he demanded. "Are you deaf? Why didn't youcome when I called?" His tone showed he considered he had just causefor annoyance. 

"The gun brought me, I--" began Clancey. 

"Yes, I hoped it might. That's why I fired it, " snapped Ranson. "Iwant two whiskey-and-sodas. Quick now!"

"Two--" gasped Clancey. 

"Whiskey-and-sodas. See how fast one of you can chase over to theclub and get 'em. And next time I want a drink don't make me wake theentire garrison. "

As the soldiers retreated Ranson discovered Miss Cahill's white facebeyond them. He ran and held the door open by a few inches. 

"It's all right, " he whispered, reassuringly. "He's nearly persuaded. Wait just a minute longer and he'll be giving us his blessing. "

"But the pistol-shot?" she asked. 

"I was just calling the guard. The electric bell's broken, and yourfather wanted a drink. That's a good sign, isn't it? Shows he'sfriendly, What kind did you say you wanted, Mr. Cahill--Scotch wasit, or rye?" Ranson glanced back at the sombre, silent figure ofCahill, and then again opened the door sufficiently for him to stickout his head. "Sergeant, " he called, "make them both Scotch--longones. "

He shut the door and turned upon the post-trader. "Now, then, father-in-law, " he said, briskly, "you've got to cut and run, and you've gotto run quick. We'll tell 'em you're going to Fort Worth to buy theengagement ring, because I can't, being under arrest. But you go toDuncan City instead, and from there take the cars, to--"

"Run away!" Cahill repeated, dazedly. "But you'll be court-martialled. "

"There won't be any court-martial!"

Cahill glanced around the room quickly. "I see, " he cried. In hiseagerness he was almost smiling. "I'm to leave a confession and giveit to you. "

"Confession! What rot!" cried Ranson. 

"They can't prove anything against me. Everyone knows by now thatthere were two men on the trail, but they don't know who the otherman was, and no one ever must know--especially Mary. "

Cahill struck the table with his fist. "I won't stand for it!" hecried. "I got you into this and I'm goin'--"

"Yes, going to jail, " retorted Ranson. "You'll look nice behind thebars, won't you? Your daughter will be proud of you in a stripedsuit. Don't talk nonsense. You're going to run and hide some place, somewhere, where Mary and I can come and pay you a visit. Say--Canada. No, not Canada. I'd rather visit you in jail than in aMontreal hotel. Say Tangier, or Buenos Ayres, or Paris. Yes, Paris issafe enough--and so amusing. "

Cahill seated himself heavily. "I trapped you into this fix, Mr. Ranson, " he said, "you know I did, and now I mean to get you out ofit. I ain't going to leave the man my Mame wants to marry with acloud on him. I ain't going to let her husband be jailed. "

Ranson had run to his desk and from a drawer drew forth a roll ofbills. He advanced with them in his hand. 

"Yes, Paris is certainly the place, " he said. "Here's three hundreddollars. I'll cable you the rest. You've never been to Paris, haveyou? It's full of beautiful sights--Henry's American Bar, forinstance, and the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, and Maxim's. All goodAmericans go to Paris when they die and all the bad ones while theyare alive. You'll find lots of both kinds, and you'll sit all day onthe sidewalk and drink Bock and listen to Hungarian bands. And Maryand I will join you there and take you driving in the Bois. Now, youstart at once. I'll tell her you've gone to New York to talk it overwith father, and buy the ring. Then I'll say you've gone on to Paristo rent us apartments for the honeymoon. I'll explain it somehow. That's better than going to jail, isn't it, and making us bow ourheads in grief?"

Cahill, in his turn, approached the desk and, seating himself beforeit, began writing rapidly. 

"What is it?" asked Ranson. 

"A confession, " said Cahill, his pen scratching. 

"I won't take it, " Ranson said, "and I won't use it. "

"I ain't going to give it to you, " said Cahill, over his shoulder. "Iknow better than that. But I don't go to Paris unless I leave aconfession behind me. Call in the guard, " he commanded; "I want twowitnesses. "

"I'll see you hanged first, " said Ranson. 

Cahill crossed the room to the door and, throwing it open, called, "Corporal of the guard!"

As he spoke, Captain Carr and Mrs. Bolland, accompanied by Miss Postand her aunt, were crossing the parade-ground. For a moment the post-trader surveyed them doubtfully, and then, stepping out upon theveranda, beckoned to them. 

"Here's a paper I've signed, captain, " he said; "I wish you'd witnessmy signature. It's my testimony for the court-martial. "

"Then someone else had better sign it, " said Carr. "Might lookprejudiced if I did. " He turned to the ladies. "These ladies arecoming in to see Ranson now. They'll witness it. "

Miss Cahill, from the other end of the veranda, and the visitorsentered the room together. 

"Mrs. Truesdale!" cried Ranson. "You are pouring coals of fire uponmy head. And Miss Post! Indeed, this is too much honor. After the wayI threatened and tried to frighten you last night I expected you tohang me, at least, instead of which you have, I trust, come to tea. "

"Nothing of the sort, " said Mrs. Bolland, sternly. "These ladiesinsisted on my bringing them here to say how sorry they are that theytalked so much and got you into this trouble. Understand, Mr. Ranson, " the colonel's wife added, with dignity, "that I am not hereofficially as Mrs. Bolland, but as a friend of these ladies. "

"You are welcome in whatever form you take, Mrs. Bolland, " criedRanson, "and, believe me, I am in no trouble--no trouble, I assureyou. In fact, I am quite the most contented man in the world. Mrs. Bolland, in spite of the cloud, the temporary cloud which rests uponmy fair name, I take great pride in announcing to you that this younglady has done me the honor to consent to become my wife. Her father, a very old and dear friend, has given his consent. And I take thisoccasion to tell you of my good fortune, both in your officialcapacity and as my friend. "

There was a chorus of exclamations and congratulations in which Mrs. Bolland showed herself to be a true wife and a social diplomatist. Inthe post-trader's daughter she instantly recognized the heiress tothe Ranson millions, and the daughter of a Senator who also was thechairman of the Senate Committee on Brevets and Promotions. She fellupon Miss Cahill's shoulder and kissed her on both cheeks. Turningeagerly upon Mrs. Truesdale, she said, "Alice, you can understand howI feel when I tell you that this child has always been to me like oneof my own. "

Carr took Ranson's hand and wrung it. Sergeant Clancey grew purplewith pleasure and stole back to the veranda, where he whisperedjoyfully to a sentry. In another moment a passing private was seenracing delightedly toward the baseball field. 

At the same moment Lieutenants Crosby and Curtis and the regimentaladjutant crossed the parade ground from the colonel's quarters andran up the steps of Ranson's hut. The expressions of good-will, ofsmiling embarrassment and general satisfaction which LieutenantCrosby observed on the countenances of those present seemed to givehim a momentary check. 

"Oh, " he exclaimed, disappointedly, "someone has told you!"

Ranson laughed and took the hand which Crosby held doubtfully towardhim. "No one has told me, " he said. "I've been telling them. "

"Then you haven't heard?" Crosby cried, delightedly. "That's good. Ibegged to be the first to let you know, because I felt so badly athaving doubted you. You must let me congratulate you. You are free. "

"Free?" smiled Ranson. 

"Yes, relieved from arrest, " Crosby cried, joyfully. He turned andtook Ranson's sword from the hands of the adjutant. "And thecolonel's let your troop have the band to give you a serenade. "

But Ranson's face showed no sign of satisfaction. 

"Wait!" he cried. "Why am I relieved from arrest?"

"Why? Because the other fellow has confessed. "

Ranson placed himself suddenly in front of Mary Cahill as though toshield her. His eyes stole stealthily towards Cahill's confession. Still unread and still unsigned, it lay unopened upon the table. Cahill was gazing upon Ranson in blank bewilderment. 

Captain Carr gasped a sigh of relief that was far from complimentaryto his client. 

"Who confessed?" he cried. 

"'Pop' Henderson, " said Crosby. 

"'Pop' Henderson!" shouted Cahill. Unmindful of his wound, he struckthe table savagely with his fist. For the first time in the knowledgeof the post he exhibited emotion. "'Pop' Henderson, by the eternal!"he cried. "And I never guessed it!"

"Yes, " said Crosby, eagerly. "Abe Fisher was in it. Hendersonpersuaded the paymaster to make the trip alone with him. Then hedressed up Fisher to represent the Red Rider and sent him on ahead tohold him up. They were to share the money afterward. But Fisher firedon 'Pop' to kill, so as to have it all, and 'Pop's' trying to geteven. And what with wanting to hurt Fisher, and thinking he is goingto die, and not wishing to see you hanged, he's told the truth. Wewired Kiowa early this morning and arrested Fisher. They've found themoney, and he has confessed, too. "

"But the poncho and the red kerchief?" protested Carr. "And he had nostirrups!"

"Oh, Fisher had the make-up all right, " laughed Crosby; "Hendersonsays Fisher's the 'only, original' Red Rider. And as for thestirrups, I'm afraid that's my fault. I asked the colonel if the manwasn't riding without stirrups, and I guess the wish was father tothe fact. He only imagined he hadn't seen any stirrups. The colonelwas rattled. So, old man, " he added, turning to Ranson, "here's yoursword again, and God bless you. "

Already the post had learned the news from the band and the verandasof the enlisted men overflowed with delighted troopers. From thestables and the ball field came the sound of hurrying feet, and atumult of cheers and cowboy yells. Across the parade-ground theregimental band bore down upon Ranson's hut, proclaiming to thegarrison that there would be a hot time in the old town that night. But Sergeant Clancey ran to meet the bandmaster, and shouted in hisear. "He's going to marry Mary Cahill, " he cried. "I heard him tellthe colonel's wife. Play 'Just Because She Made Them Goo-goo Eyes. '"

"Like hell!" cried the bandmaster, indignantly, breaking in on thetune with his baton. "I know my business! Now, then, men, " hecommanded, "'I'll Leave My Happy Home for You. '"

As Mrs. Bolland dragged Miss Cahill into view of the assembledtroopers Ranson pulled his father-in-law into a far corner of theroom. He shook the written confession in his face. 

"Now, will you kindly tell me what that means?" he demanded. "Whatsort of a gallery play were you trying to make?"

Cahill shifted his sombrero guiltily. "I was trying to get you out ofthe hole, " he stammered. "I--I thought you done it. "

"You thought I done it!"

"Sure. I never thought nothing else. "

"Then why do you say here that YOU did it?"

"Oh, because, " stammered Cahill, miserably, "'cause of Mary, 'causeshe wanted to marry you--'cause you were going to marry her. "

"Well--but--what good were you going to do by shooting yourself?"

"Oh, then?" Cahill jerked back his head as though casting out anunpleasant memory. "I thought you'd caught me, you, too--betweenyou!"

"Caught you! Then you did--?"

"No, but I tried to. I heard your plan, and I did follow you in theponcho and kerchief, meaning to hold up the stage first, and leave itto Crosby and Curtis to prove you did it. But when I reached thecoach you were there ahead of me, and I rode away and put in my timeat the Indian village. I never saw the paymaster's cart, never heardof it till this morning. But what with Mame missing the poncho out ofour shop and the wound in my hand I guessed they'd all soon suspectme. I saw you did. So I thought I'd just confess to what I meant todo, even if I didn't do it. "

Ranson surveyed his father-in-law with a delighted grin. "How did youget that bullet-hole in your hand?" he asked. 

Cahill laughed shamefacedly. "I hate to tell you that, " he said. "Igot it just as I said I did. My new gun went off while I was foolingwith it, with my hand over the muzzle. And me the best shot in theTerritory! But when I heard the paymaster claimed he shot the RedRider through the palm I knew no one would believe me if I told thetruth. So I lied. "

Ranson glanced down at the written confession, and then tore itslowly into pieces. "And you were sure I robbed the stage, and yetyou believed that I'd use this? What sort of a son-in-law do youthink you've got?"

"You thought _I_ robbed the stage, didn't you?"

"Yes. "

"And you were going to stand for robbing it yourself, weren't you?Well, that's the sort of son-in-law I've got!"

The two men held out their hands at the same instant. 

Mary Cahill, her face glowing with pride and besieged with blushes, came toward them from the veranda. She was laughing and radiant, butshe turned her eyes on Ranson with a look of tender reproach. 

"Why did you desert me?" she said. "It was awful. They are callingyou now. They are playing 'The Conquering Hero. '"

"Mr. Cahill, " commanded Ranson, "go out there and make a speech. " Heturned to Mary Cahill and lifted one of her hands in both of his. "Well, I AM the conquering hero, " he said. "I've won the only thingworth winning, dearest, " he whispered; "we'll run away from them in aminute, and we'll ride to the waterfall and the Lover's Leap. " Helooked down at her wistfully. "Do you remember?"

Mary Cahill raised her head and smiled. He leaned toward herbreathlessly. 

"Why, did it mean that to you, too?" he asked. 

She smiled up at him in assent. 

"But I didn't say anything, did I?" whispered Ranson. "I hardly knewyou then. But I knew that day that I--that I would marry you ornobody else. And did you think--that you--"

"Yes, " Mary Cahill whispered. 

He bent his head and touched her hand with his lips. 

"Then we'll go back this morning to the waterfall, " he said, "andtell it that it's all come right. And now, we'll bow to those crazypeople out there, those make-believe dream-people, who don't knowthat there is nothing real in this world but just you and me, andthat we love each other. "

A dishevelled orderly bearing a tray with two glasses confrontedRanson at the door. "Here's the Scotch and sodas, lieutenant, " hepanted. "I couldn't get 'em any sooner. The men wanted to take 'emoff me--to drink Miss Cahill's health. "

"So they shall, " said Ranson. "Tell them to drink the canteen dry andcharge it to me. What's a little thing like the regulations betweenfriends? They have taught me my manners. Mr. Cahill, " he called. 

The post-trader returned from the veranda. 

Ranson solemnly handed him a glass and raised the other in the air. "Here's hoping that the Red Rider rides on his raids no more, " hesaid; "and to the future Mrs. Ranson--to Mary Cahill, God bless her!"

He shattered the empty glass in the grate and took Cahill's hand. 

"Father-in-law, " said Ranson, "let's promise each other to lead a newand a better life. "

THE BAR SINISTER

PART I

The Master was walking most unsteady, his legs tripping each other. After the fifth or sixth round, my legs often go the same way. 

But even when the Master's legs bend and twist a bit, you mustn'tthink he can't reach you. Indeed, that is the time he kicks mostfrequent. So I kept behind him in the shadow, or ran in the middle ofthe street. He stopped at many public-houses with swinging doors, those doors that are cut so high from the sidewalk that you can lookin under them, and see if the Master is inside. At night when I peepbeneath them the man at the counter will see me first and say, "Here's the Kid, Jerry, come to take you home. Get a move on you, "and the Master will stumble out and follow me. It's lucky for us I'mso white, for no matter how dark the night, he can always see meahead, just out of reach of his boot. At night the Master certainlydoes see most amazing. Sometimes he sees two or four of me, and walksin a circle, so that I have to take him by the leg of his trousersand lead him into the right road. One night, when he was very nasty-tempered and I was coaxing him along, two men passed us and one ofthem says, "Look at that brute!" and the other asks "Which?" and theyboth laugh. The Master, he cursed them good and proper. 

This night, whenever we stopped at a public-house, the Master's palsleft it and went on with us to the next. They spoke quite civil tome, and when the Master tried a flying kick, they gives him a shove. "Do you want we should lose our money?" says the pals. 

I had had nothing to eat for a day and a night, and just before weset out the Master gives me a wash under the hydrant. Whenever I amlocked up until all the slop-pans in our alley are empty, and made totake a bath, and the Master's pals speak civil, and feel my ribs, Iknow something is going to happen. And that night, when every timethey see a policeman under a lamp-post, they dodged across thestreet, and when at the last one of them picked me up and hid meunder his jacket, I began to tremble; for I knew what it meant. Itmeant that I was to fight again for the Master. 

I don't fight because I like it. I fight because if I didn't theother dog would find my throat, and the Master would lose his stakes, and I would be very sorry for him and ashamed. Dogs can pass me and Ican pass dogs, and I'd never pick a fight with none of them. When Isee two dogs standing on their hind-legs in the streets, clawing eachother's ears, and snapping for each other's windpipes, or howling andswearing and rolling in the mud, I feel sorry they should act so, andpretend not to notice. If he'd let me, I'd like to pass the time ofday with every dog I meet. But there's something about me that nonice dog can abide. When I trot up to nice dogs, nodding andgrinning, to make friends, they always tell me to be off. "Go to thedevil!" they bark at me; "Get out!" and when I walk away they shout"mongrel, " and "gutter-dog, " and sometimes, after my back is turned, they rush me. I could kill most of them with three shakes, breakingthe back-bone of the little ones, and squeezing the throat of the bigones. But what's the good? They are nice dogs; that's why I try tomake up to them, and though it's not for them to say it, I am astreet-dog, and if I try to push into the company of my betters, Isuppose it's their right to teach me my place. 

Of course, they don't know I'm the best fighting bull-terrier of myweight in Montreal. That's why it wouldn't be right for me to take nonotice of what they shout. They don't know that if I once locked myjaws on them I'd carry away whatever I touched. The night I foughtKelley's White Rat, I wouldn't loosen up until the Master made anoose in my leash and strangled me, and if the handlers hadn't thrownred pepper down my nose, I never would have let go of that Ottawadog. I don't think the handlers treated me quite right that time, butmaybe they didn't know the Ottawa dog was dead. I did. 

I learned my fighting from my mother when I was very young. We sleptin a lumber-yard on the river-front, and by day hunted for food alongthe wharves. When we got it, the other tramp-dogs would try to takeit off us, and then it was wonderful to see mother fly at them, anddrive them away. All I know of fighting I learned from mother, watching her picking the ash-heaps for me when I was too little tofight for myself. No one ever was so good to me as mother. When itsnowed and the ice was in the St. Lawrence she used to hunt alone, and bring me back new bones, and she'd sit and laugh to see me tryingto swallow 'em whole. I was just a puppy then, my teeth was fallingout. When I was able to fight we kept the whole river-range toourselves, I had the genuine long, "punishing" jaw, so mother said, and there wasn't a man or a dog that dared worry us. Those were happydays, those were; and we lived well, share and share alike, and whenwe wanted a bit of fun, we chased the fat old wharf-rats. My! howthey would squeal!

Then the trouble came. It was no trouble to me. I was too young tocare then. But mother took it so to heart that she grew ailing, andwouldn't go abroad with me by day. It was the same old scandal thatthey're always bringing up against me. I was so young then that Ididn't know. I couldn't see any difference between mother--and othermothers. 

But one day a pack of curs we drove off snarled back some new namesat her, and mother dropped her head and ran, just as though they hadwhipped us. After that she wouldn't go out with me except in thedark, and one day she went away and never came back, and though Ihunted for her in every court and alley and back street of Montreal, I never found her. 

One night, a month after mother ran away, I asked Guardian, the oldblind mastiff, whose Master is the night-watchman on our slip, whatit all meant. And he told me. 

"Every dog in Montreal knows, " he says, "except you, and every Masterknows. So I think it's time you knew. "

Then he tells me that my father, who had treated mother so bad, was agreat and noble gentleman from London. "Your father had twenty-tworegistered ancestors, had your father, " old Guardian says, "and inhim was the best bull-terrier blood of England, the most ancientest, the most royal; the winning 'blue-ribbon' blood, that breedschampions. He had sleepy pink eyes, and thin pink lips, and he was aswhite all over as his own white teeth, and under his white skin youcould see his muscles, hard and smooth, like the links of a steelchain. When your father stood still, and tipped his nose in the air, it was just as though he was saying, 'Oh, yes, you common dogs andmen, you may well stare. It must be a rare treat for you Colonials tosee a real English royalty. ' He certainly was pleased with hisself, was your father. He looked just as proud and haughty as one of themstone dogs in Victoria Park--them as is cut out of white marble. Andyou're like him, " says the old mastiff--"by that, of course, meaningyou're white, same as him. That's the only likeness. But, you see, the trouble is, Kid--well, you see, Kid, the trouble is--your mother--"

"That will do, " I said, for I understood then without his telling me, and I got up and walked away, holding my head and tail high in theair. 

But I was, oh, so miserable, and I wanted to see mother that veryminute, and tell her that I didn't care. 

Mother is what I am, a street-dog; there's no royal blood in mother'sveins, nor is she like that father of mine, nor--and that's theworst--she's not even like me. For while I, when I'm washed for afight, am as white as clean snow, she--and this is our trouble, she--my mother, is a black-and-tan. 

When mother hid herself from me, I was twelve months old and able totake care of myself, and, as after mother left me, the wharves werenever the same, I moved uptown and met the Master. Before he came, lots of other men-folks had tried to make up to me, and to whistle mehome. But they either tried patting me or coaxing me with a piece ofmeat; so I didn't take to 'em. But one day the Master pulled me outof a street-fight by the hind-legs, and kicked me good. 

"You want to fight, do you?" says he. "I'll give you all the FIGHTINGyou want!" he says, and he kicks me again. So I knew he was myMaster, and I followed him home. Since that day I've pulled off manyfights for him, and they've brought dogs from all over the provinceto have a go at me, but up to that night none, under thirty pounds, had ever downed me. 

But that night, so soon as they carried me into the ring, I saw thedog was over-weight, and that I was no match for him. It was askingtoo much of a puppy. The Master should have known I couldn't do it. Not that I mean to blame the Master, for when sober, which hesometimes was, though not, as you might say, his habit, he was mostkind to me, and let me out to find food, if I could get it, and onlykicked me when I didn't pick him up at night and lead him home. 

But kicks will stiffen the muscles, and starving a dog so as to gethim ugly-tempered for a fight may make him nasty, but it's weakeningto his insides, and it causes the legs to wabble. 

The ring was in a hall, back of a public-house. There was a red-hotwhitewashed stove in one corner, and the ring in the other. I lay inthe Master's lap, wrapped in my blanket, and, spite of the stove, shivering awful; but I always shiver before a fight; I can't helpgettin' excited. While the men-folks were a-flashing their money andtaking their last drink at the bar, a little Irish groom in gaiterscame up to me and give me the back of his hand to smell, andscratched me behind the ears. 

"You poor little pup, " says he. "You haven't no show, " he says. "Thatbrute in the tap-room, he'll eat your heart out. "

"That's what you think, " says the Master, snarling. "I'll lay you aquid the Kid chews him up. "

The groom, he shook his head, but kept looking at me so sorry-like, that I begun to get a bit sad myself. He seemed like he couldn't bearto leave off a-patting of me, and he says, speaking low just like hewould to a man-folk, "Well, good-luck to you, little pup, " which Ithought so civil of him, that I reached up and licked his hand. Idon't do that to many men. And the Master, he knew I didn't, and tookon dreadful. 

"What 'ave you got on the back of your hand?" says he, jumping up. 

"Soap!" says the groom, quick as a rat. "That's more than you've goton yours. Do you want to smell of it?" and he sticks his fist underthe Master's nose. But the pals pushed in between 'em. 

"He tried to poison the Kid!" shouts the Master. 

"Oh, one fight at a time, " says the referee. "Get into the ring, Jerry. We're waiting. " So we went into the ring. 

I never could just remember what did happen in that ring. He give meno time to spring. He fell on me like a horse. I couldn't keep myfeet against him, and though, as I saw, he could get his hold when heliked, he wanted to chew me over a bit first. I was wondering ifthey'd be able to pry him off me, when, in the third round, he tookhis hold; and I began to drown, just as I did when I fell into theriver off the Red C slip. He closed deeper and deeper, on my throat, and everything went black and red and bursting; and then, when I weresure I were dead, the handlers pulled him off, and the Master give mea kick that brought me to. But I couldn't move none, or even wink, both eyes being shut with lumps. 

"He's a cur!" yells the Master, "a sneaking, cowardly cur. He lostthe fight for me, " says he, "because he's a---------cowardly cur. "And he kicks me again in the lower ribs, so that I go sliding acrossthe sawdust. "There's gratitude fer yer, " yells the Master. "I've fedthat dog, and nussed that dog, and housed him like a prince; and nowhe puts his tail between his legs, and sells me out, he does. He's acoward; I've done with him, I am. I'd sell him for a pipeful oftobacco. " He picked me up by the tail, and swung me for the men-folksto see. "Does any gentleman here want to buy a dog, " he says, "tomake into sausage-meat?" he says. "That's all he's good for. "

Then I heard the little Irish groom say, "I'll give you ten bob forthe dog. "

And another voice says, "Ah, don't you do it; the dog's same as dead--mebby he is dead. "

"Ten shillings!" says the Master, and his voice sobers a bit; "makeit two pounds, and he's yours. "

But the pals rushed in again. 

"Don't you be a fool, Jerry, " they say. "You'll be sorry for thiswhen you're sober. The Kid's worth a fiver. "

One of my eyes was not so swelled up as the other, and as I hung bymy tail, I opened it, and saw one of the pals take the groom by theshoulder. 

"You ought to give 'im five pounds for that dog, mate, " he says;"that's no ordinary dog. That dog's got good blood in him, that doghas. Why, his father--that very dog's father--"

I thought he never would go on. He waited like he wanted to be surethe groom was listening. 

"That very dog's father, " says the pal, "is Regent Royal, son ofChampion Regent Monarch, champion bull-terrier of England for fouryears. "

I was sore, and torn, and chewed most awful, but what the pal saidsounded so fine that I wanted to wag my tail, only couldn't, owing tomy hanging from it. 

But the Master calls out, "Yes, his father was Regent Royal; who'ssaying he wasn't? but the pup's a cowardly cur, that's what his pupis, and why--I'll tell you why--because his mother was a black-and-tan street-dog, that's why!"

I don't see how I get the strength, but some way I threw myself outof the Master's grip and fell at his feet, and turned over andfastened all my teeth in his ankle, just across the bone. 

When I woke, after the pals had kicked me off him, I was in thesmoking-car of a railroad-train, lying in the lap of the littlegroom, and he was rubbing my open wounds with a greasy, yellow stuff, exquisite to the smell, and most agreeable to lick off. 

PART II

"Well--what's your name--Nolan? Well, Nolan, these references aresatisfactory, " said the young gentleman my new Master called "Mr. Wyndham, sir. " "I'll take you on as second man. You can begin to-day. "

My new Master shuffled his feet, and put his finger to his forehead. "Thank you, sir, " says he. Then he choked like he had swallowed afish-bone. "I have a little dawg, sir, " says he. 

"You can't keep him, " says "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " very short. 

"'Es only a puppy, sir, " says my new Master; "'e wouldn't go outsidethe stables, sir. "

"It's not that, " says "Mr. Wyndham, sir;" "I have a large kennel ofvery fine dogs; they're the best of their breed in America. I don'tallow strange dogs on the premises. "

The Master shakes his head, and motions me with his cap, and I creptout from behind the door. "I'm sorry, sir, " says the Master. "Then Ican't take the place. I can't get along without the dog, sir. "

"Mr. Wyndham, sir, " looked at me that fierce that I guessed he wasgoing to whip me, so I turned over on my back and begged with my legsand tail. 

"Why, you beat him!" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " very stern. 

"No fear!" the Master says, getting very red. "The party I bought himoff taught him that. He never learnt that from me!" He picked me upin his arms, and to show "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " how well I loved theMaster, I bit his chin and hands. 

"Mr. Wyndham, sir, " turned over the letters the Master had given him. "Well, these references certainly are very strong, " he says. "I guessI'll let the dog stay this time. Only see you keep him away from thekennels--or you'll both go. "

"Thank you, sir, " says the Master, grinning like a cat when she'ssafe behind the area-railing. 

"He's not a bad bull-terrier, " says "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " feeling myhead. "Not that I know much about the smooth-coated breeds. My dogsare St. Bernards. " He stopped patting me and held up my nose. "What'sthe matter with his ears?" he says. "They're chewed to pieces. Isthis a fighting dog?" he asks, quick and rough-like. 

I could have laughed. If he hadn't been holding my nose, I certainlywould have had a good grin at him. Me, the best under thirty poundsin the Province of Quebec, and him asking if I was a fighting dog! Iran to the Master and hung down my head modest-like, waiting for himto tell my list of battles, but the Master he coughs in his cap mostpainful. "Fightin' dog, sir, " he cries. "Lor' bless you, sir, the Kiddon't know the word. 'Es just a puppy, sir, same as you see; a petdog, so to speak. 'Es a regular old lady's lap-dog, the Kid is. "

"Well, you keep him away from my St. Bernards, " says "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " "or they might make a mouthful of him. "

"Yes, sir, that they might, " says the Master. But when we getsoutside he slaps his knee and laughs inside hisself, and winks at memost sociable. 

The Master's new home was in the country, in a province they calledLong Island. There was a high stone wall about his home with big irongates to it, same as Godfrey's brewery; and there was a house withfive red roofs, and the stables, where I lived, was cleaner than theaerated bakery-shop, and then there was the kennels, but they waslike nothing else in this world that ever I see. For the first days Icouldn't sleep of nights for fear someone would catch me lying insuch a cleaned-up place, and would chase me out of it, and when I didfall to sleep I'd dream I was back in the old Master's attic, shivering under the rusty stove, which never had no coals in it, withthe Master flat on his back on the cold floor with his clothes on. And I'd wake up, scared and whimpering, and find myself on the newMaster's cot with his hand on the quilt beside me; and I'd see theglow of the big stove, and hear the high-quality horses below-stairsstamping in their straw-lined boxes, and I'd snoop the sweet smell ofhay and harness-soap, and go to sleep again. 

The stables was my jail, so the Master said, but I don't ask nobetter home than that jail. 

"Now, Kid, " says he, sitting on the top of a bucket upside down, "you've got to understand this. When I whistle it means you're not togo out of this 'ere yard. These stables is your jail. And if youleave 'em I'll have to leave 'em, too, and over the seas, in theCounty Mayo, an old mother will 'ave to leave her bit of a cottage. For two pounds I must be sending her every month, or she'll havenaught to eat, nor no thatch over 'er head; so, I can't lose myplace, Kid, an' see you don't lose it for me. You must keep away fromthe kennels, " says he; "they're not for the likes of you. The kennelsare for the quality. I wouldn't take a litter of them woolly dogs forone wag of your tail, Kid, but for all that they are your betters, same as the gentry up in the big house are my betters. I know myplace and keep away from the gentry, and you keep away from theChampions. "

So I never goes out of the stables. All day I just lay in the sun onthe stone flags, licking my jaws, and watching the grooms wash downthe carriages, and the only care I had was to see they didn't get gayand turn the hose on me. There wasn't even a single rat to plague me. Such stables I never did see. 

"Nolan, " says the head-groom, "some day that dog of yours will giveyou the slip. You can't keep a street-dog tied up all his life. It'sagainst his natur'. " The head-groom is a nice old gentleman, but hedoesn't know everything. Just as though I'd been a street-dog becauseI liked it. As if I'd rather poke for my vittles in ash-heaps thanhave 'em handed me in a wash-basin, and would sooner bite and fightthan be polite and sociable. If I'd had mother there I couldn't haveasked for nothing more. But I'd think of her snooping in the gutters, or freezing of nights under the bridges, or, what's worse of all, running through the hot streets with her tongue down, so wild andcrazy for a drink, that the people would shout "mad dog" at her, andstone her. Water's so good, that I don't blame the men-folks forlocking it up inside their houses, but when the hot days come, Ithink they might remember that those are the dog-days and leave alittle water outside in a trough, like they do for the horses. Thenwe wouldn't go mad, and the policemen wouldn't shoot us. I had somuch of everything I wanted that it made me think a lot of the dayswhen I hadn't nothing, and if I could have given what I had tomother, as she used to share with me, I'd have been the happiest dogin the land. Not that I wasn't happy then, and most grateful to theMaster, too, and if I'd only minded him, the trouble wouldn't havecome again. 

But one day the coachman says that the little lady they called MissDorothy had come back from school, and that same morning she runsover to the stables to pat her ponies, and she sees me. 

"Oh, what a nice little, white little dog, " said she; "whose littledog are you?" says she. 

"That's my dog, miss, " says the Master. "'Is name is Kid, " and I ranup to her most polite, and licks her fingers, for I never see sopretty and kind a lady. 

"You must come with me and call on my new puppies, " says she, pickingme up in her arms and starting off with me. 

"Oh, but please, Miss, " cries Nolan, "Mr. Wyndham give orders thatthe Kid's not to go to the kennels. "

"That'll be all right, " says the little lady; "they're my kennelstoo. And the puppies will like to play with him. "

You wouldn't believe me if I was to tell you of the style of themquality-dogs. If I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't have believed itneither. The Viceroy of Canada don't live no better. There was fortyof them, but each one had his own house and a yard--most exclusive--and a cot and a drinking-basin all to hisself. They had servantsstanding 'round waiting to feed 'em when they was hungry, and valetsto wash 'em; and they had their hair combed and brushed like thegrooms must when they go out on the box. Even the puppies hadovercoats with their names on 'em in blue letters, and the name ofeach of those they called champions was painted up fine over hisfront door just like it was a public-house or a veterinary's. Theywere the biggest St. Bernards I ever did see. I could have walkedunder them if they'd have let me. But they were very proud andhaughty dogs, and looked only once at me, and then sniffed in theair. The little lady's own dog was an old gentleman bull-dog. He'dcome along with us, and when he notices how taken aback I was withall I see, 'e turned quite kind and affable and showed me about. 

"Jimmy Jocks, " Miss Dorothy called him, but, owing to his weight, hewalked most dignified and slow, waddling like a duck as you mightsay, and looked much too proud and handsome for such a silly name. 

"That's the runway, and that's the Trophy House, " says he to me, "andthat over there is the hospital, where you have to go if you getdistemper, and the vet. Gives you beastly medicine. "

"And which of these is your 'ouse, sir?" asks I, wishing to berespectful. But he looked that hurt and haughty. "I don't live in thekennels, " says he, most contemptuous. "I am a house-dog. I sleep inMiss Dorothy's room. And at lunch I'm let in with the family, if thevisitors don't mind. They most always do, but they're too polite tosay so. Besides, " says he, smiling most condescending, "visitors arealways afraid of me. It's because I'm so ugly, " says he. "I suppose, "says he, screwing up his wrinkles and speaking very slow andimpressive, "I suppose I'm the ugliest bull-dog in America, " and ashe seemed to be so pleased to think hisself so, I said, "Yes, sir, you certainly are the ugliest ever I see, " at which he nodded hishead most approving. 

"But I couldn't hurt 'em, as you say, " he goes on, though I hadn'tsaid nothing like that, being too polite. "I'm too old, " he says; "Ihaven't any teeth. The last time one of those grizzly bears, " saidhe, glaring at the big St. Bernards, "took a hold of me, he nearlywas my death, " says he. I thought his eyes would pop out of his head, he seemed so wrought up about it. "He rolled me around in the dirt, he did, " says Jimmy Jocks, "an' I couldn't get up. It was low, " saysJimmy Jocks, making a face like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "Low, that's what I call it, bad form, you understand, young man, notdone in our circles--and--and low. " He growled, way down in hisstomach, and puffed hisself out, panting and blowing like he had beenon a run. 

"I'm not a street-fighter, " he says, scowling at a St. Bernard marked"Champion. " "And when my rheumatism is not troubling me, " he says, "Iendeavor to be civil to all dogs, so long as they are gentlemen. "

"Yes, sir, " said I, for even to me he had been most affable. 

At this we had come to a little house off by itself and Jimmy Jocksinvites me in. "This is their trophy-room, " he says, "where they keeptheir prizes. Mine, " he says, rather grand-like, "are on thesideboard. " Not knowing what a sideboard might be, I said, "Indeed, sir, that must be very gratifying. " But he only wrinkled up his chopsas much as to say, "It is my right. "

The trophy-room was as wonderful as any public-house I ever see. Onthe walls was pictures of nothing but beautiful St. Bernard dogs, androws and rows of blue and red and yellow ribbons; and when I askedJimmy Jocks why they was so many more of blue than of the others, helaughs and says, "Because these kennels always win. " And there wasmany shining cups on the shelves which Jimmy Jocks told me wereprizes won by the champions. 

"Now, sir, might I ask you, sir, " says I, "wot is a champion?"

At that he panted and breathed so hard I thought he would busthisself. "My dear young friend!" says he. "Wherever have you beeneducated? A champion is a--a champion, " he says. "He must win nineblue ribbons in the 'open' class. You follow me--that is--against allcomers. Then he has the title before his name, and they put hisphotograph in the sporting papers. You know, of course, that _I_ am achampion, " says he. "I am Champion Woodstock Wizard III. , and the twoother Woodstock Wizards, my father and uncle, were both champions. "

"But I thought your name was Jimmy Jocks, " I said. 

He laughs right out at that. 

"That's my kennel name, not my registered name, " he says. "Why, youcertainly know that every dog has two names. Now, what's yourregistered name and number, for instance?" says he. 

"I've only got one name, " I says. "Just Kid. "

Woodstock Wizard puffs at that and wrinkles up his forehead and popsout his eyes. 

"Who are your people?" says he. "Where is your home?"

"At the stable, sir, " I said. "My Master is the second groom. "

At that Woodstock Wizard III. Looks at me for quite a bit withoutwinking, and stares all around the room over my head. 

"Oh, well, " says he at last, "you're a very civil young dog, " sayshe, "and I blame no one for what he can't help, " which I thought mostfair and liberal. "And I have known many bullterriers that werechampions, " says he, "though as a rule they mostly run with fire-engines, and to fighting. For me, I wouldn't care to run through thestreets after a hose-cart, nor to fight, " says he; "but each to histaste. "

I could not help thinking that if Woodstock Wizard III. Tried tofollow a fire-engine he would die of apoplexy, and that, seeing he'dlost his teeth, it was lucky he had no taste for fighting, but, afterhis being so condescending, I didn't say nothing. 

"Anyway, " says he, "every smooth-coated dog is better than any hairyold camel like those St. Bernards, and if ever you're hungry down atthe stables, young man, come up to the house and I'll give you abone. I can't eat them myself, but I bury them around the garden fromforce of habit, and in case a friend should drop in. Ah, I see myMistress coming, " he says, "and I bid you good-day. I regret, " hesays, "that our different social position prevents our meetingfrequent, for you're a worthy young dog with a proper respect foryour betters, and in this country there's precious few of them havethat. " Then he waddles off, leaving me alone and very sad, for he wasthe first dog in many days that had spoken to me. But since heshowed, seeing that I was a stable-dog, he didn't want my company, Iwaited for him to get well away. It was not a cheerful place to wait, the Trophy House. The pictures of the champions seemed to scowl atme, and ask what right had such as I even to admire them, and theblue and gold ribbons and the silver cups made me very miserable. Ihad never won no blue ribbons or silver cups; only stakes for the oldMaster to spend in the publics, and I hadn't won them for being abeautiful, high-quality dog, but just for fighting--which, of course, as Woodstock Wizard III. Says, is low. So I started for the stables, with my head down and my tail between my legs, feeling sorry I hadever left the Master. But I had more reason to be sorry before I gotback to him. 

The Trophy House was quite a bit from the kennels, and as I left it Isee Miss Dorothy and Woodstock Wizard III. Walking back toward them, and that a fine, big St. Bernard, his name was Champion Red Elfberg, had broke his chain, and was running their way. When he reaches oldJimmy Jocks he lets out a roar like a grain-steamer in a fog, and hemakes three leaps for him. Old Jimmy Jocks was about a fourth hissize; but he plants his feet and curves his back, and his hair goesup around his neck like a collar. But he never had no show at notime, for the grizzly bear, as Jimmy Jocks had called him, lights onold Jimmy's back and tries to break it, and old Jimmy Jocks snaps hisgums and claws the grass, panting and groaning awful. But he can't donothing, and the grizzly bear just rolls him under him, biting andtearing cruel. The odds was all that Woodstock Wizard III. Was goingto be killed. I had fought enough to see that, but not knowing therules of the game among champions, I didn't like to interfere betweentwo gentlemen who might be settling a private affair, and, as itwere, take it as presuming of me. So I stood by, though I was shakingterrible, and holding myself in like I was on a leash. But at thatWoodstock Wizard III. , who was underneath, sees me through the dust, and calls very faint, "Help, you!" he says. "Take him in the hind-leg, " he says. "He's murdering me, " he says. And then the little MissDorothy, who was crying, and calling to the kennel-men, catches atthe Red Elfberg's hind-legs to pull him off, and the brute, keepinghis front pats well in Jimmy's stomach, turns his big head and snapsat her. So that was all I asked for, thank you. I went up under him. It was really nothing. He stood so high that I had only to take offabout three feet from him and come in from the side, and my long, "punishing jaw" as mother was always talking about, locked on hiswoolly throat, and my back teeth met. I couldn't shake him, but Ishook myself, and every time I shook myself there was thirty poundsof weight tore at his windpipes. I couldn't see nothing for his longhair, but I heard Jimmy Jocks puffing and blowing on one side, andmunching the brute's leg with his old gums. Jimmy was an old sportthat day, was Jimmy, or, Woodstock Wizard III. , as I should say. Whenthe Red Elfberg was out and down I had to run, or those kennel-menwould have had my life. They chased me right into the stables; andfrom under the hay I watched the head-groom take down a carriage-whipand order them to the right about. Luckily Master and the younggrooms were out, or that day there'd have been fighting foreverybody. 

Well, it nearly did for me and the Master. "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " comesraging to the stables and said I'd half-killed his best prize-winner, and had oughter be shot, and he gives the Master his notice. But MissDorothy she follows him, and says it was his Red Elfberg what beganthe fight, and that I'd saved Jimmy's life, and that old Jimmy Jockswas worth more to her than all the St. Bernards in the Swissmountains--where-ever they be. And that I was her champion, anyway. Then she cried over me most beautiful, and over Jimmy Jocks, too, whowas that tied up in bandages he couldn't even waddle. So when heheard that side of it, "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " told us that if Nolan putme on a chain, we could stay. So it came out all right for everybodybut me. I was glad the Master kept his place, but I'd never worn achain before, and it disheartened me--but that was the least of it. For the quality-dogs couldn't forgive my whipping their champion, andthey came to the fence between the kennels and the stables, andlaughed through the bars, barking most cruel words at me. I couldn'tunderstand how they found it out, but they knew. After the fightJimmy Jocks was most condescending to me, and he said the grooms hadboasted to the kennel-men that I was a son of Regent Royal, and thatwhen the kennel-men asked who was my mother they had had to tell themthat too. Perhaps that was the way of it, but, however, the scandalwas out, and every one of the quality-dogs knew that I was a street-dog and the son of a black-and-tan. 

"These misalliances will occur, " said Jimmy Jocks, in his old-fashioned way, "but no well-bred dog, " says he, looking most scornfulat the St. Bernards, who were howling behind the palings, "wouldrefer to your misfortune before you, certainly not cast it in yourface. I, myself, remember your father's father, when he made hisdebut at the Crystal Palace. He took four blue ribbons and threespecials. "

But no sooner than Jimmy would leave me, the St. Bernards would taketo howling again, insulting mother and insulting me. And when I toreat my chain, they, seeing they were safe, would howl the more. It wasnever the same after that; the laughs and the jeers cut into myheart, and the chain bore heavy on my spirit. I was so sad thatsometimes I wished I was back in the gutter again, where no one wasbetter than me, and some nights I wished I was dead. If it hadn'tbeen for the Master being so kind, and that it would have looked likeI was blaming mother, I would have twisted my leash and hangedmyself. 

About a month after my fight, the word was passed through the kennelsthat the New York Show was coming, and such goings on as followed Inever did see. If each of them had been matched to fight for athousand pounds and the gate, they couldn't have trained moreconscientious. But, perhaps, that's just my envy. The kennel-menrubbed 'em and scrubbed 'em and trims their hair and curls and combsit, and some dogs they fatted, and some they starved. No one talkedof nothing but the Show, and the chances "our kennels" had againstthe other kennels, and if this one of our champions would win overthat one, and whether them as hoped to be champions had better showin the "open" or the "limit" class, and whether this dog would beathis own dad, or whether his little puppy sister couldn't beat the twoof them. Even the grooms had their money up, and day or night youheard nothing but praises of "our" dogs, until I, being so far out ofit, couldn't have felt meaner if I had been running the streets witha can to my tail. I knew shows were not for such as me, and so I layall day stretched at the end of my chain, pretending I was asleep, and only too glad that they had something so important to think of, that they could leave me alone. 

But one day before the Show opened, Miss Dorothy came to the stableswith "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " and seeing me chained up and so miserable, she takes me in her arms. 

"You poor little tyke, " says she. "It's cruel to tie him up so; he'seating his heart out, Nolan, " she says. "I don't know nothing aboutbull-terriers, " says she, "but I think Kid's got good points, " saysshe, "and you ought to show him. Jimmy Jocks has three legs on theRensselaer Cup now, and I'm going to show him this time so that hecan get the fourth, and if you wish, I'll enter your dog too. Howwould you like that, Kid?" says she. "How would you like to see themost beautiful dogs in the world? Maybe, you'd meet a pal or two, "says she. "It would cheer you up, wouldn't it, Kid?" says she. But Iwas so upset, I could only wag my tail most violent. "He says itwould!" says she, though, being that excited, I hadn't said nothing. 

So, "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " laughs and takes out a piece of blue paper, and sits down at the head-groom's table. 

"What's the name of the father of your dog, Nolan?" says he. AndNolan says, "The man I got him off told me he was a son of ChampionRegent Royal, sir. But it don't seem likely, does it?" says Nolan. 

"It does not!" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " short-like. 

"Aren't you sure, Nolan?" says Miss Dorothy. 

"No, Miss, " says the Master. 

"Sire unknown, " says "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " and writes it down. 

"Date of birth?" asks "Mr. Wyndham, sir. "

"I--I--unknown, sir, " says Nolan. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " writes itdown. 

"Breeder?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir. "

"Unknown, " says Nolan, getting very red around the jaws, and I dropsmy head and tail. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " writes that down. 

"Mother's name?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir. "

"She was a--unknown, " says the Master. And I licks his hand. 

"Dam unknown, " says "Mr. Wyndham, sir, " and writes it down. Then hetakes the paper and reads out loud: "Sire unknown, dam unknown, breeder unknown, date of birth unknown. You'd better call him the'Great Unknown, '" says he. "Who's paying his entrance-fee?"

"I am, " says Miss Dorothy. 

Two weeks after we all got on a train for New York; Jimmy Jocks andme following Nolan in the smoking-car, and twenty-two of the St. Bernards, in boxes and crates, and on chains and leashes. Such abarking and howling I never did hear, and when they sees me going, too, they laughs fit to kill. 

"Wot is this; a circus?" says the railroad-man. 

But I had no heart in it. I hated to go. I knew I was no "show" dog, even though Miss Dorothy and the Master did their best to keep mefrom shaming them. For before we set out Miss Dorothy brings a manfrom town who scrubbed and rubbed me, and sand-papered my tail, whichhurt most awful, and shaved my ears with the Master's razor, so youcould most see clear through 'em, and sprinkles me over with pipe-clay, till I shines like a Tommy's cross-belts. 

"Upon my word!" says Jimmy Jocks when he first sees me. "What a swellyou are! You're the image of your grand-dad when he made his debut atthe Crystal Palace. He took four firsts and three specials. " But Iknew he was only trying to throw heart into me. They might scrub, andthey might rub, and they might pipe-clay, but they couldn't pipe-claythe insides of me, and they was black-and-tan. 

Then we came to a Garden, which it was not, but the biggest hall inthe world. Inside there was lines of benches, a few miles long, andon them sat every dog in the world. If all the dog-snatchers inMontreal had worked night and day for a year, they couldn't havecaught so many dogs. And they was all shouting and barking andhowling so vicious, that my heart stopped beating. For at first Ithought they was all enraged at my presuming to intrude, but after Igot in my place, they kept at it just the same, barking at every dogas he come in; daring him to fight, and ordering him out, and askinghim what breed of dog he thought he was, anyway. Jimmy Jocks waschained just behind me, and he said he never see so fine a show. "That's a hot class you're in, my lad, " he says, looking over into mystreet, where there were thirty bull-terriers. They was all as whiteas cream, and each so beautiful that if I could have broke my chain, I would have run all the way home and hid myself under the horse-trough. 

All night long they talked and sang, and passed greetings with oldpals, and the home-sick puppies howled dismal. Them that couldn'tsleep wouldn't let no others sleep, and all the electric lightsburned in the roof, and in my eyes. I could hear Jimmy Jocks snoringpeaceful, but I could only doze by jerks, and when I dozed I dreamedhorrible. All the dogs in the hall seemed coming at me for daring tointrude, with their jaws red and open, and their eyes blazing likethe lights in the roof. "You're a street-dog! Get out, you street-dog!" they yells. And as they drives me out, the pipe-clay drops offme, and they laugh and shriek; and when I looks down I see that Ihave turned into a black-and-tan. 

They was most awful dreams, and next morning, when Miss Dorothy comesand gives me water in a pan, I begs and begs her to take me home, butshe can't understand. "How well Kid is!" she says. And when I jumpsinto the Master's arms, and pulls to break my chain, he says, "If heknew all as he had against him, Miss, he wouldn't be so gay. " Andfrom a book they reads out the names of the beautiful high-bredterriers which I have got to meet. And I can't make 'em understandthat I only want to run away, and hide myself where no one will seeme. 

Then suddenly men comes hurrying down our street and begins to brushthe beautiful bull-terriers, and Nolan rubs me with a towel soexcited that his hands trembles awful, and Miss Dorothy tweaks myears between her gloves, so that the blood runs to 'em, and they turnpink and stand up straight and sharp. 

"Now, then, Nolan, " says she, her voice shaking just like hisfingers, "keep his head up--and never let the Judge lose sight ofhim. " When I hears that my legs breaks under me, for I knows allabout judges. Twice, the old Master goes up before the Judge forfighting me with other dogs, and the Judge promises him if he everdoes it again, he'll chain him up in jail. I knew he'd find me out. AJudge can't be fooled by no pipe-clay. He can see right through you, and he reads your insides. 

The judging-ring, which is where the Judge holds out, was so like afighting-pit, that when I came in it, and find six other dogs there, I springs into position, so that when they lets us go I can defendmyself, But the Master smoothes down my hair and whispers, "Hold'ard, Kid, hold 'ard. This ain't a fight, " says he. "Look yourprettiest, " he whispers. "Please, Kid, look your prettiest, " and hepulls my leash so tight that I can't touch my pats to the sawdust, and my nose goes up in the air. There was millions of people a-watching us from the railings, and three of our kennel-men, too, making fun of Nolan and me, and Miss Dorothy with her chin justreaching to the rail, and her eyes so big that I thought she was a-going to cry. It was awful to think that when the Judge stood up andexposed me, all those people, and Miss Dorothy, would be there to seeme driven from the show. 

The Judge, he was a fierce-looking man with specs on his nose, and ared beard. When I first come in he didn't see me owing to my beingtoo quick for him and dodging behind the Master. But when the Masterdrags me round and I pulls at the sawdust to keep back, the Judgelooks at us careless-like, and then stops and glares through hisspecs, and I knew it was all up with me. 

"Are there any more?" asks the Judge, to the gentleman at the gate, but never taking his specs from me. 

The man at the gate looks in his book. "Seven in the novice-class, "says he. "They're all here. You can go ahead, " and he shuts the gate. 

The Judge, he doesn't hesitate a moment. He just waves his handtoward the corner of the ring. "Take him away, " he says to theMaster. "Over there and keep him away, " and he turns and looks mostsolemn at the six beautiful bull-terriers. I don't know how I crawledto that corner. I wanted to scratch under the sawdust and dig myselfa grave. The kennel-men they slapped the rail with their hands andlaughed at the Master like they would fall over. They pointed at mein the corner, and their sides just shaked. But little Miss Dorothyshe presses her lips tight against the rail, and I see tears rollingfrom her eyes. The Master, he hangs his head like he had beenwhipped. I felt most sorry for him, than all. He was so red, and hewas letting on not to see the kennel-men, and blinking his eyes. Ifthe Judge had ordered me right out, it wouldn't have disgraced us so, but it was keeping me there while he was judging the high-bred dogsthat hurt so hard. With all those people staring too. And his doingit so quick, without no doubt nor questions. You can't fool thejudges. They see insides you. 

But he couldn't make up his mind about them high-bred dogs. He scowlsat 'em, and he glares at 'em, first with his head on the one side andthen on the other. And he feels of 'em, and orders 'em to run about. And Nolan leans against the rails, with his head hung down, and patsme. And Miss Dorothy comes over beside him, but don't say nothing, only wipes her eye with her finger. A man on the other side of therail he says to the Master, "The Judge don't like your dog?"

"No, " says the Master. 

"Have you ever shown him before?" says the man. 

"No, " says the Master, "and I'll never show him again. He's my dog, "says the Master, "an' he suits me! And I don't care what no judgesthink. " And when he says them kind words, I licks his hand mostgrateful. 

The Judge had two of the six dogs on a little platform in the middleof the ring, and he had chased the four other dogs into the corners, where they was licking their chops, and letting on they didn't care, same as Nolan was. 

The two dogs on the platform was so beautiful that the Judge hisselfcouldn't tell which was the best of 'em, even when he stoops down andholds their heads together. But at last he gives a sigh, and brushesthe sawdust off his knees and goes to the table in the ring, wherethere was a man keeping score, and heaps and heaps of blue and goldand red and yellow ribbons. And the Judge picks up a bunch of 'em andwalks to the two gentlemen who was holding the beautiful dogs, and hesays to each "What's his number?" and he hands each gentleman aribbon. And then he turned sharp, and comes straight at the Master. 

"What's his number?" says the Judge. And Master was so scared that hecouldn't make no answer. 

But Miss Dorothy claps her hands and cries out like she was laughing, "Three twenty-six, " and the Judge writes it down, and shoves Masterthe blue ribbon. 

I bit the Master, and I jumps and bit Miss Dorothy, and I waggled sohard that the Master couldn't hold me. When I get to the gate MissDorothy snatches me up and kisses me between the ears, right beforemillions of people, and they both hold me so tight that I didn't knowwhich of them was carrying of me. But one thing I knew, for Ilistened hard, as it was the Judge hisself as said it. 

"Did you see that puppy I gave 'first' to?" says the Judge to thegentleman at the gate. 

"I did. He was a bit out of his class, " says the gate-gentleman. 

"He certainly was!" says the Judge, and they both laughed. 

But I didn't care. They couldn't hurt me then, not with Nolan holdingthe blue ribbon and Miss Dorothy hugging my ears, and the kennel-mensneaking away, each looking like he'd been caught with his nose underthe lid of the slop-can. 

We sat down together, and we all three just talked as fast as wecould. They was so pleased that I couldn't help feeling proud myself, and I barked and jumped and leaped about so gay, that all the bull-terriers in our street stretched on their chains, and howled at me. 

"Just look at him!" says one of those I had beat. "What's he givinghisself airs about?"

"Because he's got one blue ribbon!" says another of 'em. "Why, when Iwas a puppy I used to eat 'em, and if that Judge could ever learn toknow a toy from a mastiff, I'd have had this one. "

But Jimmy Jocks he leaned over from his bench, and says, "Well done, Kid. Didn't I tell you so!" What he 'ad told me was that I might geta "commended, " but I didn't remind him. 

"Didn't I tell you, " says Jimmy Jocks, "that I saw your grandfathermake his debut at the Crystal--"

"Yes, sir, you did, sir, " says I, for I have no love for the men ofmy family. 

A gentleman with a showing leash around his neck comes up just thenand looks at me very critical. "Nice dog you've got, Miss Wyndham, "says he; "would you care to sell him?"

"He's not my dog, " says Miss Dorothy, holding me tight. "I wish hewere. "

"He's not for sale, sir, " says the Master, and I was that glad. 

"Oh, he's yours, is he?" says the gentleman, looking hard at Nolan. "Well, I'll give you a hundred dollars for him, " says he, careless-like. 

"Thank you, sir, he's not for sale, " says Nolan, but his eyes getvery big. The gentleman, he walked away, but I watches him, and hetalks to a man in a golf-cap, and by and by the man comes along ourstreet, looking at all the dogs, and stops in front of me. 

"This your dog?" says he to Nolan. "Pity he's so leggy, " says he. "Ifhe had a good tail, and a longer stop, and his ears were set higher, he'd be a good dog. As he is, I'll give you fifty dollars for him. "

But before the Master could speak, Miss Dorothy laughs, and says, "You're Mr. Polk's kennel-man, I believe. Well, you tell Mr. Polkfrom me that the dog's not for sale now any more than he was fiveminutes ago, and that when he is, he'll have to bid against me forhim. " The man looks foolish at that, but he turns to Nolan quick-like. "I'll give you three hundred for him, " he says. 

"Oh, indeed!" whispers Miss Dorothy, like she was talking to herself. "That's it, is it, " and she turns and looks at me just as though shehad never seen me before. Nolan, he was a gaping, too, with his mouthopen. But he holds me tight. 

"He's not for sale, " he growls, like he was frightened, and the manlooks black and walks away. 

"Why, Nolan!" cries Miss Dorothy, "Mr. Polk knows more about bull-terriers than any amateur in America. What can he mean? Why, Kid isno more than a puppy! Three hundred dollars for a puppy!"

"And he ain't no thoroughbred neither!" cries the Master. "He's'Unknown, ' ain't he? Kid can't help it, of course, but his mother, Miss--"

I dropped my head. I couldn't bear he should tell Miss Dorothy. Icouldn't bear she should know I had stolen my blue ribbon. 

But the Master never told, for at that, a gentleman runs up, calling, "Three Twenty-Six, Three Twenty-Six, " and Miss Dorothy says, "Here heis, what is it?"

"The Winner's Class, " says the gentleman "Hurry, please. The Judge iswaiting for him. "

Nolan tries to get me off the chain onto a showing leash, but heshakes so, he only chokes me. "What is it, Miss?" he says. "What isit?"

"The Winner's Class, " says Miss Dorothy. "The Judge wants him withthe winners of the other classes--to decide which is the best. It'sonly a form, " says she. "He has the champions against him now. "

"Yes, " says the gentleman, as he hurries us to the ring. "I'm afraidit's only a form for your dog, but the Judge wants all the winners, puppy class even. "

We had got to the gate, and the gentleman there was writing down mynumber. 

"Who won the open?" asks Miss Dorothy. 

"Oh, who would?" laughs the gentleman. "The old champion, of course. He's won for three years now. There he is. Isn't he wonderful?" sayshe, and he points to a dog that's standing proud and haughty on theplatform in the middle of the ring. 

I never see so beautiful a dog, so fine and clean and noble, so whitelike he had rolled hisself in flour, holding his nose up and his eyesshut, same as though no one was worth looking at. Aside of him, weother dogs, even though we had a blue ribbon apiece, seemed likelumps of mud. He was a royal gentleman, a king, he was. His Masterdidn't have to hold his head with no leash. He held it hisself, standing as still as an iron dog on a lawn, like he knew all thepeople was looking at him. And so they was, and no one around thering pointed at no other dog but him. 

"Oh, what a picture, " cried Miss Dorothy; "he's like a marble figureby a great artist--one who loved dogs. Who is he?" says she, lookingin her book. "I don't keep up with terriers. "

"Oh, you know him, " says the gentleman. "He is the Champion ofchampions, Regent Royal. "

The Master's face went red. 

"And this is Regent Royal's son, " cries he, and he pulls me quickinto the ring, and plants me on the platform next my father. 

I trembled so that I near fall. My legs twisted like a leash. But myfather he never looked at me. He only smiled, the same sleepy smile, and he still keep his eyes half-shut, like as no one, no, not evenhis son, was worth his lookin' at. 

The Judge, he didn't let me stay beside my father, but, one by one, he placed the other dogs next to him and measured and felt and pulledat them. And each one he put down, but he never put my father down. And then he comes over and picks up me and sets me back on theplatform, shoulder to shoulder with the Champion Regent Royal, andgoes down on his knees, and looks into our eyes. 

The gentleman with my father, he laughs, and says to the Judge, "Thinking of keeping us here all day. John?" but the Judge, hedoesn't hear him, and goes behind us and runs his hand down my side, and holds back my ears, and takes my jaws between his fingers. Thecrowd around the ring is very deep now, and nobody says nothing. Thegentleman at the score-table, he is leaning forward, with his elbowson his knees, and his eyes very wide, and the gentleman at the gateis whispering quick to Miss Dorothy, who has turned white. I stood asstiff as stone. I didn't even breathe. But out of the corner of myeye I could see my father licking his pink chops, and yawning just alittle, like he was bored. 

The Judge, he had stopped looking fierce, and was looking solemn. Something inside him seemed a troubling him awful. The more he staresat us now, the more solemn he gets, and when he touches us he does itgentle, like he was patting us. For a long time he kneels in thesawdust, looking at my father and at me, and no one around the ringsays nothing to nobody. 

Then the Judge takes a breath and touches me sudden. "It's his, " hesays, but he lays his hand just as quick on my father. "I'm sorry, "says he. 

The gentleman holding my father cries:

"Do you mean to tell me--"

And the Judge, he answers, "I mean the other is the better dog. " Hetakes my father's head between his hands and looks down at him, mostsorrowful. "The King is dead, " says he, "long live the King. Good-by, Regent, " he says. 

The crowd around the railings clapped their hands, and some laughedscornful, and everyone talks fast, and I start for the gate so dizzythat I can't see my way. But my father pushes in front of me, walkingvery daintily, and smiling sleepy, same as he had just been waked, with his head high, and his eyes shut, looking at nobody. 

So that is how I "came by my inheritance, " as Miss Dorothy calls it, and just for that, though I couldn't feel where I was any different, the crowd follows me to my bench, and pats me, and coos at me, like Iwas a baby in a baby-carriage. And the handlers have to hold 'em backso that the gentlemen from the papers can make pictures of me, andNolan walks me up and down so proud, and the men shakes their headsand says, "He certainly is the true type, he is!" And the prettyladies asks Miss Dorothy, who sits beside me letting me lick hergloves to show the crowd what friends we is, "Aren't you afraid he'llbite you?" and Jimmy Jocks calls to me, "Didn't I tell you so! Ialways knew you were one of us. Blood will out, Kid, blood will out. I saw your grandfather, " says he, "make his debut at the CrystalPalace. But he was never the dog you are!"

After that, if I could have asked for it, there was nothing Icouldn't get. You might have thought I was a snow-dog, and they wasafeerd I'd melt. If I wet my pats, Nolan gave me a hot bath andchained me to the stove; if I couldn't eat my food, being stuffedfull by the cook, for I am a house-dog now, and let in to lunchwhether there is visitors or not, Nolan would run to bring the vet. It was all tommy-rot, as Jimmy says, but meant most kind. I couldn'tscratch myself comfortable, without Nolan giving me nasty drinks, andrubbing me outside till it burnt awful, and I wasn't let to eat bonesfor fear of spoiling my "beautiful" mouth, what mother used to callmy "punishing jaw, " and my food was cooked special on a gas-stove, and Miss Dorothy gives me an overcoat, cut very stylish like thechampions', to wear when we goes out carriage-driving. 

After the next show, where I takes three blue ribbons, four silvercups, two medals, and brings home forty-five dollars for Nolan, theygives me a "Registered" name, same as Jimmy's. Miss Dorothy wanted tocall me "Regent Heir Apparent, " but I was THAT glad when Nolan says, "No, Kid don't owe nothing to his father, only to you and hisself. So, if you please, Miss, we'll call him Wyndham Kid. " And so theydid, and you can see it on my overcoat in blue letters, and paintedtop of my kennel. It was all too hard to understand. For days I justsat and wondered if I was really me, and how it all come about, andwhy everybody was so kind. But, oh, it was so good they was, for ifthey hadn't been, I'd never have got the thing I most wished after. But, because they was kind, and not liking to deny me nothing, theygave it me, and it was more to me than anything in the world. 

It came about one day when we was out driving. We was in the cartthey calls the dog-cart, because it's the one Miss Dorothy keeps totake Jimmy and me for an airing. Nolan was up behind, and me in mynew overcoat was sitting beside Miss Dorothy. I was admiring theview, and thinking how good it was to have a horse pull you about sothat you needn't get yourself splashed and have to be washed, when Ihears a dog calling loud for help, and I pricks up my ears and looksover the horse's head. And I sees something that makes me trembledown to my toes. In the road before us three big dogs was chasing alittle, old lady-dog. She had a string to her tail, where some boyshad tied a can, and she was dirty with mud and ashes, and torn mostawful. She was too far done up to get away, and too old to helpherself, but she was making a fight for her life, snapping her oldgums savage, and dying game. All this I see in a wink, and then thethree dogs pinned her down, and I can't stand it no longer and clearsthe wheel and lands in the road on my head. It was my stylishovercoat done that, and I curse it proper, but I gets my pats againquick, and makes a rush for the fighting. Behind me I hear MissDorothy cry, "They'll kill that old dog. Wait, take my whip. Beatthem off her! The Kid can take care of himself, " and I hear Nolanfall into the road, and the horse come to a stop. The old lady-dogwas down, and the three was eating her vicious, but as I come up, scattering the pebbles, she hears, and thinking it's one more ofthem, she lifts her head and my heart breaks open like someone hadsunk his teeth in it. For, under the ashes and the dirt and theblood, I can see who it is, and I know that my mother has come backto me. 

I gives a yell that throws them three dogs off their legs. 

"Mother!" I cries. "I'm the Kid, " I cries. "I'm coming to you, mother, I'm coming. "

And I shoots over her, at the throat of the big dog, and the othertwo, they sinks their teeth into that stylish overcoat, and tears itoff me, and that sets me free, and I lets them have it. I never hadso fine a fight as that! What with mother being there to see, and nothaving been let to mix up in no fights since I become a prize-winner, it just naturally did me good, and it wasn't three shakes before Ihad 'em yelping. Quick as a wink, mother, she jumps in to help me, and I just laughed to see her. It was so like old times. And Nolan, he made me laugh too. He was like a hen on a bank, shaking the buttof his whip, but not daring to cut in for fear of hitting me. 

"Stop it, Kid, " he says, "stop it. Do you want to be all torn up?"says he. "Think of the Boston show next week, " says he, "Think ofChicago. Think of Danbury. Don't you never want to be a champion?"How was I to think of all them places when I had three dogs to cut upat the same time. But in a minute two of 'em begs for mercy, andmother and me lets 'em run away. The big one, he ain't able to runaway. Then mother and me, we dances and jumps, and barks and laughs, and bites each other and rolls each other in the road. There neverwas two dogs so happy as we, and Nolan, he whistles and calls andbegs me to come to him, but I just laugh and play larks with mother. 

"Now, you come with me, " says I, "to my new home, and never try torun away again. " And I shows her our house with the five red roofs, set on the top of the hill. But mother trembles awful, and says:"They'd never let the likes of me in such a place. Does the Viceroylive there, Kid?" says she. And I laugh at her. "No, I do, " I says;"and if they won't let you live there, too, you and me will go backto the streets together, for we must never be parted no more. " So wetrots up the hill, side by side, with Nolan trying to catch me, andMiss Dorothy laughing at him from the cart. 

"The Kid's made friends with the poor old dog, " says she. "Maybe heknew her long ago when he ran the streets himself. Put her in herebeside me, and see if he doesn't follow. "

So, when I hears that, I tells mother to go with Nolan and sit in thecart, but she says no, that she'd soil the pretty lady's frock; but Itells her to do as I say, and so Nolan lifts her, trembling still, into the cart, and I runs alongside, barking joyful. 

When we drives into the stables I takes mother to my kennel, andtells her to go inside it and make herself at home. "Oh, but he won'tlet me!" says she. 

"Who won't let you?" says I, keeping my eye on Nolan, and growling abit nasty, just to show I was meaning to have my way. "Why, WyndhamKid, " says she, looking up at the name on my kennel. 

"But I'm Wyndham Kid!" says I. 

"You!" cries mother. "You! Is my little Kid the great Wyndham Kid thedogs all talk about?" And at that, she, being very old, and sick, andhungry, and nervous, as mothers are, just drops down in the straw andweeps bitter. 

Well, there ain't much more than that to tell. Miss Dorothy, shesettled it. 

"If the Kid wants the poor old thing in the stables, " says she, "lether stay. "

"You see, " says she, "she's a black-and-tan, and his mother was ablack-and-tan, and maybe that's what makes Kid feel so friendlytoward her, " says she. 

"Indeed, for me, " says Nolan, "she can have the best there is. I'dnever drive out no dog that asks for a crust nor a shelter, " he says. "But what will Mr. Wyndham do?"

"He'll do what I say, " says Miss Dorothy, "and if I say she's tostay, she will stay, and I say--she's to stay!"

And so mother and Nolan, and me, found a home. Mother was scared atfirst--not being used to kind people--but she was so gentle andloving, that the grooms got fonder of her than of me, and tried tomake me jealous by patting of her, and giving her the pick of thevittles. But that was the wrong way to hurt my feelings. That's all, I think. Mother is so happy here that I tell her we ought to call itthe Happy Hunting Grounds, because no one hunts you, and there isnothing to hunt; it just all comes to you. And so we live in peace, mother sleeping all day in the sun, or behind the stove in the head-groom's office, being fed twice a day regular by Nolan, and all theday by the other grooms most irregular, And, as for me, I go hurryingaround the country to the bench-shows; winning money and cups forNolan, and taking the blue ribbons away from father. 

A DERELICT

When the war-ships of a navy lie cleared for action outside a harbor, and the war-ships of the country with which they are at war liecleared for action inside the harbor, there is likely to be trouble. Trouble between war-ships is news, and wherever there is news thereis always a representative of the Consolidated Press. 

As long as Sampson blockaded Havana and the army beat time back ofthe Tampa Bay Hotel, the central office for news was at Key West, butwhen Cervera slipped into Santiago Harbor and Sampson stationed hisbattle-ships at its mouth, Key West lost her only excuse forexistence, and the press-boats burled their bows in the waters of theFlorida Straits and raced for the cable-station at Port Antonio. Itwas then that Keating, the "star" man of the Consolidated PressSyndicate, was forced to abandon his young bride and the rooms he hadengaged for her at the Key West Hotel, and accompany his tug to thedistant island of Jamaica. 

Keating was a good and faithful servant to the Consolidated Press. Hewas a correspondent after its own making, an industrious collector offacts. The Consolidated Press did not ask him to comment on what itsent him to see; it did not require nor desire his editorial opinionsor impressions. It was no part of his work to go into the motiveswhich led to the event of news interest which he was sent to report, nor to point out what there was of it which was dramatic, pathetic, or outrageous. 

The Consolidated Press, being a mighty corporation, which daily fedseven hundred different newspapers, could not hope to please thepolicy of each, so it compromised by giving the facts of the dayfairly set down, without heat, prejudice, or enthusiasm. This was anexcellent arrangement for the papers that subscribed for the serviceof the Consolidated Press, but it was death to the literary strivingsof the Consolidated Press correspondents. 

"We do not want descriptive writing, " was the warning which themanager of the great syndicate was always flashing to itscorrespondents. "We do not pay you to send us pen-pictures or prosepoems. We want the facts, all the facts, and nothing but the facts. "

And so, when at a presidential convention a theatrical speaker satdown after calling James G. Blaine "a plumed knight, " each of the"special" correspondents present wrote two columns in an effort todescribe how the people who heard the speech behaved in consequence, but the Consolidated Press man telegraphed, "At the conclusion ofthese remarks the cheering lasted sixteen minutes. "

No event of news value was too insignificant to escape thewatchfulness of the Consolidated Press, none so great that it couldnot handle it from its inception up to the moment when it ceased tobe quoted in the news-market of the world. Each night, from thousandsof spots all over the surface of the globe, it received thousands offacts, of cold, accomplished facts. It knew that a tidal wave hadswept through China, a cabinet had changed in Chili, in Texas anexpress train had been held up and robbed, "Spike" Kennedy haddefeated the "Dutchman" in New Orleans, the Oregon had coaled outsideof Rio Janeiro Harbor, the Cape Verde fleet had been seen at anchoroff Cadiz; it had been located in the harbor of San Juan, Porto Rico;it had been sighted steaming slowly past Fortress Monroe; and theNavy Department reported that the St. Paul had discovered the lostsquadron of Spain in the harbor of Santiago. This last fact was theone which sent Keating to Jamaica. Where he was sent was a matter ofindifference to Keating. He had worn the collar of the ConsolidatedPress for so long a time that he was callous. A board meeting--a minedisaster--an Indian uprising--it was all one to Keating. He collectedfacts and his salary. He had no enthusiasms, he held no illusions. The prestige of the mammoth syndicate he represented gained him anaudience where men who wrote for one paper only were repulsed on thethreshold. Senators, governors, the presidents of great trusts andrailroad systems, who fled from the reporter of a local paper as froma leper, would send for Keating and dictate to him whatever it wasthey wanted the people of the United States to believe, for when theytalked to Keating they talked to many millions of readers. Keating, in turn, wrote out what they had said to him and transmitted it, without color or bias, to the clearinghouse of the ConsolidatedPress. His "stories, " as all newspaper writings are called by men whowrite them, were as picturesque reading as the quotations of a stock-ticker. The personal equation appeared no more offensively than itdoes in a page of typewriting in his work. 

Consequently, he was dear to the heart of the Consolidated Press, and, as a "safe" man, was sent to the beautiful harbor of Santiago--to a spot where there were war-ships cleared for action, Cubans inambush, naked marines fighting for a foothold at Guantanamo, palm-trees and coral-reefs--in order that he might look for "facts. "

There was not a newspaper man left at Key West who did not writhewith envy and anger when he heard of it. When the wire was closed forthe night, and they had gathered at Josh Kerry's, Keating was thestorm-centre of their indignation. 

"What a chance!" they protested. "What a story! It's the chance of alifetime. " They shook their heads mournfully and lashed themselveswith pictures of its possibilities. 

"And just fancy its being wasted on old Keating, " said the Journalman. "Why, everything's likely to happen out there, and whatever doeshappen, he'll make it read like a Congressional Record. Why, when Iheard of it I cabled the office that if the paper would send me I'dnot ask for any salary for six months. "

"And Keating's kicking because he has to go, " growled the Sun man. "Yes, he is, I saw him last night, and he was sore because he'd justmoved his wife down here. He said if he'd known this was coming he'dhave let her stay in New York. He says he'll lose money on thisassignment, having to support himself and his wife in two differentplaces. "

Norris, "the star man" of the World, howled with indignation. 

"Good Lord!" he said, "is that all he sees in it? Why, there neverwas such a chance. I tell you, some day soon all of those war-shipswill let loose at each other and there will be the best story thatever came over the wire, and if there isn't, it's a regular loafanyway. It's a picnic, that's what it is, at the expense of theConsolidated Press. Why, he ought to pay them to let him go. Can'tyou see him, confound him, sitting under a palm-tree in whiteflannels, with a glass of Jamaica rum in his fist, while we'redodging yellow fever on this coral-reef, and losing our salaries on acrooked roulette-wheel. "

"I wonder what Jamaica rum is like as a steady drink, " mused the ex-baseball reporter, who had been converted into a war-correspondent bythe purchase of a white yachting-cap. 

"It won't be long before Keating finds out, " said the Journal man. 

"Oh, I didn't know that, " ventured the new reporter, who had justcome South from Boston. "I thought he didn't drink. I never seeKeating in here with the rest of the boys. "

"You wouldn't, " said Norris. "He only comes in here by himself, andhe drinks by himself. He's one of those confidential drunkards, Yougive some men whiskey, and it's like throwing kerosene on a fire, isn't it? It makes them wave their arms about and talk loud and breakthings, but you give it to another man and it's like throwingkerosene on a cork mat. It just soaks in. That's what Keating is. He's a sort of a cork mat. "

"I shouldn't think the C. P. Would stand for that, " said the Bostonman. 

"It wouldn't, if it ever interfered with his work, but he's neverfallen down on a story yet. And the sort of stuff he writes ismachine-made; a man can write C. P. Stuff in his sleep. "

One of the World men looked up and laughed. 

"I wonder if he'll run across Channing out there, " he said. The menat the table smiled, a kindly, indulgent smile. The name seemed toact upon their indignation as a shower upon the close air of asummer-day. "That's so, " said Norris. "He wrote me last month fromPort-au-Prince that he was moving on to Jamaica. He wrote me fromthat club there at the end of the wharf. He said he was at thatmoment introducing the President to a new cocktail, and as he had nomoney to pay his passage to Kingston he was trying to persuade him tosend him on there as his Haitian Consul. He said in case he couldn'tget appointed Consul, he had an offer to go as cook on a fruit-tramp. "

The men around the table laughed. It was the pleased, proud laughthat flutters the family dinner-table when the infant son and heirsays something precocious and impudent. 

"Who is Channing?" asked the Boston man. 

There was a pause, and the correspondents looked at Norris. 

"Channing is a sort of a derelict, " he said. "He drifted into NewYork last Christmas from the Omaha Bee. He's been on pretty nearlyevery paper in the country. "

"What's he doing in Haiti?"

"He went there on the Admiral Decatur to write a filibustering storyabout carrying arms across to Cuba. Then the war broke out and he'sbeen trying to get back to Key West, and now, of course, he'll makefor Kingston. He cabled me yesterday, at my expense, to try and gethim a job on our paper. If the war hadn't come on he had a plan tobeat his way around the world. And he'd have done it, too. I neversaw a man who wouldn't help Charlie along, or lend him a dollar. " Heglanced at the faces about him and winked at the Boston man. "Theyall of them look guilty, don't they?" he said. 

"Charlie Channing, " murmured the baseball reporter, gently, as thoughhe were pronouncing the name of a girl. He raised his glass. "Here'sto Charlie Channing, " he repeated. Norris set down his empty glassand showed it to the Boston man. 

"That's his only enemy, " he said. "Write! Heavens, how that man canwrite, and he'd almost rather do anything else. There isn't a paperin New York that wasn't glad to get him, but they couldn't keep him aweek. It was no use talking to him. Talk! I've talked to him untilthree o'clock in the morning. Why, it was I made him send his firstChinatown story to the International Magazine, and they took it likea flash and wrote him for more, but he blew in the check they senthim and didn't even answer their letter. He said after he'd had thefun of writing a story, he didn't care whether it was published in aSunday paper or in white vellum, or never published at all. And solong as he knew he wrote it, he didn't care whether anyone else knewit or not. Why, when that English reviewer--what's his name--thatfriend of Kipling's--passed through New York, he said to a lot of usat the Press Club, 'You've got a young man here on Park Row--anopium-eater, I should say, by the look of him, who if he would workand leave whiskey alone, would make us all sweat. ' That's just whathe said, and he's the best in England!"

"Charlie's a genius, " growled the baseball reporter, defiantly. "Isay, he's a genius. "

The Boston man shook his head. "My boy, " he began, sententiously, "genius is nothing more than hard work, and a man--"

Norris slapped the table with his hand. 

"Oh, no, it's not, " he jeered, fiercely, "and don't you go offbelieving it is, neither. I've worked. I've worked twelve hours aday. Keating even has worked eighteen hours a day--all his life--butwe never wrote 'The Passing of the Highbinders, ' nor the 'Ships thatNever Came Home, ' nor 'Tales of the Tenderloin, ' and we never will. I'm a better news-gatherer than Charlie, I can collect facts and Ican put them together well enough, too, so that if a man starts toread my story he'll probably follow it to the bottom of the column, and he may turn over the page, too. But I can't say the things, because I can't see the things that Charlie sees. Why, one night wesent him out on a big railroad-story. It was a beat, we'd got it byaccident, and we had it all to ourselves, but Charlie came across ablind beggar on Broadway with a dead dog. The dog had been run over, and the blind beggar couldn't find his way home without him, and wassitting on the curb-stone, weeping over the mongrel. Well, whenCharlie came back to the office he said he couldn't find out anythingabout that railroad deal, but that he'd write them a dog-story. Ofcourse, they were raging crazy, but he sat down just as though it wasno concern of his, and, sure enough, he wrote the dog-story. And thenext day over five hundred people stopped in at the office on theirway downtown and left dimes and dollars to buy that man a new dog. Now, hard work won't do that. "

Keating had been taking breakfast in the ward-room of H. M. S. Indefatigable. As an acquaintance the officers had not found him anundoubted acquisition, but he was the representative of seven hundredpapers, and when the Indefatigable's ice-machine broke, he had loanedthe officers' mess a hundred pounds of it from his own boat. 

The cruiser's gig carried Keating to the wharf, the crew tossed theiroars and the boatswain touched his cap and asked, mechanically, "Shall I return to the ship, sir?"

Channing, stretched on the beach, with his back to a palm-tree, observed the approach of Keating with cheerful approbation. 

"It is gratifying to me, " he said, "to see the press treated withsuch consideration. You came in just like Cleopatra in her barge. Ifthe flag had been flying, and you hadn't steered so badly, I shouldhave thought you were at least an admiral. How many guns does theBritish Navy give a Consolidated Press reporter when he comes overthe side?"

Keating dropped to the sand and, crossing his legs under him, begantossing shells at the water. 

"They gave this one a damned good breakfast, " he said, "and some veryexcellent white wine. Of course, the ice-machine was broken, italways is, but then Chablis never should be iced, if it's the realthing. "

"Chablis! Ice! Hah!" snorted Channing. "Listen to him! Do you knowwhat I had for breakfast?"

Keating turned away uncomfortably and looked toward the ships in theharbor. 

"Well, never mind, " said Channing, yawning luxuriously. "The sun isbright, the sea is blue, and the confidences of this old palm aresoothing. He's a great old gossip, this palm. " He looked up into therustling fronds and smiled. "He whispers me to sleep, " he went on, "or he talks me awake--talks about all sorts of things--things he hasseen--cyclones, wrecks, and strange ships and Cuban refugees andSpanish spies and lovers that meet here on moonlight nights. It'salways moonlight in Port Antonio, isn't it?"

"You ought to know, you've been here longer than I, " said Keating. 

"And how do you like it, now that you have got to know it better?Pretty heavenly? eh?"

"Pretty heavenly!" snorted Keating. "Pretty much the other place!What good am I doing? What's the sense of keeping me here? Cerveraisn't going to come out, and the people at Washington won't letSampson go in. Why, those ships have been there a month now, andthey'll be there just where they are now when you and I are bald. I'mno use here. All I do is to thrash across there every day and eat upmore coal than the whole squadron burns in a month. Why, that tug ofmine's costing the C. P. Six hundred dollars a day, and I'm notsending them news enough to pay for setting it up. Have you seen 'emyet?"

"Seen what? Your stories?"

"No, the ships!"

"Yes, Scudder took me across once in the Iduna. I haven't got a paperyet, so I couldn't write anything, but--"

"Well, you've seen all there is to it, then; you wouldn't see anymore if you went over every day. It's just the same old harbor-mouth, and the same old Morro Castle, and same old ships, drifting up anddown; the Brooklyn, full of smoke-stacks, and the New York, with hertwo bridges, and all the rest of them looking just as they've lookedfor the last four weeks. There's nothing in that. Why don't they sendme to Tampa with the army and Shafter--that's where the story is. "

"Oh, I don't know, " said Channing, shaking his head. "I thought itwas bully!"

"Bully, what was bully?"

"Oh, the picture, " said Channing, doubtfully, "and--and what itmeant. What struck me about it was that it was so hot, and lazy, andpeaceful, that they seemed to be just drifting about, just what youcomplain of. I don't know what I expected to see; I think I expectedthey'd be racing around in circles, tearing up the water and throwingbroadsides at Morro Castle as fast as fire-crackers. 

"But they lay broiling there in the heat just as though they werebecalmed. They seemed to be asleep on their anchor-chains. Itreminded me of a big bull-dog lying in the sun with his head on hispaws and his eyes shut. You think he's asleep, and you try to tiptoepast him, but when you're in reach of his chain--he's at your throat, what? It seemed so funny to think of our being really at war. I meanthe United States, and with such an old-established firm as Spain. Itseems so presumptuous in a young republic, as though we werestrutting around, singing, 'I'm getting a big boy now. ' I felt likesaying, 'Oh, come off, and stop playing you're a world power, and getback into your red sash and knickerbockers, or you'll get spanked!'It seems as though we must be such a lot of amateurs. But when I wentover the side of the New York I felt like kneeling down on her deckand begging every jackey to kick me. I felt about as useless as a flyon a locomotive-engine. Amateurs! Why, they might have been in thebusiness since the days of the ark; all of them might have beendescended from bloody pirates; they twisted those eight-inch gunsaround for us just as though they were bicycles, and the whole shipmoved and breathed and thought, too, like a human being, and all thecaptains of the other war-ships about her were watching for her togive the word. All of them stripped and eager and ready--like a lotof jockeys holding in the big race-horses, and each of them with hiseyes on the starter. And I liked the way they all talk about Sampson, and the way the ships move over the stations like parts of onemachine, just as he had told them to do. 

"Scudder introduced me to him, and he listened while we did thetalking, but it was easy to see who was the man in the Conning Tower. Keating--my boy!" Channing cried, sitting upright in his enthusiasm, "he's put a combination-lock on that harbor that can't be picked--andit'll work whether Sampson's asleep in his berth, or fifteen milesaway, or killed on the bridge. He doesn't have to worry, he knows histrap will work--he ought to, he set it. "

Keating shrugged his shoulders, tolerantly. 

"Oh, I see that side of it, " he assented. "I see all there is in itfor YOU, the sort of stuff you write, Sunday-special stuff, butthere's no NEWS in it. I'm not paid to write mail-letters, and I'mnot down here to interview palm-trees either. "

"Why, you old fraud!" laughed Channing. "You know you're having thetime of your life here. You're the pet of Kingston society--you knowyou are. I only wish I were half as popular. I don't seem to belong, do I? I guess it's my clothes. That English Colonel at Kingstonalways scowls at me as though he'd like to put me in irons, andwhenever I meet our Consul he sees something very peculiar on thehorizon-line. "

Keating frowned for a moment in silence, and then coughed, consciously. 

"Channing, " he began, uncomfortably, "you ought to brace up. "

"Brace up?" asked Channing. 

"Well, it isn't fair to the rest of us, " protested Keating, launchinginto his grievance. "There's only a few of us here, and we--we thinkyou ought to see that and not give the crowd a bad name. All theother correspondents have some regard for--for their position and forthe paper, but you loaf around here looking like an old tramp--likeany old beach-comber, and it queers the rest of us. Why, thoseEnglish artillerymen at the Club asked me about you, and when I toldthem you were a New York correspondent they made all sorts of jokesabout American newspapers, and what could I say?"

Channing eyed the other man with keen delight. 

"I see, by Jove! I'm sorry, " he said. But the next moment he laughed, and then apologized, remorsefully. 

"Indeed, I beg your pardon, " he begged, "but it struck me as a sortof--I had no idea you fellows were such swells--I knew I was a socialoutcast, but I didn't know my being a social outcast was hurtinganyone else. Tell me some more. "

"Well, that's all, " said Keating, suspiciously. "The fellows asked meto speak to you about it and to tell you to take a brace. Now, forinstance, we have a sort of mess-table at the hotels and we'd like toask you to belong, but--well--you see how it is--we have the officersto lunch whenever they're on shore, and you're so disreputable"--Keating scowled at Channing, and concluded, impotently, "Why don'tyou get yourself some decent clothes and--and a new hat?"

Channing removed his hat to his knee and stroked it with affectionatepity. 

"It is a shocking bad hat, " he said. "Well, go on. "

"Oh, it's none of my business, " exclaimed Keating, impatiently. "I'mjust telling you what they're saying. Now, there's the Cubanrefugees, for instance. No one knows what they're doing here, orwhether they're real Cubans or Spaniards. "

"Well, what of it?"

"Why, the way you go round with them and visit them, it's no wonderthey say you're a spy. "

Channing stared incredulously, and then threw back his head andlaughed with a shout of delight. 

"They don't, do they?" he asked. 

"Yes, they do, since you think it's so funny. If it hadn't been forus the day you went over to Guantanamo the marines would have had youarrested and court-martialed. "

Channing's face clouded with a quick frown, "Oh, " he exclaimed, in ahurt voice, "they couldn't have thought that. "

"Well, no, " Keating admitted grudgingly, "not after the fight, perhaps, but before that, when you were snooping around the camp likea Cuban after rations. " Channing recognized the picture with a laugh. 

"I do, " he said, "I do. But you should have had me court-martialedand shot; it would have made a good story. 'Our reporter shot as aspy, his last words were--' what were my last words, Keating?"

Keating turned upon him with impatience, "But why do you do it?" hedemanded. "Why don't you act like the rest of us? Why do you hang outwith all those filibusters and runaway Cubans?"

"They have been very kind to me, " said Channing, soberly. "They are avery courteous race, and they have ideas of hospitality which makethe average New Yorker look like a dog hiding a bone. "

"Oh, I suppose you mean that for us, " demanded Keating. "That's aslap at me, eh?"

Channing gave a sigh and threw himself back against the trunk of thepalm, with his hands clasped behind his head. 

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of you at all, Keating, " he said. "I don'tconsider you in the least. " He stretched himself and yawned wearily. "I've got troubles of my own. " He sat up suddenly and adjusted theobjectionable hat to his head. 

"Why don't you wire the C. P. , " he asked, briskly, "and see if theydon't want an extra man? It won't cost you anything to wire, and Ineed the job, and I haven't the money to cable. "

"The Consolidated Press, " began Keating, jealously. "Why--well, youknow what the Consolidated Press is? They don't want descriptivewriters--and I've got all the men I need. "

Keating rose and stood hesitating in some embarrassment. "I'll tellyou what I could do, Channing, " he said, "I could take you on as astoker, or steward, say. They're always deserting and mutinying; Ihave to carry a gun on me to make them mind. How would you like that?Forty dollars a month, and eat with the crew?"

For a moment Channing stood in silence, smoothing the sand with thesole of his shoe. When he raised his head his face was flushing. 

"Oh, thank you, " he said. "I think I'll keep on trying for a paper--I'll try a little longer. I want to see something of this war, ofcourse, and if I'm not too lazy I'd like to write something about it, but--well--I'm much obliged to you, anyway. "

"Of course, if it were my money, I'd take you on at once, " saidKeating, hurriedly. 

Channing smiled and nodded. "You're very kind, " he answered. "Well, good-by. "

A half-hour later, in the smoking-room of the hotel, Keatingaddressed himself to a group of correspondents. 

"There is no doing anything with that man Channing, " he said, in atone of offended pride. "I offered him a good job and he wouldn'ttake it. Because he got a story in the International Magazine, he'sstuck on himself, and he won't hustle for news--he wants to writepipe-dreams. What the public wants just now is news. "

"That's it, " said one of the group, "and we must give it to them--even if we have to fake it. "

Great events followed each other with great rapidity. The army ceasedbeating time, shook itself together, adjusted its armor and moved, and, to the delight of the flotilla of press-boats at Port Antonio, moved, not as it had at first intended, to the north coast of Cuba, but to Santiago, where its transports were within reach of theirmegaphones. 

"Why, everything's coming our way now!" exclaimed the World managerin ecstasy. "We've got the transports to starboard at Siboney, andthe war-ships to port at Santiago, and all we'll need to do is to siton the deck with a field-glass, and take down the news with bothhands. "

Channing followed these events with envy. Once or twice, as a specialfavor, the press-boats carried him across to Siboney and Daiquiri, and he was able to write stories of what he saw there; of the landingof the army, of the wounded after the Guasimas fight, and of thefever-camp at Siboney. His friends on the press-boats sent this workhome by mail on the chance that the Sunday editor might take it atspace rates. But mail matter moved slowly and the army moved quickly, and events crowded so closely upon each other that Channing'sstories, when they reached New York, were ancient history and wereunpublished, and, what was of more importance to him, unpaid for. Hehad no money now, and he had become a beach-comber in the real senseof the word. He slept the warm nights away among the bananas andcocoanuts on the Fruit Company's wharf, and by calling alternately onhis Cuban exiles and the different press-boats, he was able to obtaina meal a day without arousing any suspicions in the minds of hishosts that it was his only one. 

He was sitting on the stringer of the pier-head one morning, waitingfor a press-boat from the "front, " when the Three Friends ran in andlowered her dingy, and the "World" manager came ashore, clasping aprecious bundle of closely written cable-forms. Channing scrambled tohis feet and hailed him. 

"Have you heard from the chief about me yet?" he asked. The "World"man frowned and stammered, and then, taking Channing by the arm, hurried with him toward the cable-office. 

"Charlie, I think they're crazy up there, " he began, "they think theyknow it all. Here I am on the spot, but they think--"

"You mean they won't have me, " said Channing. "But why?" he asked, patiently. "They used to give me all the space I wanted. "

"Yes, I know, confound them, and so they should now, " said the"World" man, with sympathetic indignation. "But here's their cable;you can see it's not my fault. " He read the message aloud. "Channing, no. Not safe, take reliable man from Siboney. " He folded thecablegram around a dozen others and stuck it back in his hip-pocket. 

"What queered you, Charlie, " he explained, importantly, "was thatlast break of yours, New Year's, when you didn't turn up for a week. It was once too often, and the chief's had it in for you ever since. You remember?"

Channing screwed up his lips in an effort of recollection. 

"Yes, I remember, " he answered, slowly. "It began on New Year's evein Perry's drug-store, and I woke up a week later in a hack inBoston. So I didn't have such a run for my money, did I? Not goodenough to have to pay for it like this. I tell you, " he burst outsuddenly, "I feel like hell being left out of this war, with all therest of the boys working so hard. If it weren't playing it low downon the fellows that have been in it from the start, I'd like toenlist. But they enlisted for glory, and I'd only do it because Ican't see the war any other way, and it doesn't seem fair to them. What do you think?"

"Oh, don't do that, " protested the World manager. "You stick to yourown trade. We'll get you something to do. Have you tried theConsolidated Press yet?"

Channing smiled grimly at the recollection. 

"Yes, I tried it first. "

"It would be throwing pearls to swine to have you write for them, Iknow, but they're using so many men now. I should think you could geton their boat. "

"No, I saw Keating, " Channing explained. "He said I could come alongas a stoker, and I guess I'll take him up, it seems--"

"Keating said--what?" exclaimed the "World" man. "Keating? Why, hestands to lose his own job, if he isn't careful. If it wasn't thathe's just married, the C. P. Boys would have reported him a dozentimes. "

"Reported him, what for?"

"Why--you know. His old complaint. "

"Oh, that, " said Channing. "My old complaint?" he added. 

"Well, yes, but Keating hasn't been sober for two weeks, and he'dhave fallen down on the Guasimas story if those men hadn't pulled himthrough. They had to, because they're in the syndicate. He ought togo shoot himself; he's only been married three months and he'shandling the biggest piece of news the country's had in thirty years, and he can't talk straight. There's a time for everything, I say, "growled the "World" man. 

"It takes it out of a man, this boat-work, " Channing ventured, inextenuation. "It's very hard on him. "

"You bet it is, " agreed the "World" manager, with enthusiasm. "Sloshing about in those waves, sea-sick mostly, and wet all thetime, and with a mutinous crew, and so afraid you'll miss somethingthat you can't write what you have got. " Then he added, as an after-thought, "And our cruisers thinking you're a Spanish torpedo-boat andchucking shells at you. "

"No wonder Keating drinks, " Channing said, gravely. "You make it seemalmost necessary. "

Many thousand American soldiers had lost themselves in a jungle, andhad broken out of it at the foot of San Juan Hill. Not wishing toreturn into the jungle, they took the hill. On the day they did thisChanning had the good fortune to be in Siboney. The "World" man hadcarried him there and asked him to wait around the waterfront whilehe went up to the real front, thirteen miles inland. Channing's dutywas to signal the press-boat when the first despatch-rider rode inwith word that the battle was on. The World man would have liked toask Channing to act as his despatch-rider, but he did not do so, because the despatch-riders were either Jamaica negroes or newsboysfrom Park Row--and he remembered that Keating had asked Channing tobe his stoker. 

Channing tramped through the damp, ill-smelling sand of the beach, sick with self-pity. On the other side of those glaring, inscrutablemountains, a battle, glorious, dramatic, and terrible, was goingforward, and he was thirteen miles away. He was at the base, with thesupplies, the sick, and the skulkers. 

It was cruelly hot. The heat-waves flashed over the sea until thetransports in the harbor quivered like pictures on a biograph. Fromthe refuse of company kitchens, from reeking huts, from thousands ofempty cans, rose foul, enervating odors, which deadened the senseslike a drug. The atmosphere steamed with a heavy, moist humidity. Channing staggered and sank down suddenly on a pile of railroad-tiesin front of the commissary's depot. There were some Cubans seatednear him, dividing their Government rations, and the sight remindedhim that he had had nothing to eat. He walked over to the wide doorof the freight-depot, where a white-haired, kindly faced, andperspiring officer was, with his own hands, serving out canned beefto a line of Cubans. The officer's flannel shirt was open at thethroat. The shoulder-straps of a colonel were fastened to it bysafety-pins. Channing smiled at him uneasily. 

"Could I draw on you for some rations?" he asked. "I'm from the ThreeFriends. I'm not one of their regular accredited correspondents, " headded, conscientiously, "I'm just helping them for to-day. "

"Haven't you got a correspondent's pass?" asked the officer. He wasbusily pouring square hardtack down the throat of a saddle-bag aCuban soldier held open before him. 

"No, " said Channing, turning away, "I'm just helping. "

The officer looked after him, and what he saw caused him to reachunder the counter for a tin cup and a bottle of lime-juice. 

"Here, " he said, "drink this. What's the matter with you--fever? Comein here out of that sun. You can lie down on my cot, if you like. "

Channing took the tin cup and swallowed a warm mixture of boiledwater and acrid lime-juice. 

"Thank you, " he said, "but I must keep watch for the first news fromthe front. "

A man riding a Government mule appeared on the bridge of the lowertrail, and came toward them at a gallop. He was followed andsurrounded by a hurrying mob of volunteers, hospital stewards, andCubans. 

The Colonel vaulted the counter and ran to meet him. 

"This looks like news from the front now, " he cried. 

The man on the mule was from civil life. His eyes bulged from theirsockets and his face was purple. The sweat ran over it and glistenedon the cords of his thick neck. 

"They're driving us back!" he shrieked. 

"Chaffee's killed, an' Roosevelt's killed, an' the whole army'sbeaten!" He waved his arms wildly toward the glaring, inscrutablemountains. The volunteers and stevedores and Cubans heard him, open-mouthed and with panic-stricken eyes. In the pitiless sunlight he wasa hideous and awful spectacle. 

"They're driving us into the sea!" he foamed. 

"We've got to get out of here, they're just behind me. The army'srunning for its life. They're running away!"

Channing saw the man dimly, through a cloud that came between him andthe yellow sunlight. The man in the saddle swayed, the group abouthim swayed, like persons on the floor of a vast ball-room. Inside heburned with a mad, fierce hatred for this shrieking figure in thesaddle. He raised the tin cup and hurled it so that it hit the man'spurple face. 

"You lie!" Channing shouted, staggering. "You lie! You're a damnedcoward. You lie!" He heard his voice repeating this in differentplaces at greater distances. Then the cloud closed about him, shutting out the man in the saddle, and the glaring, inscrutablemountains, and the ground at his feet rose and struck him in theface. 

Channing knew he was on a boat because it lifted and sank with him, and he could hear the rush of her engines. When he opened his eyes hewas in the wheel-house of the Three Friends, and her captain was atthe wheel, smiling down at him. Channing raised himself on his elbow. 

"The despatch-rider?" he asked. 

"That's all right, " said the captain, soothingly. "Don't you worry. He come along same time you fell, and brought you out to us. Whatailed you--sunstroke?"

Channing sat up. "I guess so, " he said. 

When the Three Friends reached Port Antonio, Channing sought out thepile of coffee-bags on which he slept at night and dropped upon them. Before this he had been careful to avoid the place in the daytime, sothat no one might guess that it was there that he slept at night, butthis day he felt that if he should drop in the gutter he would notcare whether anyone saw him there or not. His limbs were hot andheavy and refused to support him, his bones burned like quicklime. 

The next morning, with the fever still upon him, he hurriedrestlessly between the wharves and the cable-office, seeking fornews. There was much of it; it was great and trying news, thesituation outside of Santiago was grim and critical. The men who hadclimbed San Juan Hill were clinging to it like sailors shipwrecked ona reef unwilling to remain, but unable to depart. If they attackedthe city Cervera promised to send it crashing about their ears. Theywould enter Santiago only to find it in ruins. If they abandoned thehill, 2, 000 killed and wounded would have been sacrificed in vain. 

The war-critics of the press-boats and of the Twitchell House saw buttwo courses left open. Either Sampson must force the harbor anddestroy the squadron, and so make it possible for the army to enterthe city, or the army must be reinforced with artillery and troops insufficient numbers to make it independent of Sampson and indifferentto Cervera. 

On the night of July 2d, a thousand lies, a thousand rumors, athousand prophecies rolled through the streets of Port Antonio, werefiled at the cable-office, and flashed to the bulletin-boards of NewYork City. 

That morning, so they told, the batteries on Morro Castle had sunkthree of Sampson's ships; the batteries on Morro Castle hadsurrendered to Sampson; General Miles with 8, 000 reinforcements hadsailed from Charleston; eighty guns had started from Tampa Bay, theywould occupy the mountains opposite Santiago and shell the Spanishfleet; the authorities at Washington had at last consented to allowSampson to run the forts and mines, and attack the Spanish fleet; thearmy had not been fed for two days, the Spaniards had cut it off fromits base at Siboney; the army would eat its Fourth of July dinner inthe Governor's Palace; the army was in full retreat; the army was toattack at daybreak. 

When Channing turned in under the fruit-shed on the night of July 2d, there was but one press-boat remaining in the harbor. That was theConsolidated Press boat, and Keating himself was on the wharf, signalling for his dingy. Channing sprang to his feet and ran towardhim, calling him by name. The thought that he must for another dayremain so near the march of great events and yet not see and feelthem for himself, was intolerable. He felt if it would pay hispassage to the coast of Cuba, there was no sacrifice to which hewould not stoop. Keating watched him approach, but without sign ofrecognition. His eyes were heavy and bloodshot. 

"Keating, " Channing begged, as he halted, panting, "won't you take mewith you? I'll not be in the way, and I'll stoke or wait on table, oranything you want, if you'll only take me. "

Keating's eyes opened and closed, sleepily. He removed an unlit cigarfrom his mouth and shook the wet end of it at Channing, as though itwere an accusing finger. 

"I know your game, " he murmured, thickly. "You haven't got a boat andyou want to steal a ride on mine--for your paper. You can't do it, you see, you can't do it. "

One of the crew of the dingy climbed up the gangway of the wharf andtook Keating by the elbow. He looked at him and then at Channing andwinked. He was apparently accustomed to this complication. "I haven'tgot a paper, Keating, " Channing argued, soothingly. "Who have you gotto help you?" he asked. It came to him that there might be on theboat some Philip sober, to whom he could appeal from Philip drunk. 

"I haven't got anyone to help me, " Keating answered, with dignity. "Idon't need anyone to help me. " He placed his hand heavily andfamiliarly on the shoulder of the deck-hand. "You see that man?" heasked. "You see tha' man, do you? Well, tha' man he's too good for mean' you. Tha' man--used to be the best reporter in New York City, an'he was too good to hustle for news, an' now he's--now he can't get ajob--see? Nobody'll have him, see? He's got to come and be a stoker. "

He stamped his foot with indignation. 

"You come an' be a stoker, " he commanded. "How long you think I'mgoing to wait for a stoker? You stoker, come on board and be astoker. "

Channing smiled, guiltily, at his good fortune, He jumped into thebow of the dingy, and Keating fell heavily in the stern. 

The captain of the press-boat helped Keating safely to a bunk in thecabin and received his instructions to proceed to Santiago Harbor. Then he joined Channing. "Mr. Keating is feeling bad to-night. Thatbombardment off Morro, " he explained, tactfully, "was too exciting. We always let him sleep going across, and when we get there he'sfresh as a daisy. What's this he tells me of your doing stoking?"

"I thought there might be another fight tomorrow, so I said I'd comeas a stoker. "

The captain grinned. 

"Our Sam, that deck-hand, was telling me. He said Mr. Keating put iton you, sort of to spite you--is that so?"

"Oh, I wanted to come, " said Channing. 

The captain laughed, comprehendingly. "I guess we'll be in a badway, " he said, "when we need you in the engine-room. " He settledhimself for conversation, with his feet against the rail and histhumbs in his suspenders. The lamps of Port Antonio were sinking intothe water, the moonlight was flooding the deck. 

"That was quite something of a bombardment Sampson put up againstMorro Castle this morning, " he began, critically. He spoke ofbombardments from the full experience of a man who had seen shellsstrike off Coney Island from the proving-grounds at Sandy Hook. ButChanning heard him, eagerly. He begged the tugboat-captain to tellhim what it looked like, and as the captain told him he filled it inand saw it as it really was. 

"Perhaps they'll bombard again to-morrow, " he hazarded, hopefully. 

"We can't tell till we see how they're placed on the station, " thecaptain answered. "If there's any firing we ought to hear it abouteight o'clock to-morrow morning. We'll hear 'em before we see 'em. "

Channing's conscience began to tweak him. It was time, he thought, that Keating should be aroused and brought up to the reviving air ofthe sea, but when he reached the foot of the companion-ladder, hefound that Keating was already awake and in the act of drawing thecork from a bottle. His irritation against Channing had evaporatedand he greeted him with sleepy good-humor. 

"Why, it's ol' Charlie Channing, " he exclaimed, drowsily. Channingadvanced upon him swiftly. 

"Here, you've had enough of that!" he commanded. "We'll be off Morroby breakfast-time. You don't want that. "

Keating, giggling foolishly, pushed him from him and retreated withthe bottle toward his berth. He lurched into it, rolled over with hisface to the ship's side, and began breathing heavily. 

"You leave me 'lone, " he murmured, from the darkness of the bunk. "You mind your own business, you leave me 'lone. "

Channing returned to the bow and placed the situation before thecaptain. That gentleman did not hesitate. He disappeared down thecompanion-way, and, when an instant later he returned, hurled abottle over the ship's side. 

The next morning when Channing came on deck the land was just insight, a rampart of dark green mountains rising in heavy massesagainst the bright, glaring blue of the sky. He strained his eyes forthe first sight of the ships, and his ears for the faintest echoes ofdistant firing, but there was no sound save the swift rush of thewaters at the bow. The sea lay smooth and flat before him, the sunflashed upon it; the calm and hush of early morning hung over thewhole coast of Cuba. 

An hour later the captain came forward and stood at his elbow. 

"How's Keating?" Channing asked. "I tried to wake him, but Icouldn't. "

The captain kept his binoculars to his eyes, and shut his lipsgrimly. "Mr. Keating's very bad, " he said. "He had another bottlehidden somewhere, and all last night--" he broke off with a relievedsigh. "It's lucky for him, " he added, lowering the glasses, "thatthere'll be no fight to-day. "

Channing gave a gasp of disappointment. "What do you mean?" heprotested. 

"You can look for yourself, " said the captain, handing him theglasses. "They're at their same old stations. There'll be nobombardment to-day. That's the Iowa, nearest us, the Oregon's tostarboard of her, and the next is the Indiana. That little fellowclose under the land is the Gloucester. "

He glanced up at the mast to see that the press-boat's signal wasconspicuous, they were drawing within range. 

With the naked eye, Channing could see the monster, mouse-coloredwar-ships, basking in the sun, solemn and motionless in a greatcrescent, with its one horn resting off the harbor-mouth. They madegreat blots on the sparkling, glancing surface of the water. Aboveeach superstructure, their fighting-tops, giant davits, funnels, andgibbet-like yards twisted into the air, fantastic andincomprehensible, but the bulk below seemed to rest solidly on thebottom of the ocean, like an island of lead. The muzzles of theirguns peered from the turrets as from ramparts of rock. 

Channing gave a sigh of admiration. 

"Don't tell me they move, " he said. "They're not ships, they'refortresses!"

On the shore there was no sign of human life nor of human habitation. Except for the Spanish flag floating over the streaked walls ofMorro, and the tiny blockhouse on every mountain-top, the squadronmight have been anchored off a deserted coast. The hills rose fromthe water's edge like a wall, their peaks green and glaring in thesun, their valleys dark with shadows. Nothing moved upon the whitebeach at their feet, no smoke rose from their ridges, not even a palmstirred. The great range slept in a blue haze of heat. But only a fewmiles distant, masked by its frowning front, lay a gayly colored, red-roofed city, besieged by encircling regiments, a broad bayholding a squadron of great war-ships, and gliding cat-like throughits choked undergrowth and crouched among the fronds of itsmotionless palms were the ragged patriots of the Cuban army, silent, watchful, waiting. But the great range gave no sign. It frowned inthe sunlight, grim and impenetrable. 

"It's Sunday, " exclaimed the captain. He pointed with his finger atthe decks of the battleships, where hundreds of snow-white figureshad gone to quarters. "It's church service, " he said, "or it'sgeneral inspection. "

Channing looked at his watch. It was thirty minutes past nine. "It'schurch service, " he said. "I can see them carrying out the chaplain'sreading-desk on the Indiana. " The press-boat pushed her way nearerinto the circle of battleships until their leaden-hued hulls toweredhigh above her. On the deck of each, the ship's company stood, rangedin motionless ranks. The calm of a Sabbath morning hung about them, the sun fell upon them like a benediction, and so still was the airthat those on the press-boat could hear, from the stripped and nakeddecks, the voices of the men answering the roll-call in risingmonotone, "one, two, three, FOUR; one, two, three, FOUR. " The white-clad sailors might have been a chorus of surpliced choir-boys. 

But, up above them, the battle-flags, slumbering at the mast-heads, stirred restlessly and whimpered in their sleep. 

Out through the crack in the wall of mountains, where the sea runs into meet the waters of Santiago Harbor, and from behind the shield ofMorro Castle, a great, gray ship, like a great, gray rat, stuck outher nose and peered about her, and then struck boldly for the opensea. High before her she bore the gold and blood-red flag of Spain, and, like a fugitive leaping from behind his prison-walls, she racedforward for her freedom, to give battle, to meet her death. 

A shell from the Iowa shrieked its warning in a shrill crescendo, aflutter of flags painted their message against the sky. "The enemy'sships are coming out, " they signalled, and the ranks of white-cladfigures which the moment before stood motionless on the decks, brokeinto thousands of separate beings who flung themselves, panting, downthe hatchways, or sprang, cheering, to the fighting-tops. 

Heavily, but swiftly, as islands slip into the water when a volcanoshakes the ocean-bed, the great battle-ships buried their bows in thesea, their sides ripped apart with flame and smoke, the thunder oftheir guns roared and beat against the mountains, and, from theshore, the Spanish forts roared back at them, until the air betweenwas split and riven. The Spanish war-ships were already scuddingclouds of smoke, pierced with flashes of red flame, and as they fled, fighting, their batteries rattled with unceasing, feverish fury. Butthe guns of the American ships, straining in pursuit, answeredsteadily, carefully, with relentless accuracy, with cruelpersistence. At regular intervals they boomed above the hurricane ofsound, like great bells tolling for the dead. 

It seemed to Channing that he had lived through many years; that thestrain of the spectacle would leave its mark upon his nerves forever. He had been buffeted and beaten by a storm of all the great emotions;pride of race and country, pity for the dead, agony for the dying, who clung to blistering armor-plates, or sank to suffocation in thesea; the lust of the hunter, when the hunted thing is a fellow-man;the joys of danger and of excitement, when the shells lashed thewaves about him, and the triumph of victory, final, overwhelming andcomplete. 

Four of the enemy's squadron had struck their colors, two were on thebeach, broken and burning, two had sunk to the bottom of the sea, twowere in abject flight. Three battle-ships were hammering them withthirteen-inch guns. The battle was won. 

"It's all over, " Channing said. His tone questioned his own words. 

The captain of the tugboat was staring at the face of his silverwatch, as though it were a thing bewitched. He was pale and panting. He looked at Channing, piteously, as though he doubted his ownsenses, and turned the face of the watch toward him. 

"Twenty minutes!" Channing said. "Good God! Twenty minutes!"

He had been to hell and back again in twenty minutes. He had seen anempire, which had begun with Christopher Columbus and which hadspread over two continents, wiped off the map in twenty minutes. Thecaptain gave a sudden cry of concern. "Mr. Keating, " he gasped. "Oh, Lord, but I forgot Mr. Keating. Where is Mr. Keating?"

"I went below twice, " Channing answered. "He's insensible. See whatyou can do with him, but first--take me to the Iowa. The ConsolidatedPress will want the 'facts. '"

In the dark cabin the captain found Keating on the floor, whereChanning had dragged him, and dripping with the water which Channinghad thrown in his face. He was breathing heavily, comfortably. He wasnot concerned with battles. 

With a megaphone, Channing gathered his facts from an officer of theIowa, who looked like a chimney-sweep, and who was surrounded by acrew of half-naked pirates, with bodies streaked with sweat andpowder. 

Then he ordered all steam for Port Antonio, and, going forward to thechart-room, seated himself at the captain's desk, and, pushing thecaptain's charts to the floor, spread out his elbows, and began towrite the story of his life. 

In the joy of creating it, he was lost to all about him. He did notknow that the engines, driven to the breaking-point, were filling theship with their groans and protests, that the deck beneath his feetwas quivering like the floor of a planing-mill, nor that his feverwas rising again, and feeding on his veins. The turmoil of leapingengines and of throbbing pulses was confused with the story he waswriting, and while his mind was inflamed with pictures of warringbattle-ships, his body was swept by the fever, which overran him likean army of tiny mice, touching his hot skin with cold, tingling tapsof their scampering feet. 

From time to time the captain stopped at the door of the chart-roomand observed him in silent admiration. To the man who with difficultycomposed a letter to his family, the fact that Channing was writingsomething to be read by millions of people, and more rapidly than hecould have spoken the same words, seemed a superhuman effort. He evenhesitated to interrupt it by an offer of food. 

But the fever would not let Channing taste of the food when theyplaced it at his elbow, and even as he pushed it away, his mind wasstill fixed upon the paragraph before him. He wrote, sprawling acrossthe desk, covering page upon page with giant hieroglyphics, lightingcigarette after cigarette at the end of the last one, but with histhoughts far away, and, as he performed the act, staringuncomprehendingly at the captain's colored calendar pinned on thewall before him. For many months later the Battle of Santiago wasassociated in his mind with a calendar for the month of July, illuminated by a colored picture of six white kittens in a basket. 

At three o'clock Channing ceased writing and stood up, shivering andshaking with a violent chill. He cursed himself for this weakness, and called aloud for the captain. 

"I can't stop now, " he cried. He seized the rough fist of the captainas a child clings to the hand of his nurse. 

"Give me something, " he begged. "Medicine, quinine, give me somethingto keep my head straight until it's finished. Go, quick, " hecommanded. His teeth were chattering, and his body jerked with sharp, uncontrollable shudders. The captain ran, muttering, to his medicine-chest. 

"We've got one drunken man on board, " he said to the mate, "and nowwe've got a crazy one. You mark my words, he'll go off his head atsunset. "

But at sunset Channing called to him and addressed him sanely. Heheld in his hand a mass of papers carefully numbered and arranged, and he gave them up to the captain as though it hurt him to part withthem. 

"There's the story, " he said. "You've got to do the rest. I can't--I--I'm going to be very ill. " He was swaying as he spoke. His eyesburned with the fever, and his eyelids closed of themselves. Helooked as though he had been heavily drugged. 

"You put that on the wire at Port Antonio, " he commanded, faintly;"pay the tolls to Kingston. From there they are to send it by way ofPanama, you understand, by the Panama wire. "

"Panama!" gasped the captain. "Good Lord, that's two dollars a word. "He shook out the pages in his hand until he found the last one. "Andthere's sixty-eight pages here, " he expostulated. "Why the tolls willbe five thousand dollars!" Channing dropped feebly to the bench ofthe chart-room and fell in a heap, shivering and trembling. 

"I guess it's worth it, " he murmured, drowsily. 

The captain was still staring at the last page. 

"But--but, look here, " he cried, "you've--you've signed Mr. Keating'sname to it! 'James R. Keating. ' You've signed his name to it!"

Channing raised his head from his folded arms and stared at himdully. 

"You don't want to get Keating in trouble, do you?" he asked withpatience. "You don't want the C. P. To know why he couldn't write thebest story of the war? Do you want him to lose his job? Of course youdon't. Well, then, let it go as his story. I won't tell, and see youdon't tell, and Keating won't remember. "

His head sank back again upon his crossed arms. "It's not a badstory, " he murmured. 

But the captain shook his head; his loyalty to his employer was stilluppermost. "It doesn't seem right!" he protested. "It's a sort of aliberty, isn't it, signing another man's name to it, it's a sort offorgery. "

Channing made no answer. His eyes were shut and he was shiveringviolently, hugging himself in his arms. 

A quarter of an hour later, when the captain returned with freshquinine, Channing sat upright and saluted him. 

"Your information, sir, " he said, addressing the open door politely, "is of the greatest value. Tell the executive officer to proceedunder full steam to Panama. He will first fire a shot across herbows, and then sink her!" He sprang upright and stood for a moment, sustained by the false strength of the fever. "To Panama, you hearme!" he shouted. He beat the floor with his foot. "Faster, faster, faster, " he cried. "We've got a great story! We want a clear wire, wewant the wire clear from Panama to City Hall. It's the greatest storyever written--full of facts, facts, facts, facts for the ConsolidatedPress--and Keating wrote it. I tell you, Keating wrote it. I saw himwrite it. I was a stoker on the same ship. "

The mate and crew came running forward and stood gaping stupidlythrough the doors and windows of the chart-room. Channing welcomedthem joyously, and then crumpled up in a heap and pitched forwardinto the arms of the captain. His head swung weakly from shoulder toshoulder. 

"I beg your pardon, " he muttered, "I beg your pardon, captain, butyour engine-room is too hot. I'm only a stoker and I know my place, sir, but I tell you, your engine-room is too hot. It's a burninghell, sir, it's a hell!"

The captain nodded to the crew and they closed in on him, and borehim, struggling feebly, to a bunk in the cabin below. In the berthopposite, Keating was snoring peacefully. 

After the six weeks' siege the Fruit Company's doctor told Channinghe was cured, and that he might walk abroad. In this first walk hefound that, during his illness, Port Antonio had reverted to heroriginal condition of complete isolation from the world, the press-boats had left her wharves, the correspondents had departed from theveranda of her only hotel, the war was over, and the PeaceCommissioners had sailed for Paris. Channing expressed his greatgratitude to the people of the hotel and to the Fruit Company'sdoctor. He made it clear to them that if they ever hoped to be paidthose lesser debts than that of gratitude which he still owed them, they must return him to New York and Newspaper Row. It was eitherthat, he said, or, if they preferred, he would remain and work outhis indebtedness, checking bunches of bananas at twenty dollars amonth. The Fruit Company decided it would be paid more quickly ifChanning worked at his own trade, and accordingly sent him North inone of its steamers. She landed him in Boston, and he borrowed fivedollars from the chief engineer to pay his way to New York. 

It was late in the evening of the same day when he stepped out of thesmoking-car into the roar and riot of the Grand Central Station. Hehad no baggage to detain him, and, as he had no money either, he madehis way to an Italian restaurant where he knew they would trust himto pay later for what he ate. It was a place where the newspaper menwere accustomed to meet, men who knew him, and who, until he foundwork, would lend him money to buy a bath, clean clothes, and a hallbedroom. 

Norris, the World man, greeted him as he entered the door of therestaurant, and hailed him with a cry of mingled fright and pleasure. 

"Why, we didn't know but you were dead, " he exclaimed. "The boys saidwhen they left Kingston you weren't expected to live. Did you everget the money and things we sent you by the Red Cross boat?"

Channing glanced at himself and laughed. 

"Do I look it?" he asked. He was wearing the same clothes in which hehad slept under the fruit-sheds at Port Antonio. They had been soakedand stained by the night-dews and by the sweat of the fever. 

"Well, it's great luck, your turning up here just now, " Norrisassured him, heartily. "That is, if you're as hungry as the rest ofthe boys are who have had the fever. You struck it just right; we'regiving a big dinner here to-night, " he explained, "one of Maria'sbest. You come in with me. It's a celebration for old Keating, afarewell blow-out. "

Channing started and laughed. 

"Keating?" he asked. "That's funny, " he said. "I haven't seen himsince--since before I was ill. "

"Yes, old Jimmie Keating. You've got nothing against him, have you?"

Channing shook his head vehemently, and Norris glanced backcomplacently toward the door of the dining-room, from whence came thesound of intimate revelry. 

"You might have had, once, " Norris said, laughing; "we were all upagainst him once. But since he's turned out such a wonder and a war-hero, we're going to recognize it. They're always saying we newspapermen have it in for each other, and so we're just giving him thissubscription-dinner to show it's not so. He's going abroad, you know. He sails to-morrow morning. "

"No, I didn't know, " said Channing. 

"Of course not, how could you? Well, the Consolidated Press's sendinghim and his wife to Paris. He's to cover the Peace negotiationsthere. It's really a honeymoon-trip at the expense of the C. P. It'stheir reward for his work, for his Santiago story, and the beat andall that--"

Channing's face expressed his bewilderment. 

Norris drew back dramatically. 

"Don't tell me, " he exclaimed, "that you haven't heard about that!"

Channing laughed a short, frightened laugh, and moved nearer to thestreet. 

"No, " he said. "No, I hadn't. "

"Yes, but, good Lord! it was the story of the war. You never readsuch a story! And he got it through by Panama a day ahead of all theother stories! And nobody read them, anyway. Why, Captain Mahan saidit was 'naval history, ' and the Evening Post had an editorial on it, and said it was 'the only piece of literature the war has produced. 'We never thought Keating had it in him, did you? The ConsolidatedPress people felt so good over it that they've promised, when hecomes back from Paris, they'll make him their Washingtoncorrespondent. He's their 'star' reporter now. It just shows you thatthe occasion produces the man. Come on in, and have a drink withhim. "

Channing pulled his arm away, and threw a frightened look toward theopen door of the dining-room. Through the layers of tobacco-smoke hesaw Keating seated at the head of a long, crowded table, smiling, clear-eyed, and alert. 

"Oh, no, I couldn't, " he said, with sudden panic. "I can't drink;doctor won't let me. I wasn't coming in, I was just passing when Isaw you. Good-night, I'm much obliged. Good-night. "

But the hospitable Norris would not be denied. 

"Oh, come in and say 'good-by' to him, anyhow, " he insisted. "Youneedn't stay. "

"No, I can't, " Channing protested. "I--they'd make me drink or eatand the doctor says I can't. You mustn't tempt me. You say 'good-by'to him for me, " he urged. "And Norris--tell him--tell him--that Iasked you to say to him, 'It's all right, ' that's all, just that, 'It's all right. ' He'll understand. "

There was the sound of men's feet scraping on the floor, and ofchairs being moved from their places. 

Norris started away eagerly. "I guess they're drinking his health, "he said. "I must go. I'll tell him what you said, 'It's all right. 'That's enough, is it? There's nothing more?"

Channing shook his head, and moved away from the only place where hewas sure to find food and a welcome that night. 

"There's nothing more, " he said. 

As he stepped from the door and stood irresolutely in the twilight ofthe street, he heard the voices of the men who had gathered inKeating's honor upraised in a joyous chorus. 

"For he's a jolly good fellow, " they sang, "for he's a jolly goodfellow, which nobody can deny!"

LA LETTRE D'AMOUR

When Bardini, who led the Hungarian Band at the Savoy Restaurant, waspromoted to play at the Casino at Trouville, his place was taken bythe second violin. The second violin was a boy, and when he greetedhis brother Tziganes and the habitues of the restaurant with anapologetic and deprecatory bow, he showed that he was fully consciousof the inadequacy of his years. The maitre d'hotel glided from tableto table, busying himself in explanations. 

"The boy's name is Edouard; he comes from Budapest, " he said. "Theseason is too late to make it worth the while of the management toengage a new chef d'orchestre. So this boy will play. He plays verygood, but he is not like Bardini. "

He was not in the least like Bardini. In appearance, Bardinisuggested a Roumanian gypsy or a Portuguese sailor; his skin wasdeeply tanned, his hair was plastered on his low forehead in thick, oily curls, and his body, through much rich living on the scraps thatfell from the tables of Girot's and the Casino des Fleurs, was stoutand gross. He was the typical leader of an orchestra condemned toentertain a noisy restaurant. His school of music was the school ofMaxim's. To his skill with the violin he had added the arts of thehead waiter, and he and the cook ran a race for popularity, hepampering to one taste, and the cook, with his sauces, pampering toanother. When so commanded, his pride as an artist did not preventhim from breaking off in the middle of Schubert's Serenade to playDaisy Bell, nor was he above breaking it off on his own accord tosalute the American patron, as he entered with the Belle of New York, or any one of the Gaiety Girls, hurrying in late for supper, with theSoldiers in the Park. When he walked slowly through the restaurant, pausing at each table, his eyes, even while they ogled the women towhom he played, followed the brother Tzigane--who was passing theplate--and noted which of the patrons gave silver and which gavegold. 

Edouard, the second violin, was all that Bardini was not, consequently he was entirely unsuited to lead an orchestra in arestaurant. Indeed, so little did he understand of what was requiredof him that on the only occasion when Bardini sent him to pass theplate he was so unsophisticated as not to hide the sixpences andshillings under the napkin, and so leave only the half-crowns andgold pieces exposed. And, instead of smiling mockingly at those whogave the sixpences, and waiting for them to give more, he even lookedgrateful, and at the same time deeply ashamed. He differed fromBardini also in that he was very thin and tall, with the serious, smooth-shaven face of a priest. Except for his fantastic costume, there was nothing about him to recall the poses of the musician: hishair was neither long nor curly; it lay straight across his foreheadand flat on either side, and when he played, his eyes neither soughtout the admiring auditor nor invited his applause. On the contrary, they looked steadfastly ahead. It was as though they belonged tosomeone apart, who was listening intently to the music. But in thewaits between the numbers the boy's eyes turned from table to table, observing the people in his audience. He knew nearly all of them bysight: the head waiters who brought him their "commands, " and hisbrother-musicians, had often discussed them in his hearing. Theyrepresented every city of the world, every part of the socialedifice: there were those who came to look at the spectacle, andthose who came to be looked at; those who gave a dinner for the sakeof the diners, those who dined for the dinner alone. To some therestaurant was a club; others ventured in counting the cost, takingit seriously, even considering that it conferred upon them somesocial distinction. There were pretty women in paint and spangles, with conscious, half-grown boys just up from Oxford; company-promoters dining and wining possible subscribers or "guinea-pigs"into an acquiescent state; Guardsmen giving a dinner of farewell tobrother-officers departing for the Soudan or the Cape; wide-eyedAmericans just off the steamer in high dresses, great ladies in lowdresses and lofty tiaras, and ladies of the stage, utterlyunconscious of the boon they were conferring on the people aboutthem, who, an hour before, had paid ten shillings to look at themfrom the stalls. 

Edouard, as he sat with his violin on his knee, his fingers frettingthe silent strings, observed them all without envy and withoutinterest. Had he been able to choose, it would not have been to sucha well-dressed mob as this that he would have given his music. For attimes a burst of laughter killed a phrase that was sacred to him, andsometimes the murmur of the voices and the clatter of the waiterswould drown him out altogether. But the artist in him forced him toplay all things well, and for his own comfort he would assure himselfthat no doubt somewhere in the room someone was listening, someonewho thought more of the strange, elusive melodies of the Hungarianfolksongs than of the chefs entrees, and that for this unknown one hemust be true to himself and true to his work. Covertly, he would seekout some face to which he could make the violin speak--not openly andimpertinently, as did Bardini, but secretly and for sympathy, so thatonly one could understand. It pleased young Edouard to see such a oneraise her head as though she had heard her name spoken, and hold itpoised to listen, and turn slowly in her chair, so completely engagedthat she forgot the man at her elbow, and the food before her wastaken away untouched. It delighted him to think that she knew thatthe music was speaking to her alone. But he would not have had herthink that the musician spoke, too--it was the soul of the music, nothis soul, that was reaching out to the pretty stranger. When his soulspoke through the music it would not be, so he assured himself, tosuch chatterers as gathered on the terrace of the Savoy Restaurant. 

Mrs. Warriner and her daughter were on their way home, or to one oftheir homes; this one was up the Hills of Lenox. They had been inEgypt and up the Nile, and for the last two months had been slowlyworking their way north through Greece and Italy. They were inLondon, at the Savoy, waiting for their sailing-day, and on the nightof their arrival young Corbin was giving them a dinner. For threemonths Mrs. Warriner and himself had alternated in giving each otherdinners in every part of Southern Europe, and the gloom which hungover this one was not due to the fact that the diners had becomewearied of one another's society, but that the opportunities stillleft to them for this exchange of hospitality were almost at an end. That night, for the hundredth time, young Corbin had decided it wouldhave been much better for him if they had come to an end many weeksprevious, for the part he played in the trio was a difficult one. Itwas that of the lover who will not take "no" for an answer. The loverwho will take no, and goes on his way disconsolate, may live to loveanother day, and everyone is content; but the one who will not haveno, who will not hear of it, nor consider it, has much to answer forin making life a burden to himself and all around him. 

When Corbin joined the Warriners on their trip up the Nile it wasconsidered by all of them, in their ignorance, a happy accident. Other mothers, more worldly than Mrs. Warriner, with daughters lessattractive, gave her undeserved credit for having lured into herparty one of the young men of Boston who was most to be desired as ason-in-law. But the mind of Mrs. Warriner, so far as Mr. Corbin wasconcerned, was quite free from any such consideration; so was themind of the young bachelor; certainly Miss Warriner held no tenderthoughts concerning him. The families of the Warriners and theCorbins had been friends ever since the cowpath crossed the Common. Before Corbin entered Harvard Miss Warriner and he had belonged tothe same dancing-class. Later she had danced with him at four class-days, and many times between. When he graduated, she had gone abroadwith her mother, and he had joined the Somerset Club, and played poloat Pride's Crossing, and talked vaguely of becoming a lawyer, and ofre-entering Harvard by the door of the Law School, chiefly, it wassupposed, that he might have another year of the football team. Hewas very young in spirit, very big and athletic, very rich, andwithout a care or serious thought. Miss Warriner was to him, then, nomore than a friend; to her he was a boy, one of many nice, cultivatedHarvard boys, who occasionally called upon her and talked football. On the face of things, she was not the sort of girl he should haveloved. But for some saving clause in him, he should have loved andmarried one of the many other girls who had belonged to the samedancing-class, who would have been known as "Mrs. Tom" Corbin, whowould have been sought after as a chaperone, and who would have stoodup in her cart when he played polo and shouted at him across thefield to "ride him off. "

Miss Warriner, on the contrary, was much older than he in everythingbut years, and was conscious of the fact. She was a serious, self-centred young person, and satisfied with her own thoughts, unless hercompanion gave her better ones. She concerned herself with thecharacter and ideas of her friends. If a young man lacked ideas, thefact that he possessed wealth and good manners could not save him. Ifthese attributes had been pointed out to her as part of his assetsshe would have been surprised. She was not impressed with her owngood looks and fortune--she took them for granted; so why should theycount with her in other people?

Miss Warriner made an error of analysis in regard to Mr. Corbin injudging his brain by his topics of conversation. His conversation waslimited to the A B C's of life, with which, up to the time of hismeeting her, his brain had been fed. When, however, she began to cramit full with all the other letters of the alphabet, it showed itselfjust as capable of digesting the economic conditions of Egypt as ithad previously succeeded in mastering the chess-like problems of thegame of football. 

Young Corbin had not considered the Home Beautiful, nor MunicipalGovernment, nor How the Other Half Lives as topics that were worthhis while; but when Miss Warriner showed her interest in them, herdoing so made them worth his while, and he fell upon them greedily. He even went much further than she had gone, and was not contentmerely to theorize and to discuss social questions from the safedistance of the deck of a dahabiyeh on the Nile, but proposed to atonce put her theories into practice. To this end he offered her ahouse in the slums of Boston, rent free, where she could start herCollege Settlement. He made out lists of the men he thought wouldlike to teach there, and he volunteered to pay the expenses of theexperiment until it failed or succeeded. When her interest changed tothe Tombs of the Rameses, and the succession of the ancientdynasties, he spent hours studying his Baedeker that he might keep instep with her; and when she abandoned ancient for modern Egypt andbecame deeply charmed with the intricacies of the dual control and ofthe Mixed Courts, he interviewed subalterns, Pashas, and missionariesin a gallant effort to comprehend the social and politicaldifficulties of the white men who had occupied the land of theSphinx, who had funded her debt, irrigated her deserts, and "made amummy fight. "

One night, as the dahabiyeh lay moored beneath a group of palms inthe moonlight, Miss Warriner gave him praise for offering her thehouse in the slums for her experiment. He assured her that he wasentirely selfish--that he did so because he believed her settlementwould be a benefit to the neighborhood, in which he owned someproperty. When she then accused him of giving sordid reasons for whatwas his genuine philanthropy he told her flatly that he neither caredfor the higher education of the slums nor the increased value of hisrents, but for her, and to please her, and that he loved her andwould love her always. In answer to this, Miss Warriner told himgently but firmly that she could not love him, but that she liked himand admired him, even though she was disappointed to find that hissudden interest in matters more serious than polo had been assumed toplease her. She added that she would always be his friend. This, shethought, ended the matter; it was unfortunate that they should beshipbound on the Nile; but she trusted to his tact and good sense tosave them both from embarrassment. She was not prepared, however, tosee him come on deck very late the next morning, after, apparently, along sleep, as keen, as cheerful, and as smiling as he had beenbefore the blow had fallen. It piqued her a little, and partlybecause of that, and partly because she really was relieved to findhim in such a humor, she congratulated him on his most evidenthappiness. 

"Why not?" he asked, suddenly growing sober. "I love you. That isenough to make any man happy, isn't it? You needn't love me, but youcan't prevent my going on loving you. "

"Well, I am very sorry, " she sighed in much perplexity. 

"You needn't be, " he answered, reassuringly. "I'm more sorry for youthan I am for myself. You are going to have a terrible time until youmarry me. "

They were at Thebes, and he went off that afternoon to the Temple ofLuxor with her mother, and made violent use of the sacred altars, thebeauty of Cleopatra, the eternity of the scarabea, and theindestructibility of the Pyramids to suggest faintly to Mrs. Warrinerhow much he loved her daughter. He shook his hand at the crouchingsphinxes and said:

"Mrs. Warriner, in forty centuries they have never looked down upon aman as proud as I am, and I am told they have seen Napoleon; but Ineed help; she won't help me, so you must. It's no use arguingagainst me. When this Nile dries up I shall have ceased loving yourdaughter!"

"Did you tell Helen what you have told me? Did you talk to her so?"asked Mrs. Warriner. 

"No, not last night, " said Corbin; "but I will, in time, after shegets more used to the Idea. "

Unfortunately for the peace of Mr. Corbin and all concerned. MissWarriner did not become reconciled to the idea. On the contrary, sheresented it greatly. She had looked at the possibility of somethingto be carried out later--much later, perhaps not at all. It did notseem possible that before she had really begun to enjoy life itshould be subjected to such a change. She saw that it was obviouslythe thing that should happen. If the match had been arranged by theentire city of Boston it could not have been more obvious. But sheargued with him that marriage was a mutual self-sacrifice, and thatuntil she felt ready to make her share of the sacrifice it wasimpossible for her to consent. 

He combated her arguments, which he refused to consider as arguments, and demolished them one by one. But the objection which he destroyedbefore he went to sleep at night was replaced the next day byanother, and his cause never advanced. Each day he found the citadelhe was besieging girt in by new and intricate defences. The reasonwas simple enough: the girl was not in love with him. Her objections, her arguments, her reasons were as absurd as he proved them to be. But they were insurmountable because they were really variousdisguises of the fact that she did not care for him. They weredisguises to herself as well as to him. He was so altogether a goodfellow, so earnest, honest, and desperate a lover that the primaryfact that she did not want his love did not present itself, and shekept casting about in her mind for excuses and reasons to explain herlack of feeling. He wooed her in every obvious way that would presentitself to a boy of deep feeling, of quick mind, and an unlimitedletter of credit. He created wants in order to gratify them later. Hesuggested her need of things which he had already ordered, which, before she had been enticed into expressing a wish for them, werethen speeding across the Continent toward her. Every hour brought hersome fresh and ingenuous sign of his thought and of his devotion. Hetreated these tributes as a matter of course; if she failed toobserve them and to see his handiwork in them he let them fall to theground unnoticed. 

His love itself was his argument-in-chief; it was its own excuse; itneeded no allies; "I love you" was his first and last word. Itpuzzled her to find that she could not care. When she was alone sheasked herself what there was in him of which she disapproved, and shecould only answer that there was nothing. She asked herself whatother men there were who pleased her more, and she could think ofnone. On the contrary, she found him entirely charming as a friend--but his love distressed her greatly. It was a foreign language; shecould not comprehend it. When he allowed it to appear it completelydisguised him in her eyes; it annoyed her so much that at times sheconsidered herself a much ill-used young person. 

It was in this way that the matter stood between them when their longjourney was ended and they reached London. He was miserable, desperate, and hopeless; the girl was firm in that she would notmarry him, and her mother, who respected both the depth of Corbin'sfeelings and her daughter's reticence, and who had watched thestruggle with a troubled heart, was only thankful that they were topart, and that it was at an end. Corbin had no idea where he would gonor what he would do. He recognized that to cross the ocean with themwould only subject his love to fresh distress and humiliation, and hehad determined to put as much space between him and Miss Warriner asthe surface of the globe permitted. The Philippines seemed to offer apicturesque retreat for a broken life. He decided he would go thereand enlist and have himself shot. He was uncertain whether he wouldfollow in the steps of his Revolutionary ancestors and join the menwho were struggling for their liberty and independence, or hisfellow-Americans; but that he would get shot by one side or the otherhe was determined. And then in days to come she would think, perhaps, of the young man on the other side of the globe, buried in the wetrice-fields, with the palms fanning him through his eternal sleep, and she might be sorry then that she had not listened to his troubledheart. The picture gave him some small comfort, and that night whenhe ordered dinner for them at the Savoy his manner showed theinspired resolve of one who is soon to mount the scaffold unafraid, and with a rose between his lips. 

Edouard, the first violin, saw Miss Warriner when she entered andtook her place facing him at one of the tables in the centre of theroom. He was sitting with his violin on his knees, touching thestrings with his finger-tips. When he saw her he choked the neck ofthe violin with his hand, as though it had been the hand of a friendwhich he had grasped in a sudden ecstasy of delight. The effect herappearance had made upon him was so remarkable that he glancedquickly over his shoulder to see if he had betrayed himself by somesign or gesture. But the other musicians were concerned with theirown gossip, and he felt free to turn again and from under his half-closed eyelids to observe her covertly. 

There was nothing to explain why Miss Warriner, in particular, shouldhave so disturbed him; the English women seated about her were asfair; she showed no great sorrow in her face; her beauty was not ofthe type which carried observers by assault. And yet not one of themany beautiful women who on one night or another passed beforeEdouard in the soft light of the red shades had ever stirred him sostrangely, had ever depressed him with such a tender melancholy, andfilled his soul--the soul of a Hungarian and a musician--with suchloneliness and unrest. He knew that, so far as he was concerned, shewas as distant as the Venus in the Louvre; she was, for him, abeautiful, unapproachable statue, placed, by some social convention, upon a pedestal. 

As he looked at her he felt hotly the degradation of his sillyuniform, of the striped sash around his waist, the tawdry braids, andthe tasselled boots. He felt as he had often felt before, but nowmore keenly than ever, the prostitution of his art in this temple ofthe senses, this home of epicures, where people met to feast theireyes and charm their palates. He could not put his feelings intowords, and he knew that if by some upheaval of the social world heshould be thrown into her presence he would still be bound, he wouldnot be able to speak or write what she inspired in him. But--and atthe thought he breathed quickly, and raised his shoulders with atouch of pride--he could tell her in his own way; after his ownfashion he could express what he felt better even than those othermen could tell what they feel--these men for whose amusement heperformed nightly, to whom it was granted to sit at her side, whospoke the language of her class and of her own people. Edouard wasnot given to analyzing his emotions; like the music of his Tziganeancestors, they came to him sweeping every chord in his nature, beating rapidly to the time of the Schardash, or with the fitfulnessof the gypsy folksongs sinking his spirits into melancholy. So he didnot stop to question why this one face so suddenly inspired him; heonly knew that he felt grateful, that he was impatient to pay histribute of admiration, that he was glad he was an artist who couldgive his feelings voice. 

In the long programme of selected airs he remembered that there wasone which would give him this chance to speak, in the playing ofwhich he could put all his skill and all his soul, an air whichcarried with it infinite sadness and the touch of a caress. The othernumbers on the programme had been chosen to please the patrons of arestaurant, this one, La Lettre d'Amour, was included in the list forhis own satisfaction. He had put it there to please himself; to-nighthe would play it to please her--to this unknown girl who had sosuddenly awakened and inspired him. 

As he waited for this chance to come he watched her, noting her everymovement, her troubled smile, her air of being apart and above hersurroundings. He noticed, too, the set face of the young man at herside and, with the discernment of one whose own interest is captive, saw the half-concealed longing in his eyes. He felt a quick antipathyto this young man. His assured position at the girl's sideaccentuated how far he himself was removed from her; he resented alsothe manner of the young man to the waiters, and he wondered hotly if, in the mind of this favored youth, the musician who played for hisentertainment was regarded any more highly than the servant whoreceived his orders. To this feeling of resentment was added one ofcontempt. For, as he read the tableau at the table below him, theyoung man was the devotee of the young girl at his side, and if onecould judge from her averted eyes, from her silent assent to hisquestions, from the fact that she withdrew from the talk between himand the older woman, his devotion was not welcome. 

This reading of the pantomime pleased Edouard greatly. Nothing couldhave so crowned the feeling which the beauty of the stranger stirredin him as the thought that another loved her as well as himself, andthat the other, who started with all things in his favor, met withnone from her. 

Edouard assured himself that this was so because he had often heardhis people boast that men not of their country could not feel as theycould feel. If he had ever considered them at all it was as cold andconscious creatures who taught themselves to cover up what they felt, so that when their emotions strove to assert themselves they werefound, through long disuse, to be dumb and inarticulate. Edouardrejoiced that to the men of his race it was given to feel and suffermuch. He was sure that beneath the calmness of her beauty this womanbefore him could feel deeply; he read in her eyes the sympathy of agreat soul; she made him think of a Madonna in the church of St. Sophia at Budapest. He saw in her a woman who could love greatly. When he considered how impossible it was for the young man at herside ever to experience the great emotions which alone could reachher, his contempt for him rose almost to pity. His violin, with hispower to feel, and with his knowledge of technic added, could sendhis message as far as sound could carry. He could afford to begenerous, and when he rose to play La Lettre d'Amour it was with theelation of a knight entering the lists, with the ardor of a loversinging beneath his lady's window. La Lettre d'Amour is a compositionwritten to a slow measure, and filled with chords of exquisitepathos. It comes hesitatingly, like the confession of a lover wholoves so deeply that he halts to find words with which to express hisfeelings. It moves in broken phrases, each note rising in intensityand growing in beauty. It is not a burst of passionate appeal, but aplea, tender, beseeching, and throbbing with melancholy. As heplayed, Edouard stepped down from the dais on which the musicianssat, and advanced slowly between the tables. It was late, and themajority of those who had been dining had departed to the theatres. Those who remained were lingering over their coffee, and weresmoking; their voices were lowered to a polite monotone; the rush ofthe waiters had ceased, and the previous chatter had sunk to asubdued murmur. Into this, the quivering sigh of Edouard's violinpenetrated like a sunbeam feeling its way into a darkened room, and, at the sound, the voices, one by one, detached themselves from thegeneral chorus, until, lacking support, it ceased altogether. Somewere silent, that they might hear the better, others, who preferredtheir own talk, were silent out of regard for those who desired tolisten, and a waiter who was so indiscreet as to clatter a tray ofglasses was hushed on the instant. The tribute of attention lent toEdouard an added power; his head lifted on his shoulders with pride;his bow cut deeper and firmer, and with more delicate shading; thenotes rose in thrilling, plaintive sadness, and flooded the hot airwith melody. 

Edouard made his way to within a short distance of the table at whichMiss Warriner was seated, and halted there as though he had found hisaudience. He did not look at her, although she sat directly facinghim, but it was evident to all that she was the one to whom hiseffort was directed, and Corbin, who was seated with his back toEdouard, recognized this and turned in his chair. 

The body of the young musician was trembling with the feeling whichfound its outlet through the violin. He was in ecstasy over his powerand its accomplishment. The strings of the violin pulsated to thebeating of his heart, and he felt that surely by now the emotionwhich shook him must have reached the girl who had given it life--and, for one swift second, his eyes sought hers. What he saw was thesame beautiful face which had inspired him, but unmoved, cold, andunresponsive. As his eyes followed hers she raised her head andlooked, listlessly, around the room, and then turned and glanced upat him with a careless and critical scrutiny. If his music had beenthe music of an organ in the street, and he the man who raised hishat for coppers, she could not have been less moved. The discoverystruck Edouard like a cold blast from an open door. His fingersfaltered on the neck of his violin, his bow wavered, drunkenly, across the strings, and he turned away his eyes to shut out thevision of his failure, seeking relief and sympathy. And, in theirswift passage, they encountered those of Corbin looking up at him, his eyes aglow with wonder, feeling, and sorrow. They seemed to holdhim to account; they begged, they demanded of him not to break thespell, and, in response, the hot blood in the veins of the musiciansurged back, his pride flared up again, his eyes turned on Corbin'slike those of a dog to his master's. Under their spell the musicsoared, trembling, paused and soared again, thrilling those who heardit with its grief and tenderness. 

Edouard's heart leaped with triumph. "The man knows, " he whispered tothe violin; "he understands us. He knows. "

The people, leaning with their elbows on the tables before them, thewaiters listening with tolerant smiles, the musicians followingEdouard with anxious pride, saw only a young man with his arm thrownheavily across the back of his chair, who was looking up at Edouardwith a steady, searching gaze. But Edouard saw in him both a discipleand a master. He saw that this man was lifted up and carried withhim, that he understood the message of the music. The notes of theviolin sank lower and lower, until they melted into the silence ofthe room, and the people, freed of the spell the music had put uponthem, applauded generously. Edouard placed his violin under his arm, and with his eyes, which had never left Corbin's face, still fastenedupon his, bowed low to him, and Corbin raised his head and noddedgravely. It was as though they were the only people in the room. AsEdouard retreated his face was shining with triumph, for he knew thatthe other had understood him, and that the other knew that he knew. 

That night until he fell asleep, and all of the day following, thebeautiful face of Miss Warriner troubled Edouard, and the thought ofher alternately thrilled and depressed him. One moment he mocked athimself for presuming to think that his simple art could reach thedepths of such a nature, and the next he stirred himself to hope thathe should see her once again, and that he should succeed where he hadfailed. 

The music had moved Corbin so deeply that when he awoke the dayfollowing the effect of it still hung upon him. It seemed to him asthough all he had been trying to tell Miss Warriner of his love forher, and which he had failed to make her understand in the last threemonths, had been expressed in the one moment of this song. It wasthat in it which had so enchanted him. It was as though he hadlistened to his own deepest and most sacred thoughts, uttered for thefirst time convincingly, and by a stranger. Why was it, he askedhimself, that this unknown youth could translate another's feelingsinto music, when he himself could not put them into words? He waswalking in Piccadilly, deep in this thought, when a question came tohim which caused him to turn rapidly into Green Park, where he couldconsider it undisturbed. 

The doubt which had so suddenly presented itself was in some degreethe same one which had stirred Edouard. Was it that he was reallyunable to express his feelings, or was it that Miss Warriner couldnot understand them? Was it really something lacking in him, or wasit not something lacking in her? He flushed at the disloyalty of thethought and put it from him; but, as his memory reached back over thepast three months, the question returned again and again with freshforce, and would not be denied. He called himself a fatuous, conceited fool. Because he could not make a woman love him other mencould do so. That was really the answer; he was not the man. But theanswer did not seem final. What, after all, was the thing his lovesought--a woman only, or a woman capable of deep and great feeling?Even if he could not inspire such emotions, even if another could, hewould still be content and proud to love a woman capable of such deepfeelings. But if she were without them? At the thought, Corbin staredblankly before him as though he had stumbled against a stone wall. What sign had she ever given him that she could care greatly? Was notany form of emotion always distasteful to her? Was not her mindalways occupied with abstract questions? Was she not always engagedin her own self-improvement--with schemes, it is true, for betteringthe world; but did her heart ever ache once for the individual? Whatwas it, then, he loved? Something he imagined this girl to be, or washe in love with the fact that his own nature had been so mightilystirred? Was it not the joy of caring greatly which had carried himalong? And if this was so, was he now to continue to proffer thisdevotion to one who could not feel, to a statue, to an idol? Were notthe very things which rendered her beautiful the offerings which hehimself had hung upon her altar? Did the qualities he really loved inher exist? Was he not on the brink of casting his love before one whocould neither feel it for him nor for any other man? He stood up, trembling and frightened. Even though the girl had rejected him againand again, he felt a hateful sense of disloyalty. He was ashamed toconfess it to himself, and he vowed, hotly, that he must be wrong, that he would not believe. He would still worship her, fight for her, and force her to care for him. 

Mrs. Warriner and her daughter were to sail on the morrow, and thatnight they met Corbin at dinner for the last time. After many days--although self-accused--he felt deeply conscious of his recent lack offaith, and, in the few hours still left him, he determined to atonefor the temporary halt in his allegiance. They had never found himmore eager, tactful, and considerate than he was that evening. Theeyes of Mrs. Warriner softened as she watched him. As one day hadsucceeded another, her admiration and liking for him had increased, until now she felt as though his cause was hers--as though she wasnot parting from a friend, but from a son. But the calmness of herdaughter was impenetrable; from her manner it was impossible to learnwhether the approaching separation was a relief or a regret. 

To Edouard the return of the beautiful girl to the restaurantappeared not as an accident, but as a marked favor vouchsafed to himby Fate. He had been given a second chance. He read it as a sign thathe should take heart and hope. He felt that fortune was indeed kind. He determined that he would play to her again, and that this time hewould not fail. 

As the first notes of La Lettre d'Amour brought a pause of silence inthe restaurant, Corbin, who was talking at the moment, interruptedhimself abruptly, and turned in his chair. 

All through the evening he had been conscious of the near presence ofthe young musician. He had not forgotten how, on the night before, his own feelings had been interpreted in La Lettre d'Amour, and forsome time he had been debating in his mind as to whether he wouldrequest Edouard to play the air again, or let the evening passwithout again submitting himself to so supreme an assault upon hisfeelings. Now the question had been settled for him, and he foundthat it had been decided as he secretly desired. It was impossible tobelieve that Edouard was the same young man who had played the sameair on the night previous, for Edouard no longer considered that hewas present on sufferance--he invited and challenged the attention ofthe room; his music commanded it to silence. It dominated all whoheard it. 

As he again slowly approached the table where Miss Warriner wasseated, the eyes of everyone were turned upon him; the pathos, thetenderness of his message seemed to speak to each; the fact that hedared to offer such a wealth of deep feeling to such an audience wasin itself enough to engage the attention of all. A group ofGuardsmen, their faces flushed with Burgundy and pulling heavily onblack cigars, stared at him sleepily, and then sat up, erect andalert, watching him with intent, wide-open eyes; and at tables whichhad been marked by the laughter of those seated about them there fella sudden silence. Those who fully understood the value of the musicwithdrew into themselves, submitting, thankfully, to its spell;others, less susceptible, gathered from the bearing of those aboutthem that something of moment was going forward; but it wasrecognized by each, from the most severe English matron present downto the youngest "omnibus-boy" among the waiters, that it was a love-story which was being told to them, and that in this public place thedeepest, most sacred, and most beautiful of emotions were findingnoble utterance. 

The music filled Corbin with desperate longing and regret. It was sotruly the translation of his own feelings that he was alternatelytouched with self-pity and inspired to fresh resolve. It seemed toassure him that love such as his could not endure without somereturn. It emboldened him to make still another and a final appeal. Mrs. Warriner, with all the other people in the room, was watchingEdouard, and so, unobserved, and hidden by the flowers upon thetable, Corbin leaned toward Miss Warriner and bent his head close tohers. His eyes were burning with feeling; his voice thrilled inunison to the plaint of the violin. 

He gave a toss of his head in the direction from whence the musiccame. 

"That is what I have been trying to tell you, " he whispered. Hisvoice was hoarse and shaken. "That is how I care, but that man'sgenius is telling you for me. At last, you must understand. " In hiseagerness, his words followed each other brokenly and impetuously. "That is love, " he whispered. "That is the real voice of love in allits tenderness and might, and--it is love itself. Don't youunderstand it now?" he demanded. 

Miss Warriner raised her head and frowned. She stared at Edouard witha pained expression of perplexity and doubt. 

"He shows no lack of feeling, " she said, critically, "but his technicis not equal to Ysaye's. "

"Good God!" Corbin gasped. He sank away from Miss Warriner and staredat her with incredulous eyes. 

"His technic, " he repeated, "is not equal to Ysaye's?" He gave alaugh which might have been a sob, and sat up, suddenly, with hishead erect and his shoulders squared. He had the shaken look of onewho has recovered from a dangerous illness. But when he spoke againit was in the accents of every-day politeness. 

At an early hour the following morning, Mrs. Warriner and herdaughter left Waterloo Station on the steamer-train for Southampton, and Corbin attended them up to the moment of the train's departure. He concerned himself for their comfort as conscientiously as he hadalways done throughout the last three months, when he had been theirtravelling-companion; nothing could have been more friendly, moresympathetic, than his manner. This effort, which Mrs. Warriner wassure cost him much, touched her deeply. But when he shook MissWarriner's hand and she said, "Good-by, and write to us before you goto the Philippines, " Corbin for the first time stammered in someembarrassment. 

"Good-by, " he said; "I--I am not sure that I shall go. "

He dined at the Savoy again that night, in company with someEnglishmen. They sat at a table in the corner where they couldobserve the whole extent of the room, and their talk was eager andtheir laughter constant and hearty. It was only when the boy who ledthe orchestra began to walk among the tables, playing an air ofpeculiar sadness, that Corbin's manner lost its vivacity, and he sankinto a sudden silence, with his eyes fixed on the table before him. 

"That's odd, " said one of his companions. "I say, Corbin, look atthat chap! What's he doing?"

Corbin raised his eyes. He saw Edouard standing at the same table atwhich for the last two nights Miss Warriner had been seated. "What isit?" he asked. 

"Why, that violin chap, " said the Englishman. "Don't you see? He'sbeen playing to the only vacant table in the room, and to an emptychair. "

IN THE FOG

I

The Grill is the club most difficult of access in the world. To beplaced on its rolls distinguishes the new member as greatly as thoughhe had received a vacant Garter or had been caricatured in "VanityFair. "

Men who belong to the Grill Club never mention that fact. If you wereto ask one of them which clubs he frequents, he will name all savethat particular one. He is afraid if he told you he belonged to theGrill, that it would sound like boasting. 

The Grill Club dates back to the days when Shakespeare's Theatrestood on the present site of the "Times" office. It has a goldenGrill which Charles the Second presented to the Club, and theoriginal manuscript of "Tom and Jerry in London, " which wasbequeathed to it by Pierce Egan himself. The members, when they writeletters at the Club, still use sand to blot the ink. 

The Grill enjoys the distinction of having blackballed, withoutpolitical prejudice, a Prime Minister of each party. At the samesitting at which one of these fell, it elected, on account of hisbrogue and his bulls, Quiller, Q. C. , who was then a pennilessbarrister. 

When Paul Preval, the French artist who came to London by royalcommand to paint a portrait of the Prince of Wales, was made anhonorary member--only foreigners may be honorary members--he said, ashe signed his first wine-card, "I would rather see my name on thatthan on a picture in the Louvre. "

At which Quiller remarked, "That is a devil of a compliment, becausethe only men who can read their names in the Louvre to-day have beendead fifty years. "

On the night after the great fog of 1897 there were five members inthe Club, four of them busy with supper and one reading in front ofthe fireplace. There is only one room to the Club, and one longtable. At the far end of the room the fire of the grill glows red, and, when the fat falls, blazes into flame, and at the other there isa broad bow-window of diamond panes, which looks down upon thestreet. The four men at the table were strangers to each other, butas they picked at the grilled bones, and sipped their Scotch andsoda, they conversed with such charming animation that a visitor tothe Club, which does not tolerate visitors, would have counted themas friends of long acquaintance, certainly not as Englishmen who hadmet for the first time, and without the form of an introduction. Butit is the etiquette and tradition of the Grill that whoever enters itmust speak with whomever he finds there. It is to enforce this rulethat there is but one long table, and whether there are twenty men atit or two, the waiters, supporting the rule, will place them side byside. 

For this reason the four strangers at supper were seated together, with the candles grouped about them, and the long length of the tablecutting a white path through the outer gloom. 

"I repeat, " said the gentleman with the black pearl stud, "that thedays for romantic adventure and deeds of foolish daring have passed, and that the fault lies with ourselves. Voyages to the pole I do notcatalogue as adventures. That African explorer, young Chetney, whoturned up yesterday after he was supposed to have died in Uganda, didnothing adventurous. He made maps and explored the sources of rivers. He was in constant danger, but the presence of danger does notconstitute adventure. Were that so, the chemist who studies highexplosives, or who investigates deadly poisons, passes throughadventures daily. No, 'adventures are for the adventurous. ' But oneno longer ventures. The spirit of it has died of inertia. We aregrown too practical, too just, above all, too sensible. In this room, for instance, members of this Club have, at the sword's point, disputed the proper scanning of one of Pope's couplets. Over soweighty a matter as spilled Burgundy on a gentleman's cuff, ten menfought across this table, each with his rapier in one hand and acandle in the other. All ten were wounded. The question of thespilled Burgundy concerned but two of them. The eight others engagedbecause they were men of 'spirit. ' They were, indeed, the firstgentlemen of the day. To-night, were you to spill Burgundy on mycuff, were you even to insult me grossly, these gentlemen would notconsider it incumbent upon them to kill each other. They wouldseparate us, and to-morrow morning appear as witnesses against us atBow Street. We have here to-night, in the persons of Sir Andrew andmyself, an illustration of how the ways have changed. "

The men around the table turned and glanced toward the gentleman infront of the fireplace. He was an elderly and somewhat portly person, with a kindly, wrinkled countenance, which wore continually a smileof almost childish confidence and good-nature. It was a face whichthe illustrated prints had made intimately familiar. He held a bookfrom him at arm's-length, as if to adjust his eyesight, and his browswere knit with interest. 

"Now, were this the eighteenth century, " continued the gentleman withthe black pearl, "when Sir Andrew left the Club to-night I would havehim bound and gagged and thrown into a sedan chair. The watch wouldnot interfere, the passers-by would take to their heels, my hiredbullies and ruffians would convey him to some lonely spot where wewould guard him until morning. Nothing would come of it, except addedreputation to myself as a gentleman of adventurous spirit, andpossibly an essay in the 'Tatler' with stars for names, entitled, letus say, 'The Budget and the Baronet. '"

"But to what end, sir?" inquired the youngest of the members. "Andwhy Sir Andrew, of all persons--why should you select him for thisadventure?"

The gentleman with the black pearl shrugged his shoulders. 

"It would prevent him speaking in the House to-night. The NavyIncrease Bill, " he added, gloomily. "It is a Government measure, andSir Andrew speaks for it. And so great is his influence and so largehis following that if he does"--the gentleman laughed ruefully--"ifhe does, it will go through. Now, had I the spirit of our ancestors, "he exclaimed, "I would bring chloroform from the nearest chemist'sand drug him in that chair. I would tumble his unconscious form intoa hansom-cab, and hold him prisoner until daylight. If I did, I wouldsave the British taxpayer the cost of five more battleships, manymillions of pounds. "

The gentleman again turned, and surveyed the baronet with freshenedinterest. The honorary member of the Grill, whose accent already hadbetrayed him as an American, laughed softly. 

"To look at him now, " he said, "one would not guess he was deeplyconcerned with the affairs of state. "

The others nodded silently. 

"He has not lifted his eyes from that book since we first entered, "added the youngest member. "He surely cannot mean to speak to-night. "

"Oh, yes, he will speak, " muttered the one with the black pearl, moodily. "During these last hours of the session the House sits late, but when the Navy bill comes up on its third reading he will be inhis place--and he will pass it. "

The fourth member, a stout and florid gentleman of a somewhatsporting appearance, in a short smoking-jacket and black tie, sighedenviously. 

"Fancy one of us being as cool as that, if he knew he had to stand upwithin an hour and rattle off a speech in Parliament. I'd be in adevil of a funk myself. And yet he is as keen over that book he'sreading as though he had nothing before him until bedtime. "

"Yes, see how eager he is, " whispered the youngest member. "He doesnot lift his eyes even now when he cuts the pages. It is probably anAdmiralty Report, or some other weighty work of statistics whichbears upon his speech. "

The gentleman with the black pearl laughed morosely. 

"The weighty work in which the eminent statesman is so deeplyengrossed, " he said, "is called 'The Great Rand Robbery. ' It is adetective novel for sale at all bookstalls. "

The American raised his eyebrows in disbelief. 

"'The Great Rand Robbery'?" he repeated, incredulously. "What an oddtaste!"

"It is not a taste, it is his vice, " returned the gentleman with thepearl stud. "It is his one dissipation. He is noted for it. You, as astranger, could hardly be expected to know of this idiosyncrasy. Mr. Gladstone sought relaxation in the Greek poets, Sir Andrew finds hisin Gaboriau. Since I have been a member of Parliament, I have neverseen him in the library without a shilling shocker in his hands. Hebrings them even into the sacred precincts of the House, and from theGovernment benches reads them concealed inside his hat. Once startedon a tale of murder, robbery, and sudden death, nothing can tear himfrom it, not even the call of the division-bell, nor of hunger, northe prayers of the party Whip. He gave up his country house becausewhen he journeyed to it in the train he would become so absorbed inhis detective-stories that he was invariably carried past hisstation. " The member of Parliament twisted his pearl stud nervously, and bit at the edge of his mustache. "If it only were the first pagesof 'The Rand Robbery' that he were reading, " he murmured bitterly, "instead of the last! With such another book as that, I swear I couldhold him here until morning. There would be no need of chloroform tokeep him from the House. "

The eyes of all were fastened upon Sir Andrew, and each saw, withfascination, that, with his forefinger, he was now separating thelast two pages of the book. The member of Parliament struck thetable, softly, with his open palm. 

"I would give a hundred pounds, " he whispered, "if I could place inhis hands at this moment a new story of Sherlock Holmes--a thousandpounds, " he added, wildly--"five thousand pounds!"

The American observed the speaker sharply, as though the words boreto him some special application, and then, at an idea whichapparently had but just come to him, smiled, in great embarrassment. 

Sir Andrew ceased reading, but, as though still under the influenceof the book, sat looking, blankly, into the open fire. For a briefspace, no one moved until the baronet withdrew his eyes and, with asudden start of recollection, felt, anxiously, for his watch. Hescanned its face eagerly, and scrambled to his feet. 

The voice of the American instantly broke the silence in a high, nervous accent. 

"And yet Sherlock Holmes himself, " he cried, "could not decipher themystery which to-night baffles the police of London. "

At these unexpected words, which carried in them something of thetone of a challenge, the gentlemen about the table started assuddenly as though the American had fired a pistol in the air, andSir Andrew halted, abruptly, and stood observing him with gravesurprise. 

The gentleman with the black pearl was the first to recover. 

"Yes, yes, " he said, eagerly, throwing himself across the table. "Amystery that baffles the police of London. I have heard nothing ofit. Tell us at once, pray do--tell us at once. "

The American flushed uncomfortably, and picked, uneasily, at thetable-cloth. 

"No one but the police has heard of it, " he murmured, "and they onlythrough me. It is a remarkable crime, to which, unfortunately, I amthe only person who can bear witness. Because I am the only witness, I am, in spite of my immunity as a diplomat, detained in London bythe authorities of Scotland Yard. My name, " he said, inclining hishead, politely, "is Sears, Lieutenant Ripley Sears, of the UnitedStates Navy, at present Naval Attache to the Court of Russia. Had Inot been detained to-day by the police, I would have started thismorning for Petersburg. "

The gentleman with the black pearl interrupted with so pronounced anexclamation of excitement and delight that the American stammered andceased speaking. 

"Do you hear, Sir Andrew?" cried the member of Parliament, jubilantly. "An American diplomat halted by our police because he isthe only witness of a most remarkable crime--THE most remarkablecrime, I believe you said, sir, " he added, bending eagerly toward thenaval officer, "which has occurred in London in many years. "

The American moved his head in assent, and glanced at the two othermembers. They were looking, doubtfully, at him, and the face of eachshowed that he was greatly perplexed. 

Sir Andrew advanced to within the light of the candles and drew achair toward him. 

"The crime must be exceptional, indeed, " he said, "to justify thepolice in interfering with a representative of a friendly power. If Iwere not forced to leave at once, I should take the liberty of askingyou to tell us the details. "

The gentleman with the pearl pushed the chair toward Sir Andrew, andmotioned him to be seated. 

"You cannot leave us now, " he exclaimed. "Mr. Sears is just about totell us of this remarkable crime. "

He nodded, vigorously, at the naval officer and the American, afterfirst glancing, doubtfully, toward the servants at the far end of theroom, and leaned forward across the table. The others drew theirchairs nearer and bent toward him. The baronet glanced, irresolutely, at his watch, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, snapped down thelid. "They can wait, " he muttered. He seated himself quickly, andnodded at Lieutenant Sears. 

"If you will be so kind as to begin, sir, " he said, impatiently. 

"Of course, " said the American, "you understand that I understandthat I am speaking to gentlemen. The confidences of this Club areinviolate. Until the police give the facts to the public press, Imust consider you my confederates. You have heard nothing, you knowno one connected with this mystery. Even I must remain anonymous. "

The gentlemen seated around him nodded gravely. 

"Of course, " the baronet assented, with eagerness, "of course. "

"We will refer to it, " said the gentleman with the black pearl, "as'The Story of the Naval Attache. '"

"I arrived in London two days ago, " said the American, "and I engageda room at the Bath Hotel. I know very few people in London, and eventhe members of our embassy were strangers to me. But in Hong Kong Ihad become great pals with an officer in your navy, who has sinceretired, and who is now living in a small house in Rutland Gardens, opposite the Knightsbridge Barracks. I telegraphed him that I was inLondon, and yesterday morning I received a most hearty invitation todine with him the same evening at his house. He is a bachelor, so wedined alone and talked over all our old days on the Asiatic Stationand of the changes which had come to us since we had last met there. As I was leaving the next morning for my post at Petersburg, and hadmany letters to write, I told him, about ten o'clock, that I must getback to the hotel, and he sent out his servant to call a hansom. 

"For the next quarter of an hour, as we sat talking, we could hearthe cab-whistle sounding, violently, from the doorstep, butapparently with no result. 

"'It cannot be that the cabmen are on strike, ' my friend said, as herose and walked to the window. 

"He pulled back the curtains and at once called to me. 

"'You have never seen a London fog, have you?' he asked. 'Well, comehere. This is one of the best, or, rather, one of the worst, ofthem. ' I joined him at the window, but I could see nothing. Had I notknown that the house looked out upon the street I would have believedthat I was facing a dead wall. I raised the sash and stretched out myhead, but still I could see nothing. Even the light of the street-lamps, opposite, and in the upper windows of the barracks, had beensmothered in the yellow mist. The lights of the room in which I stoodpenetrated the fog only to the distance of a few inches from my eyes. 

"Below me the servant was still sounding his whistle, but I couldafford to wait no longer, and told my friend that I would try andfind the way to my hotel on foot. He objected, but the letters I hadto write were for the Navy Department, and, besides, I had alwaysheard that to be out in a London fog was the most wonderfulexperience, and I was curious to investigate one for myself. 

"My friend went with me to his front door, and laid down a course forme to follow. I was first to walk straight across the street to thebrick wall of the Knightsbridge Barracks. I was then to feel my wayalong the wall until I came to a row of houses set back from thesidewalk. They would bring me to a cross street. On the other side ofthis street was a row of shops which I was to follow until theyjoined the iron railings of Hyde Park. I was to keep to the railingsuntil I reached the gates at Hyde Park Corner, where I was to lay adiagonal course across Piccadilly, and tack in toward the railings ofGreen Park. At the end of these railings, going east, I would findthe Walsingham, and my own hotel. 

"To a sailor the course did not seem difficult, so I bade my friendgood-night and walked forward until my feet touched the paving. Icontinued upon it until I reached the curbing of the sidewalk. A fewsteps further, and my hands struck the wall of the barracks. I turnedin the direction from which I had just come, and saw a square offaint light cut in the yellow fog. I shouted, 'All right, ' and thevoice of my friend answered, 'Good luck to you. ' The light from hisopen door disappeared with a bang, and I was left alone in adripping, yellow darkness. I have been in the Navy for ten years, butI have never known such a fog as that of last night, not even amongthe icebergs of Behring Sea. There one at least could see the lightof the binnacle, but last night I could not even distinguish the handby which I guided myself along the barrack-wall. At sea a fog is anatural phenomenon. It is as familiar as the rainbow which follows astorm, it is as proper that a fog should spread upon the waters asthat steam shall rise from a kettle. But a fog which springs from thepaved streets, that rolls between solid house-fronts, that forcescabs to move at half speed, that drowns policemen and extinguishesthe electric lights of the music-hall, that to me isincomprehensible. It is as out of place as a tidal wave on Broadway. 

"As I felt my way along the wall, I encountered other men who werecoming from the opposite direction, and each time when we hailed eachother I stepped away from the wall to make room for them to pass. Butthe third time I did this, when I reached out my hand, the wall haddisappeared, and the further I moved to find it the further I seemedto be sinking into space. I had the unpleasant conviction that at anymoment I might step over a precipice. Since I had set out, I hadheard no traffic in the street, and now, although I listened someminutes, I could only distinguish the occasional footfalls ofpedestrians. Several times I called aloud, and once a joculargentleman answered me, but only to ask me where I thought he was, andthen even he was swallowed up in the silence. Just above me I couldmake out a jet of gas which I guessed came from a street-lamp, and Imoved over to that, and, while I tried to recover my bearings, keptmy hand on the iron post. Except for this nicker of gas, no largerthan the tip of my finger, I could distinguish nothing about me. Forthe rest, the mist hung between me and the world like a damp andheavy blanket. 

"I could hear voices, but I could not tell from whence they came, andthe scrape of a foot, moving cautiously, or a muffled cry as someonestumbled, were the only sounds that reached me. 

"I decided that until someone took me in I had best remain where Iwas, and it must have been for ten minutes that I waited by the lamp, straining my ears and hailing distant footfalls. In a house near mesome people were dancing to the music of a Hungarian band. I evenfancied I could hear the windows shake to the rhythm of their feet, but I could not make out from which part of the compass the soundscame. And sometimes, as the music rose, it seemed close at my hand, and, again, to be floating high in the air above my head. Although Iwas surrounded by thousands of householders, I was as completely lostas though I had been set down by night in the Sahara Desert. Thereseemed to be no reason in waiting longer for an escort, so I againset out, and at once bumped against a low, iron fence. At first Ibelieved this to be an area railing, but, on following it, I foundthat it stretched for a long distance, and that it was pierced atregular intervals with gates. I was standing, uncertainly, with myhand on one of these, when a square of light suddenly opened in thenight, and in it I saw, as you see a picture thrown by a biograph ina darkened theatre, a young gentleman in evening dress, and, back ofhim, the lights of a hall. I guessed, from its elevation and distancefrom the sidewalk, that this light must come from the door of a houseset back from the street, and I determined to approach it and ask theyoung man to tell me where I was. But, in fumbling with the lock ofthe gate, I instinctively bent my head, and when I raised it againthe door had partly closed, leaving only a narrow shaft of light. Whether the young man had re-entered the house, or had left it Icould not tell, but I hastened to open the gate, and as I steppedforward I found myself upon an asphalt walk. At the same instantthere was the sound of quick steps upon the path, and someone rushedpast me. I called to him, but he made no reply, and I heard the gateclick and the footsteps hurrying away upon the sidewalk. 

"Under other circumstances the young man's rudeness, and hisrecklessness in dashing so hurriedly through the mist, would havestruck me as peculiar, but everything was so distorted by the fogthat at the moment I did not consider it. The door was still as hehad left it, partly open. I went up the path, and, after muchfumbling, found the knob of the door-bell and gave it a sharp pull. The bell answered me from a great depth and distance, but no movementfollowed from inside the house, and, although I pulled the bell againand again, I could hear nothing save the dripping of the mist aboutme. I was anxious to be on my way, but unless I knew where I wasgoing there was little chance of my making any speed, and I wasdetermined that until I learned my bearings I would not venture backinto the fog. So I pushed the door open and stepped into the house. 

"I found myself in a long and narrow hall, upon which doors openedfrom either side. At the end of the hall was a staircase with abalustrade which ended in a sweeping curve. The balustrade wascovered with heavy, Persian rugs, and the walls of the hall were alsohung with them. The door on my left was closed, but the one nearer meon the right was open, and, as I stepped opposite to it, I saw thatit was a sort of reception or waiting-room, and that it was empty. The door below it was also open, and, with the idea that I wouldsurely find someone there, I walked on up the hall. I was in eveningdress, and I felt I did not look like a burglar, so I had no greatfear that, should I encounter one of the inmates of the house, hewould shoot me on sight. The second door in the hall opened into adining-room. This was also empty. One person had been dining at thetable, but the cloth had not been cleared away, and a flickeringcandle showed half-filled wineglasses and the ashes of cigarettes. The greater part of the room was in complete darkness. 

"By this time I had grown conscious of the fact that I was wanderingabout in a strange house, and that, apparently, I was alone in it. The silence of the place began to try my nerves, and in a sudden, unexplainable panic I started for the open street. But as I turned, Isaw a man sitting on a bench, which the curve of the balustrade hadhidden from me. His eyes were shut, and he was sleeping soundly. 

"The moment before I had been bewildered because I could see no one, but at sight of this man I was much more bewildered. 

"He was a very large man, a giant in height, with long, yellow hair, which hung below his shoulders. He was dressed in a red silk shirt, that was belted at the waist and hung outside black velvet trousers, which, in turn, were stuffed into high, black boots. I recognized thecostume at once as that of a Russian servant, but what a Russianservant in his native livery could be doing in a private house inKnightsbridge was incomprehensible. 

"I advanced and touched the man on the shoulder, and, after aneffort, he awoke, and, on seeing me, sprang to his feet and beganbowing rapidly, and making deprecatory gestures. I had picked upenough Russian in Petersburg to make out that the man was apologizingfor having fallen asleep, and I also was able to explain to him thatI desired to see his master. 

"He nodded vigorously, and said, 'Will the Excellency come this way?The Princess is here. '

"I distinctly made out the word 'princess, ' and I was a good dealembarrassed. I had thought it would be easy enough to explain myintrusion to a man, but how a woman would look at it was anothermatter, and as I followed him down the hall I was somewhat puzzled. 

"As we advanced, he noticed that the front door was standing open, and with an exclamation of surprise, hastened toward it and closedit. Then he rapped twice on the door of what was apparently thedrawing-room. There was no reply to his knock, and he tapped again, and then, timidly, and cringing subserviently, opened the door andstepped inside. He withdrew himself at once and stared stupidly atme, shaking his head. 

"'She is not there, ' he said. He stood for a moment, gazing blanklythrough the open door, and then hastened toward the dining-room. Thesolitary candle which still burned there seemed to assure him thatthe room also was empty. He came back and bowed me toward thedrawing-room. 'She is above, ' he said; 'I will inform the Princess ofthe Excellency's presence. '

"Before I could stop him, he had turned and was running up thestaircase, leaving me alone at the open door of the drawing-room. Idecided that the adventure had gone quite far enough, and if I hadbeen able to explain to the Russian that I had lost my way in thefog, and only wanted to get back into the street again, I would haveleft the house on the instant. 

"Of course, when I first rang the bell of the house I had no otherexpectation than that it would be answered by a parlor-maid who woulddirect me on my way. I certainly could not then foresee that I woulddisturb a Russian princess in her boudoir, or that I might be thrownout by her athletic bodyguard. Still, I thought I ought not now toleave the house without making some apology, and, if the worst shouldcome, I could show my card. They could hardly believe that a memberof an Embassy had any designs upon the hat-rack. 

"The room in which I stood was dimly lighted, but I could see that, like the hall, it was hung with heavy, Persian rugs. The corners werefilled with palms, and there was the unmistakable odor in the air ofRussian cigarettes, and strange, dry scents that carried me back tothe bazaars of Vladivostock. Near the front windows was a grandpiano, and at the other end of the room a heavily carved screen ofsome black wood, picked out with ivory. The screen was overhung witha canopy of silken draperies, and formed a sort of alcove. In frontof the alcove was spread the white skin of a polar bear, and set onthat was one of those low, Turkish coffee-tables. It held a lightedspirit-lamp and two gold coffee-cups. I had heard no movement fromabove stairs, and it must have been fully three minutes that I stoodwaiting, noting these details of the room and wondering at the delay, and at the strange silence. 

"And then, suddenly, as my eye grew more used to the half-light, Isaw, projecting from behind the screen, as though it were stretchedalong the back of a divan, the hand of a man and the lower part ofhis arm. I was as startled as though I had come across a footprint ona deserted island. Evidently, the man had been sitting there since Ihad come into the room, even since I had entered the house, and hehad heard the servant knocking upon the door. Why he had not declaredhimself I could not understand, but I supposed that, possibly, he wasa guest, with no reason to interest himself in the Princess's othervisitors, or, perhaps, for some reason, he did not wish to beobserved. I could see nothing of him except his hand, but I had anunpleasant feeling that he had been peering at me through the carvingin the screen, and that he still was doing so. I moved my feetnoisily on the floor and said, tentatively, 'I beg your pardon. '

"There was no reply, and the hand did not stir. Apparently, the manwas bent upon ignoring me, but, as all I wished was to apologize formy intrusion and to leave the house, I walked up to the alcove andpeered around it. Inside the screen was a divan piled with cushions, and on the end of it nearer me the man was sitting. He was a youngEnglishman with light-yellow hair and a deeply bronzed face. He wasseated with his arms stretched out along the back of the divan, andwith his head resting against a cushion. His attitude was one ofcomplete ease. But his mouth had fallen open, and his eyes were setwith an expression of utter horror. At the first glance, I saw thathe was quite dead. 

"For a flash of time I was too startled to act, but in the same flashI was convinced that the man had met his death from no accident, thathe had not died through any ordinary failure of the laws of nature. The expression on his face was much too terrible to bemisinterpreted. It spoke as eloquently as words. It told me thatbefore the end had come he had watched his death approach andthreaten him. 

"I was so sure he had been murdered that I instinctively looked onthe floor for the weapon, and, at the same moment, out of concern formy own safety, quickly behind me; but the silence of the housecontinued unbroken. 

"I have seen a great number of dead men; I was on the Asiatic Stationduring the Japanese-Chinese war. I was in Port Arthur after themassacre. So a dead man, for the single reason that he is dead, doesnot repel me, and, though I knew that there was no hope that this manwas alive, still, for decency's sake, I felt his pulse, and, while Ikept my ears alert for any sound from the floors above me, I pulledopen his shirt and placed my hand upon his heart. My fingersinstantly touched upon the opening of a wound, and as I withdrew themI found them wet with blood. He was in evening dress, and in the widebosom of his shirt I found a narrow slit, so narrow that in the dimlight it was scarcely discernible. The wound was no wider than thesmallest blade of a pocket-knife, but when I stripped the shirt awayfrom the chest and left it bare, I found that the weapon, narrow asit was, had been long enough to reach his heart. There is no need totell you how I felt as I stood by the body of this boy, for he washardly older than a boy, or of the thoughts that came into my head. Iwas bitterly sorry for this stranger, bitterly indignant at hismurderer, and, at the same time, selfishly concerned for my ownsafety and for the notoriety which I saw was sure to follow. Myinstinct was to leave the body where it lay, and to hide myself inthe fog, but I also felt that since a succession of accidents hadmade me the only witness to a crime, my duty was to make myself agood witness and to assist to establish the facts of this murder. 

"That it might, possibly, be a suicide, and not a murder, did notdisturb me for a moment. The fact that the weapon had disappeared, and the expression on the boy's face were enough to convince, atleast me, that he had had no hand in his own death. I judged it, therefore, of the first importance to discover who was in the house, or, if they had escaped from it, who had been in the house before Ientered it. I had seen one man leave it; but all I could tell of himwas that he was a young man, that he was in evening dress, and thathe had fled in such haste that he had not stopped to close the doorbehind him. 

"The Russian servant I had found apparently asleep, and, unless heacted a part with supreme skill, he was a stupid and ignorant boor, and as innocent of the murder as myself. There was still the Russianprincess whom he had expected to find, or had pretended to expect tofind, in the same room with the murdered man. I judged that she mustnow be either upstairs with the servant, or that she had, without hisknowledge, already fled from the house. When I recalled hisapparently genuine surprise at not finding her in the drawing-room, this latter supposition seemed the more probable. Nevertheless, Idecided that it was my duty to make a search, and after a secondhurried look for the weapon among the cushions of the divan, and uponthe floor, I cautiously crossed the hall and entered the dining-room. 

"The single candle was still flickering in the draught, and showedonly the white cloth. The rest of the room was draped in shadows. Ipicked up the candle, and, lifting it high above my head, movedaround the corner of the table. Either my nerves were on such astretch that no shock could strain them further, or my mind wasinoculated to horrors, for I did not cry out at what I saw norretreat from it. Immediately at my feet was the body of a beautifulwoman, lying at full length upon the floor, her arms flung out oneither side of her, and her white face and shoulders gleaming, dully, in the unsteady light of the candle. Around her throat was a greatchain of diamonds, and the light played upon these and made themflash and blaze in tiny flames. But the woman who wore them was dead, and I was so certain as to how she had died that, without aninstant's hesitation, I dropped on my knees beside her and placed myhands above her heart. My fingers again touched the thin slit of awound. I had no doubt in my mind but that this was the Russianprincess, and when I lowered the candle to her face I was assuredthat this was so. Her features showed the finest lines of both theSlav and the Jewess; the eyes were black, the hair blue-black andwonderfully heavy, and her skin, even in death, was rich in color. She was a surpassingly beautiful woman. 

"I rose and tried to light another candle with the one I held, but Ifound that my hand was so unsteady that I could not keep the wickstogether. It was my intention to again search for this strange daggerwhich had been used to kill both the English boy and the beautifulprincess, but before I could light the second candle I heardfootsteps descending the stairs, and the Russian servant appeared inthe doorway. 

"My face was in darkness, or I am sure that, at the sight of it, hewould have taken alarm, for at that moment I was not sure but thatthis man himself was the murderer. His own face was plainly visibleto me in the light from the hall, and I could see that it wore anexpression of dull bewilderment. I stepped quickly toward him andtook a firm hold upon his wrist. 

"'She is not there, ' he said. 'The Princess has gone. They have allgone. '

"'Who have gone?' I demanded. 'Who else has been here? '

"'The two Englishmen, ' he said. 

"'What two Englishmen?' I demanded. 'What are their names?'

"The man now saw by my manner that some question of great moment hungupon his answer, and he began to protest that he did not know thenames of the visitors and that until that evening he had never seenthem. 

"I guessed that it was my tone which frightened him, so I took myhand off his wrist and spoke less eagerly. 

"'How long have they been here?' I asked, 'and when did they go?'

"He pointed behind him toward the drawing-room. 

"'One sat there with the Princess, ' he said; 'the other came after Ihad placed the coffee in the drawing-room. The two Englishmen talkedtogether, and the Princess returned here to the table. She sat therein that chair, and I brought her cognac and cigarettes. Then I satoutside upon the bench. It was a feast-day, and I had been drinking. Pardon, Excellency, but I fell asleep. When I woke, your Excellencywas standing by me, but the Princess and the two Englishmen had gone. That is all I know. '

"I believed that the man was telling me the truth. His fright hadpassed, and he was now apparently puzzled, but not alarmed. 

"'You must remember the names of the Englishmen, ' I urged. 'Try tothink. When you announced them to the Princess what name did yougive?'

"At this question he exclaimed, with pleasure, and, beckoning to me, ran hurriedly down the hall and into the drawing-room. In the cornerfurthest from the screen was the piano, and on it was a silver tray. He picked this up and, smiling with pride at his own intelligence, pointed at two cards that lay upon it. I took them up and read thenames engraved upon them. "

The American paused abruptly, and glanced at the faces about him. "Iread the names, " he repeated. He spoke with great reluctance. 

"Continue!" cried the baronet, sharply. 

"I read the names, " said the American with evident distaste, "and thefamily name of each was the same. They were the names of twobrothers. One is well known to you. It is that of the Africanexplorer of whom this gentleman was just speaking. I mean the Earl ofChetney. The other was the name of his brother. Lord Arthur Chetney. "

The men at the table fell back as though a trapdoor had fallen openat their feet. 

"Lord Chetney?" they exclaimed, in chorus. They glanced at each otherand back to the American, with every expression of concern anddisbelief. 

"It is impossible!" cried the Baronet. "Why, my dear sir, youngChetney only arrived from Africa yesterday. It was so stated in theevening papers. "

The jaw of the American set in a resolute square, and he pressed hislips together. 

"You are perfectly right, sir, " he said, "Lord Chetney did arrive inLondon yesterday morning, and yesterday night I found his dead body. "

The youngest member present was the first to recover. He seemed muchless concerned over the identity of the murdered man than at theinterruption of the narrative. 

"Oh, please let him go on!" he cried. "What happened then? You sayyou found two visiting-cards. How do you know which card was that ofthe murdered man?"

The American, before he answered, waited until the chorus ofexclamations had ceased. Then he continued as though he had not beeninterrupted. 

"The instant I read the names upon the cards, " he said, "I ran to thescreen and, kneeling beside the dead man, began a search through hispockets. My hand at once fell upon a card-case, and I found on allthe cards it contained the title of the Earl of Chetney. His watchand cigarette-case also bore his name. These evidences, and the factof his bronzed skin, and that his cheek-bones were worn with fever, convinced me that the dead man was the African explorer, and the boywho had fled past me in the night was Arthur, his younger brother. 

"I was so intent upon my search that I had forgotten the servant, andI was still on my knees when I heard a cry behind me. I turned, andsaw the man gazing down at the body in abject horror. 

"Before I could rise, he gave another cry of terror, and, flinginghimself into the hall, raced toward the door to the street. I leapedafter him, shouting to him to halt, but before I could reach the hallhe had torn open the door, and I saw him spring out into the yellowfog. I cleared the steps in a jump and ran down the garden-walk butjust as the gate clicked in front of me. I had it open on theinstant, and, following the sound of the man's footsteps, I racedafter him across the open street. He, also, could hear me, and heinstantly stopped running, and there was absolute silence. He was sonear that I almost fancied I could hear him panting, and I held myown breath to listen. But I could distinguish nothing but thedripping of the mist about us, and from far off the music of theHungarian band, which I had heard when I first lost myself. 

"All I could see was the square of light from the door I had leftopen behind me, and a lamp in the hall beyond it flickering in thedraught. But even as I watched it, the flame of the lamp was blownviolently to and fro, and the door, caught in the same current ofair, closed slowly. I knew if it shut I could not again enter thehouse, and I rushed madly toward it. I believe I even shouted out, asthough it were something human which I could compel to obey me, andthen I caught my foot against the curb and smashed into the sidewalk. When I rose to my feet I was dizzy and half stunned, and though Ithought then that I was moving toward the door, I know now that Iprobably turned directly from it; for, as I groped about in thenight, calling frantically for the police, my fingers touched nothingbut the dripping fog, and the iron railings for which I sought seemedto have melted away. For many minutes I beat the mist with my armslike one at blind man's buff, turning sharply in circles, cursingaloud at my stupidity and crying continually for help. At last avoice answered me from the fog, and I found myself held in the circleof a policeman's lantern. 

"That is the end of my adventure. What I have to tell you now is whatI learned from the police. 

"At the station-house to which the man guided me I related what youhave just heard. I told them that the house they must at once findwas one set back from the street within a radius of two hundred yardsfrom the Knightsbridge Barracks, that within fifty yards of itsomeone was giving a dance to the music of a Hungarian band, and thatthe railings before it were as high as a man's waist and filed to apoint. With that to work upon, twenty men were at once ordered outinto the fog to search for the house, and Inspector Lyle himself wasdespatched to the home of Lord Edam, Chetney's father, with a warrantfor Lord Arthur's arrest. I was thanked and dismissed on my ownrecognizance. 

"This morning, Inspector Lyle called on me, and from him I learnedthe police theory of the scene I have just described. 

"Apparently, I had wandered very far in the fog, for up to noon to-day the house had not been found, nor had they been able to arrestLord Arthur. He did not return to his father's house last night, andthere is no trace of him; but from what the police knew of the pastlives of the people I found in that lost house, they have evolved atheory, and their theory is that the murders were committed by LordArthur. 

"The infatuation of his elder brother, Lord Chetney, for a Russianprincess, so Inspector Lyle tells me, is well known to everyone. About two years ago the Princess Zichy, as she calls herself, and hewere constantly together, and Chetney informed his friends that theywere about to be married. The woman was notorious in two continents, and when Lord Edam heard of his son's infatuation he appealed to thepolice for her record. 

"It is through his having applied to them that they know so muchconcerning her and her relations with the Chetneys. From the policeLord Edam learned that Madame Zichy had once been a spy in the employof the Russian Third Section, but that lately she had been repudiatedby her own government and was living by her wits, by blackmail, andby her beauty. Lord Edam laid this record before his son, but Chetneyeither knew it already or the woman persuaded him not to believe init, and the father and son parted in great anger. Two days later themarquis altered his will, leaving all of his money to the youngerbrother, Arthur. 

"The title and some of the landed property he could not keep fromChetney, but he swore if his son saw the woman again that the willshould stand as it was, and he would be left without a penny. 

"This was about eighteen months ago, when, apparently, Chetney tiredof the Princess, and suddenly went off to shoot and explore inCentral Africa. No word came from him, except that twice he wasreported as having died of fever in the jungle, and finally twotraders reached the coast who said they had seen his body. This wasaccepted by all as conclusive, and young Arthur was recognized as theheir to the Edam millions. On the strength of this supposition he atonce began to borrow enormous sums from the money-lenders. This is ofgreat importance, as the police believe it was these debts whichdrove him to the murder of his brother. Yesterday, as you know, LordChetney suddenly returned from the grave, and it was the fact thatfor two years he had been considered as dead which lent suchimportance to his return and which gave rise to those columns ofdetail concerning him which appeared in all the afternoon papers. But, obviously, during his absence he had not tired of the PrincessZichy, for we know that a few hours after he reached London he soughther out. His brother, who had also learned of his reappearancethrough the papers, probably suspected which would be the house hewould first visit, and followed him there, arriving, so the Russianservant tells us, while the two were at coffee in the drawing-room. The Princess, then, we also learn from the servant, withdrew to thedining-room, leaving the brothers together. What happened one canonly guess. 

"Lord Arthur knew now that when it was discovered he was no longerthe heir, the moneylenders would come down upon him. The policebelieve that he at once sought out his brother to beg for money tocover the post-obits, but that, considering the sum he needed wasseveral hundreds of thousands of pounds, Chetney refused to give ithim. No one knew that Arthur had gone to seek out his brother. Theywere alone. It is possible, then, that in a passion ofdisappointment, and crazed with the disgrace which he saw before him, young Arthur made himself the heir beyond further question. The deathof his brother would have availed nothing if the woman remainedalive. It is then possible that he crossed the hall, and, with thesame weapon which made him Lord Edam's heir, destroyed the solitarywitness to the murder. The only other person who could have seen itwas sleeping in a drunken stupor, to which fact undoubtedly he owedhis life. And yet, " concluded the Naval Attache, leaning forward andmarking each word with his finger, "Lord Arthur blundered fatally. Inhis haste he left the door of the house open, so giving access to thefirst passer-by, and he forgot that when he entered it he had handedhis card to the servant. That piece of paper may yet send him to thegallows. In the meantime, he has disappeared completely, andsomewhere, in one of the millions of streets of this great capital, in a locked and empty house, lies the body of his brother, and of thewoman his brother loved, undiscovered, unburied; and with theirmurder unavenged. "

In the discussion which followed the conclusion of the story of theNaval Attache, the gentleman with the pearl took no part. Instead, hearose, and, beckoning a servant to a far corner of the room, whispered earnestly to him until a sudden movement on the part of SirAndrew caused him to return hurriedly to the table. 

"There are several points in Mr. Sears's story I want explained, " hecried. "Be seated, Sir Andrew, " he begged. "Let us have the opinionof an expert. I do not care what the police think, I want to knowwhat you think. "

But Sir Andrew rose reluctantly from his chair. 

"I should like nothing better than to discuss this, " he said. "But itis most important that I proceed to the House. I should have beenthere some time ago. " He turned toward the servant and directed himto call a hansom. 

The gentleman with the pearl stud looked appealingly at the NavalAttache. "There are surely many details that you have not told us, "he urged. "Some you have forgotten. "

The Baronet interrupted quickly. 

"I trust not, " he said, "for I could not possibly stop to hear them. "

"The story is finished, " declared the Naval Attache; "until LordArthur is arrested or the bodies are found there is nothing more totell of either Chetney or the Princess Zichy. "

"Of Lord Chetney, perhaps not, " interrupted the sporting-lookinggentleman with the black tie, "but there'll always be something totell of the Princess Zichy. I know enough stories about her to fill abook. She was a most remarkable woman. " The speaker dropped the endof his cigar into his coffee-cup and, taking his case from hispocket, selected a fresh one. As he did so he laughed and held up thecase that the others might see it. It was an ordinary cigar-case ofwell-worn pig-skin, with a silver clasp. 

"The only time I ever met her, " he said, "she tried to rob me ofthis. "

The Baronet regarded him closely. 

"She tried to rob you?" he repeated. 

"Tried to rob me of this, " continued the gentleman in the black tie, "and of the Czarina's diamonds. " His tone was one of mingledadmiration and injury. 

"The Czarina's diamonds!" exclaimed the Baronet. He glanced quicklyand suspiciously at the speaker, and then at the others about thetable. But their faces gave evidence of no other emotion than that ofordinary interest. 

"Yes, the Czarina's diamonds, " repeated the man with the black tie. "It was a necklace of diamonds. I was told to take them to theRussian Ambassador in Paris, who was to deliver them at Moscow. I ama Queen's Messenger, " he added. 

"Oh, I see, " exclaimed Sir Andrew, in a tone of relief. "And you saythat this same Princess Zichy, one of the victims of this doublemurder, endeavored to rob you of--of--that cigar-case. "

"And the Czarina's diamonds, " answered the Queen's Messenger, imperturbably. "It's not much of a story, but it gives you an idea ofthe woman's character. The robbery took place between Paris andMarseilles. "

The Baronet interrupted him with an abrupt movement. "No, no, " hecried, shaking his head in protest. "Do not tempt me. I really cannotlisten. I must be at the House in ten minutes. "

"I am sorry, " said the Queen's Messenger. He turned to those seatedabout him. "I wonder if the other gentlemen--" he inquired, tentatively. There was a chorus of polite murmurs, and the Queen'sMessenger, bowing his head in acknowledgment, took a preparatory sipfrom his glass. At the same moment the servant to whom the man withthe black pearl had spoken, slipped a piece of paper into his hand. He glanced at it, frowned, and threw it under the table. 

The servant bowed to the Baronet. 

"Your hansom is waiting, Sir Andrew, " he said. 

"The necklace was worth twenty thousand pounds, " began the Queen'sMessenger, "It was a present from the Queen of England to celebrate--" The Baronet gave an exclamation of angry annoyance. 

"Upon my word, this is most provoking, " he interrupted. "I reallyought not to stay. But I certainly mean to hear this. " He turnedirritably to the servant. "Tell the hansom to wait, " he commanded, and, with an air of a boy who is playing truant, slipped guiltilyinto his chair. 

The gentleman with the black pearl smiled blandly, and rapped uponthe table. 

"Order, gentlemen, " he said. "Order for the story of the Queen'sMessenger and the Czarina's diamonds. "

II

"The necklace was a present from the Queen of England to the Czarinaof Russia, " began the Queen's Messenger. "It was to celebrate theoccasion of the Czar's coronation. Our Foreign Office knew that theRussian Ambassador in Paris was to proceed to Moscow for thatceremony, and I was directed to go to Paris and turn over thenecklace to him. But when I reached Paris I found he had not expectedme for a week later and was taking a few days' vacation at Nice. Hispeople asked me to leave the necklace with them at the Embassy, but Ihad been charged to get a receipt for it from the Ambassador himself, so I started at once for Nice. The fact that Monte Carlo is not twothousand miles from Nice may have had something to do with making mecarry out my instructions so carefully. 

"Now, how the Princess Zichy came to find out about the necklace Idon't know, but I can guess. As you have just heard, she was at onetime a spy in the service of the Russian Government. And after theydismissed her she kept up her acquaintance with many of the Russianagents in London. It is probable that through one of them she learnedthat the necklace was to be sent to Moscow, and which one of theQueen's Messengers had been detailed to take it there. Still, I doubtif even that knowledge would have helped her if she had not alsoknown something which I supposed no one else in the world knew butmyself and one other man. And, curiously enough, the other man was aQueen's Messenger, too, and a friend of mine. You must know that upto the time of this robbery I had always concealed my despatches in amanner peculiarly my own. I got the idea from that play called 'AScrap of Paper. ' In it a man wants to hide a certain compromisingdocument. He knows that all his rooms will be secretly searched forit, so he puts it in a torn envelope and sticks it up where anyonecan see it on his mantle-shelf. The result is that the woman who isransacking the house to find it looks in all the unlikely places, butpasses over the scrap of paper that is just under her nose. Sometimesthe papers and packages they give us to carry about Europe are ofvery great value, and sometimes they are special makes of cigarettes, and orders to court-dressmakers. Sometimes we know what we arecarrying and sometimes we do not. If it is a large sum of money or atreaty, they generally tell us. But, as a rule, we have no knowledgeof what the package contains; so to be on the safe side, we naturallytake just as great care of it as though we knew it held the terms ofan ultimatum or the crown-jewels. As a rule, my confreres carry theofficial packages in a despatch-box, which is just as obvious as alady's jewel-bag in the hands of her maid. Everyone knows they arecarrying something of value. They put a premium on dishonesty. Well, after I saw the 'Scrap-of-Paper' play, I determined to put thegovernment valuables in the most unlikely place that anyone wouldlook for them. So I used to hide the documents they gave me inside myriding-boots, and small articles, such as money or jewels, I carriedin an old cigar-case. After I took to using my case for that purposeI bought a new one, exactly like it, for my cigars. But, to avoidmistakes, I had my initials placed on both sides of the new one, andthe moment I touched the case, even in the dark, I could tell whichit was by the raised initials. 

"No one knew of this except the Queen's Messenger of whom I spoke. Weonce left Paris together on the Orient Express. I was going toConstantinople and he was to stop off at Vienna. On the journey Itold him of my peculiar way of hiding things and showed him my cigar-case. If I recollect rightly, on that trip it held the grand cross ofSt. Michael and St. George, which the Queen was sending to ourAmbassador. The Messenger was very much entertained at my scheme, andsome months later when he met the Princess he told her about it as anamusing story. Of course, he had no idea she was a Russian spy. Hedidn't know anything at all about her, except that she was a veryattractive woman. It was indiscreet, but he could not possibly haveguessed that she could ever make any use of what he told her. 

"Later, after the robbery, I remembered that I had informed thisyoung chap of my secret hiding-place, and when I saw him again Iquestioned him about it. He was greatly distressed, and said he hadnever seen the importance of the secret. He remembered he had toldseveral people of it, and among others the Princess Zichy. In thatway I found out that it was she who had robbed me, and I know thatfrom the moment I left London she was following me, and that she knewthen that the diamonds were concealed in my cigar-case. 

"My train for Nice left Paris at ten in the morning. When I travel atnight I generally tell the chef de gare that I am a Queen'sMessenger, and he gives me a compartment to myself, but in thedaytime I take whatever offers. On this morning I had found an emptycompartment, and I had tipped the guard to keep everyone else out, not from any fear of losing the diamonds, but because I wanted tosmoke. He had locked the door, and as the last bell had rung Isupposed I was to travel alone, so I began to arrange my traps andmake myself comfortable. The diamonds in the cigar-case were in theinside pocket of my waistcoat, and as they made a bulky package, Itook them out, intending to put them in my hand-bag. It is a smallsatchel like a bookmaker's, or those hand-bags that couriers carry. Iwear it slung from a strap across my shoulders, and, no matterwhether I am sitting or walking, it never leaves me. 

"I took the cigar-case which held the necklace from my inside pocketand the case which held the cigars out of the satchel, and while Iwas searching through it for a box of matches I laid the two casesbeside me on the seat. 

"At that moment the train started, but at the same instant there wasa rattle at the lock of the compartment, and a couple of porterslifted and shoved a woman through the door, and hurled her rugs andumbrellas in after her. 

"Instinctively I reached for the diamonds. I shoved them quickly intothe satchel and, pushing them far down to the bottom of the bag, snapped the spring-lock. Then I put the cigars in the pocket of mycoat, but with the thought that now that I had a woman as atravelling companion I would probably not be allowed to enjoy them. 

"One of her pieces of luggage had fallen at my feet, and a roll ofrugs had landed at my side. I thought if I hid the fact that the ladywas not welcome, and at once endeavored to be civil, she might permitme to smoke. So I picked her hand-bag off the floor and asked herwhere I might place it. 

"As I spoke I looked at her for the first time, and saw that she wasa most remarkably handsome woman. 

"She smiled charmingly and begged me not to disturb myself. Then shearranged her own things about her, and, opening her dressing-bag, took out a gold cigarette-case. 

"'Do you object to smoke?' she asked. 

"I laughed and assured her I had been in great terror lest she mightobject to it herself. 

"'If you like cigarettes, ' she said, 'will you try some of these?They are rolled especially for my husband in Russia, and they aresupposed to be very good. '

"I thanked her, and took one from her case, and I found it so muchbetter than my own that I continued to smoke her cigarettesthroughout the rest of the journey. I must say that we got on verywell. I judged from the coronet on her cigarette-case, and from hermanner, which was quite as well bred as that of any woman I ever met, that she was someone of importance, and though she seemed almost toogood-looking to be respectable, I determined that she was some grandedame who was so assured of her position that she could afford to beunconventional. At first she read her novel, and then she made somecomment on the scenery, and finally we began to discuss the currentpolitics of the Continent. She talked of all the cities in Europe, and seemed to know everyone worth knowing. But she volunteerednothing about herself except that she frequently made use of theexpression, 'When my husband was stationed at Vienna, ' or 'When myhusband was promoted to Rome. ' Once she said to me, 'I have oftenseen you at Monte Carlo. I saw you when you won the pigeon-championship. ' I told her that I was not a pigeon-shot, and she gavea little start of surprise. 'Oh, I beg your pardon, ' she said; 'Ithought you were Morton Hamilton, the English champion. ' As a matterof fact, I do look like Hamilton, but I know now that her object wasto make me think that she had no idea as to who I really was. Sheneedn't have acted at all, for I certainly had no suspicions of her, and was only too pleased to have so charming a companion. 

"The one thing that should have made me suspicious was the fact thatat every station she made some trivial excuse to get me out of thecompartment. She pretended that her maid was travelling back of us inone of the second-class carriages, and kept saying she could notimagine why the woman did not come to look after her, and if the maiddid not turn up at the next stop, would I be so very kind as to getout and bring her whatever it was she pretended she wanted. 

"I had taken my dressing-case from the rack to get out a novel, andhad left it on the seat opposite to mine, and at the end of thecompartment farthest from her. And once when I came back from buyingher a cup of chocolate, or from some other fool-errand, I found herstanding at my end of the compartment with both hands on thedressing-bag. She looked at me without so much as winking an eye, andshoved the case carefully into a corner. 'Your bag slipped off on thefloor, ' she said. 'If you've got any bottles in it, you had betterlook and see that they're not broken. '

"And I give you my word, I was such an ass that I did open the caseand looked all through it. She must have thought I WAS a Juggins. Iget hot all over whenever I remember it. But, in spite of my dulness, and her cleverness, she couldn't gain anything by sending me away, because what she wanted was in the hand-bag, and every time she sentme away the hand-bag went with me. 

"After the incident of the dressing-case her manner changed. Eitherin my absence she had had time to look through it, or, when I wasexamining it for broken bottles, she had seen everything it held. 

"From that moment she must have been certain that the cigar-case, inwhich she knew I carried the diamonds, was in the bag that wasfastened to my body, and from that time on she probably was plottinghow to get it from me. 

"Her anxiety became most apparent. She dropped the great-lady manner, and her charming condescension went with it. She ceased talking, and, when I spoke, answered me irritably, or at random. No doubt her mindwas entirely occupied with her plan. The end of our journey wasdrawing rapidly nearer, and her time for action was being cut downwith the speed of the express-train. Even I, unsuspicious as I was, noticed that something was very wrong with her. I really believe thatbefore we reached Marseilles if I had not, through my own stupidity, given her the chance she wanted, she might have stuck a knife in meand rolled me out on the rails. But as it was, I only thought thatthe long journey had tired her. I suggested that it was a very tryingtrip, and asked her if she would allow me to offer her some of mycognac. 

"She thanked me and said, 'No, ' and then suddenly her eyes lighted, and she exclaimed, 'Yes, thank you, if you will be so kind. '

"My flask was in the hand-bag, and I placed it on my lap and, with mythumb, slipped back the catch. As I keep my tickets and railroad-guide in the bag, I am so constantly opening it that I never botherto lock it, and the fact that it is strapped to me has always beensufficient protection. But I can appreciate now what a satisfaction, and what a torment, too, it must have been to that woman when she sawthat the bag opened without a key. 

"While we were crossing the mountains I had felt rather chilly andhad been wearing a light racing-coat. But after the lamps werelighted the compartment became very hot and stuffy, and I found thecoat uncomfortable. So I stood up, and after first slipping the strapof the bag over my head, I placed the bag in the seat next me andpulled off the racing-coat. I don't blame myself for being careless;the bag was still within reach of my hand, and nothing would havehappened if at that exact moment the train had not stopped at Arles. It was the combination of my removing the bag and our entering thestation at the same instant which gave the Princess Zichy the chanceshe wanted to rob me. 

"I needn't say that she was clever enough to take it. The train raninto the station at full speed and came to a sudden stop. I had justthrown my coat into the rack, and had reached out my hand for thebag. In another instant I would have had the strap around myshoulder. But at that moment the Princess threw open the door of thecompartment and beckoned wildly at the people on the platform. 'Natalie!' she called, 'Natalie! here I am. Come here! This way!' Sheturned upon me in the greatest excitement. 'My maid!' she cried. 'Sheis looking for me. She passed the window without seeing me. Go, please, and bring her back. ' She continued pointing out of the doorand beckoning me with her other hand. There certainly was somethingabout that woman's tone which made one jump. When she was givingorders you had no chance to think of anything else. So I rushed outon my errand of mercy, and then rushed back again to ask what themaid looked like. 

"'In black, ' she answered, rising and blocking the door of thecompartment. 'All in black, with a bonnet!'

"The train waited three minutes at Arles, and in that time I supposeI must have rushed up to over twenty women and asked, 'Are youNatalie?' The only reason I wasn't punched with an umbrella or handedover to the police was that they probably thought I was crazy. 

"When I jumped back into the compartment the Princess was seatedwhere I had left her, but her eyes were burning with happiness. Sheplaced her hand on my arm almost affectionately, and said, in ahysterical way, 'You are very kind to me. I am so sorry to havetroubled you. '

"I protested that every woman on the platform was dressed in black. 

"'Indeed, I am so sorry, ' she said, laughing; and she continued tolaugh until she began to breathe so quickly that I thought she wasgoing to faint. 

"I can see now that the last part of that journey must have been aterrible half-hour for her. She had the cigar-case safe enough, butshe knew that she herself was not safe. She understood if I were toopen my bag, even at the last minute, and miss the case, I would knowpositively that she had taken it. I had placed the diamonds in thebag at the very moment she entered the compartment, and no one butour two selves had occupied it since. She knew that when we reachedMarseilles she would either be twenty thousand pounds richer thanwhen she left Paris, or that she would go to jail. That was thesituation as she must have read it, and I don't envy her her state ofmind during that last half-hour. It must have been hell. 

"I saw that something was wrong, and, in my innocence, I evenwondered if possibly my cognac had not been a little too strong. Forshe suddenly developed into a most brilliant conversationalist, andapplauded and laughed at everything I said, and fired off questionsat me like a machine-gun, so that I had no time to think of anythingbut of what she was saying. Whenever I stirred, she stopped herchattering and leaned toward me, and watched me like a cat over amouse-hole. I wondered how I could have considered her an agreeabletravelling-companion. I thought I would have preferred to be lockedin with a lunatic. I don't like to think how she would have acted ifI had made a move to examine the bag, but as I had it safely strappedaround me again, I did not open it, and I reached Marseilles alive. As we drew into the station she shook hands with me and grinned at melike a Cheshire cat. 

"'I cannot tell you, ' she said, 'how much I have to thank you for. 'What do you think of that for impudence?

"I offered to put her in a carriage, but she said she must findNatalie, and that she hoped we would meet again at the hotel. So Idrove off by myself, wondering who she was, and whether Natalie wasnot her keeper. 

"I had to wait several hours for the train to Nice; and as I wantedto stroll around the city I thought I had better put the diamonds inthe safe of the hotel. As soon as I reached my room I locked thedoor, placed the hand-bag on the table, and opened it. I felt amongthe things at the top of it, but failed to touch the cigar-case. Ishoved my hand in deeper, and stirred the things about, but still Idid not reach it. A cold wave swept down my spine, and a sort ofemptiness came to the pit of my stomach. Then I turned red-hot, andthe sweat sprung out all over me. I wet my lips with my tongue, andsaid to myself, 'Don't be an ass. Pull yourself together, pullyourself together. Take the things out, one at a time. It's there, ofcourse, it's there. Don't be an ass. '

"So I put a brake on my nerves and began very carefully to pick outthe things, one by one, but, after another second, I could not standit, and I rushed across the room and threw out everything on the bed. But the diamonds were not among them. I pulled the things about andtore them open and shuffled and rearranged and sorted them, but itwas no use. The cigar-case was gone. I threw everything in thedressing-case out on the floor, although I knew it was useless tolook for it there. I knew that I had put it in the bag. I sat downand tried to think. I remembered I had put it in the satchel at Parisjust as that woman had entered the compartment, and I had been alonewith her ever since, so it was she who had robbed me. But how? It hadnever left my shoulder. And then I remembered that it had--that I hadtaken it off when I had changed my coat and for the few moments thatI was searching for Natalie. I remembered that the woman had sent meon that goose-chase, and that at every other station she had tried toget rid of me on some fool-errand. 

"I gave a roar like a mad bull, and I jumped down the stairs, sixsteps at a time. 

"I demanded at the office if a distinguished lady of title, possiblya Russian, had just entered the hotel. 

"As I expected, she had not. I sprang into a cab and inquired at twoother hotels, and then I saw the folly of trying to catch her withoutoutside help, and I ordered the fellow to gallop to the office of theChief of Police. I told my story, and the ass in charge asked me tocalm myself, and wanted to take notes. I told him this was no timefor taking notes, but for doing something. He got wrathy at that, andI demanded to be taken at once to his Chief. The Chief, he said, wasvery busy, and could not see me. So I showed him my silver greyhound. In eleven years I had never used it but once before. I stated, inpretty vigorous language, that I was a Queen's Messenger, and that ifthe Chief of Police did not see me instantly he would lose hisofficial head. At that the fellow jumped off his high horse and ranwith me to his Chief--a smart young chap, a colonel in the army, anda very intelligent man. 

"I explained that I had been robbed, in a French railway-carriage, ofa diamond-necklace belonging to the Queen of England, which herMajesty was sending as a present to the Czarina of Russia. I pointedout to him that if he succeeded in capturing the thief he would bemade for life, and would receive the gratitude of three great powers. 

"He wasn't the sort that thinks second thoughts are best. He sawRussian and French decorations sprouting all over his chest, and hehit a bell, and pressed buttons, and yelled out orders like thecaptain of a penny-steamer in a fog. He sent her description to allthe city-gates, and ordered all cabmen and railway-porters to searchall trains leaving Marseilles. He ordered all passengers on outgoingvessels to be examined, and telegraphed the proprietors of everyhotel and pension to send him a complete list of their guests withinthe hour. While I was standing there he must have given at least ahundred orders, and sent out enough commissaires, sergeants de ville, gendarmes, bicycle-police, and plain-clothes Johnnies to havecaptured the entire German army. When they had gone he assured methat the woman was as good as arrested already. Indeed, officially, she was arrested; for she had no more chance of escape fromMarseilles than from the Chateau D'If. 

"He told me to return to my hotel and possess my soul in peace. Within an hour he assured me he would acquaint me with her arrest. 

"I thanked him, and complimented him on his energy, and left him. ButI didn't share in his confidence. I felt that she was a very cleverwoman, and a match for any and all of us. It was all very well forhim to be jubilant. He had not lost the diamonds, and had everythingto gain if he found them; while I, even if he did recover thenecklace, would only be where I was before I lost them, and if he didnot recover it I was a ruined man. It was an awful facer for me. Ihad always prided myself on my record. In eleven years I had nevermislaid an envelope, nor missed taking the first train. And now I hadfailed in the most important mission that had ever been intrusted tome. And it wasn't a thing that could be hushed up, either. It was tooconspicuous, too spectacular. It was sure to invite the widestnotoriety. I saw myself ridiculed all over the Continent, and perhapsdismissed, even suspected of having taken the thing myself. 

"I was walking in front of a lighted cafe, and I felt so sick andmiserable that I stopped for a pick-me-up. Then I considered that ifI took one drink I would probably, in my present state of mind, notwant to stop under twenty, and I decided I had better leave it alone. But my nerves were jumping like a frightened rabbit, and I felt Imust have something to quiet them, or I would go crazy. I reached formy cigarette-case, but a cigarette seemed hardly adequate, so I putit back again and took out this cigar-case, in which I keep only thestrongest and blackest cigars. I opened it and stuck in my fingers, but, instead of a cigar, they touched on a thin leather envelope. Myheart stood perfectly still. I did not dare to look, but I dug myfinger-nails into the leather, and I felt layers of thin paper, thena layer of cotton, and then they scratched on the facets of theCzarina's diamonds!

"I stumbled as though I had been hit in the face, and fell back intoone of the chairs on the sidewalk. I tore off the wrappings andspread out the diamonds on the cafe-table; I could not believe theywere real. I twisted the necklace between my fingers and crushed itbetween my palms and tossed it up in the air. I believe I almostkissed it. The women in the cafe stood up on the chairs to seebetter, and laughed and screamed, and the people crowded so closearound me that the waiters had to form a body-guard. The proprietorthought there was a fight, and called for the police. I was so happyI didn't care. I laughed, too, and gave the proprietor a five-poundnote, and told him to stand everyone a drink. Then I tumbled into afiacre and galloped off to my friend the Chief of Police. I felt verysorry for him. He had been so happy at the chance I gave him, and hewas sure to be disappointed when he learned I had sent him off on afalse alarm. 

"But now that I had found the necklace, I did not want him to findthe woman. Indeed, I was most anxious that she should get clear away, for, if she were caught, the truth would come out, and I was likelyto get a sharp reprimand, and sure to be laughed at. 

"I could see now how it had happened. In my haste to hide thediamonds when the woman was hustled into the carriage, I had shovedthe cigars into the satchel, and the diamonds into the pocket of mycoat. Now that I had the diamonds safe again, it seemed a verynatural mistake. But I doubted if the Foreign Office would think so. I was afraid it might not appreciate the beautiful simplicity of mysecret hiding-place. So, when I reached the police-station, and foundthat the woman was still at large, I was more than relieved. 

"As I expected, the Chief was extremely chagrined when he learned ofmy mistake, and that there was nothing for him to do. But I wasfeeling so happy myself that I hated to have anyone else miserable, so I suggested that this attempt to steal the Czarina's necklacemight be only the first of a series of such attempts by anunscrupulous gang, and that I might still be in danger. 

"I winked at the Chief, and the Chief smiled at me, and we went toNice together in a saloon-car with a guard of twelve carabineers andtwelve plain-clothes men, and the Chief and I drank champagne all theway. We marched together up to the hotel where the Russian Ambassadorwas stopping, closely surrounded by our escort of carabineers, anddelivered the necklace with the most profound ceremony. The oldAmbassador was immensely impressed, and when we hinted that already Ihad been made the object of an attack by robbers, he assured us thathis Imperial Majesty would not prove ungrateful. 

"I wrote a swinging personal letter about the invaluable services ofthe Chief to the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, and they gavehim enough Russian and French medals to satisfy even a Frenchsoldier. So, though he never caught the woman, he received his justreward. "

The Queen's Messenger paused and surveyed the faces of those abouthim in some embarrassment. 

"But the worst of it is, " he added, "that the story must have gotabout; for, while the Princess obtained nothing from me but a cigar-case and five excellent cigars, a few weeks after the coronation theCzar sent me a gold cigar-case with his monogram in diamonds. And Idon't know yet whether that was a coincidence, or whether the Czarwanted me to know that he knew that I had been carrying the Czarina'sdiamonds in my pig-skin cigar-case. What do you fellows think?"

III

Sir Andrew rose, with disapproval written in every lineament. 

"I thought your story would bear upon the murder, " he said. "Had Iimagined it would have nothing whatsoever to do with it, I would nothave remained. " He pushed back his chair and bowed, stiffly. "I wishyou good night, " he said. 

There was a chorus of remonstrance, and, under cover of this and theBaronet's answering protests, a servant, for the second time, slippeda piece of paper into the hand of the gentleman with the pearl stud. He read the lines written upon it and tore it into tiny fragments. 

The youngest member, who had remained an interested but silentlistener to the tale of the Queen's Messenger, raised his hand, commandingly. 

"Sir Andrew, " he cried, "in justice to Lord Arthur Chetney, I mustask you to be seated. He has been accused in our hearing of a mostserious crime, and I insist that you remain until you have heard meclear his character. "

"You!" cried the Baronet. 

"Yes, " answered the young man, briskly. "I would have spoken sooner, "he explained, "but that I thought this gentleman"--he inclined hishead toward the Queen's Messenger--"was about to contribute somefacts of which I was ignorant. He, however, has told us nothing, andso I will take up the tale at the point where Lieutenant Sears laidit down and give you those details of which Lieutenant Sears isignorant. It seems strange to you that I should be able to add thesequel to this story. But the coincidence is easily explained. I amthe junior member of the law firm of Chudleigh & Chudleigh. We havebeen solicitors for the Chetneys for the last two hundred years. Nothing, no matter how unimportant, which concerns Lord Edam and histwo sons is unknown to us, and naturally we are acquainted with everydetail of the terrible catastrophe of last night. "

The Baronet, bewildered but eager, sank back into his chair. 

"Will you be long, sir?" he demanded. 

"I shall endeavor to be brief, " said the young solicitor; "and, " headded, in a tone which gave his words almost the weight of a threat, "I promise to be interesting. "

"There is no need to promise that, " said Sir Andrew, "I find it muchtoo interesting as it is. " He glanced ruefully at the clock andturned his eyes quickly from it. 

"Tell the driver of that hansom, " he called to the servant, "that Itake him by the hour. "

"For the last three days, " began young Mr. Chudleigh, "as you haveprobably read in the daily papers, the Marquis of Edam has been atthe point of death, and his physicians have never left his house. Every hour he seemed to grow weaker; but although his bodily strengthis apparently leaving him forever, his mind has remained clear andactive. Late yesterday evening, word was received at our office thathe wished my father to come at once to Chetney House and to bringwith him certain papers. What these papers were is not essential; Imention them only to explain how it was that last night I happened tobe at Lord Edam's bedside. I accompanied my father to Chetney House, but at the time we reached there Lord Edam was sleeping, and hisphysicians refused to have him awakened. My father urged that heshould be allowed to receive Lord Edam's instructions concerning thedocuments, but the physicians would not disturb him, and we allgathered in the library to wait until he should awake of his ownaccord. It was about one o'clock in the morning, while we were stillthere, that Inspector Lyle and the officers from Scotland Yard cameto arrest Lord Arthur on the charge of murdering his brother. You canimagine our dismay and distress. Like everyone else, I had learnedfrom the afternoon papers that Lord Chetney was not dead, but that hehad returned to England, and, on arriving at Chetney House, I hadbeen told that Lord Arthur had gone to the Bath Hotel to look for hisbrother and to inform him that if he wished to see their father alivehe must come to him at once. Although it was now past one o'clock, Arthur had not returned. None of us knew where Madame Zichy lived, sowe could not go to recover Lord Chetney's body. We spent a mostmiserable night, hastening to the window whenever a cab came into thesquare, in the hope that it was Arthur returning, and endeavoring toexplain away the facts that pointed to him as the murderer. I am afriend of Arthur's, I was with him at Harrow and at Oxford, and Irefused to believe for an instant that he was capable of such acrime; but as a lawyer I could not help but see that thecircumstantial evidence was strongly against him. 

"Toward early morning, Lord Edam awoke, and in so much better a stateof health that he refused to make the changes in the papers which hehad intended, declaring that he was no nearer death than ourselves. Under other circumstances, this happy change in him would haverelieved us greatly, but none of us could think of anything save thedeath of his elder son and of the charge which hung over Arthur. 

"As long as Inspector Lyle remained in the house, my father decidedthat I, as one of the legal advisers of the family, should alsoremain there. But there was little for either of us to do. Arthur didnot return, and nothing occurred until late this morning, when Lylereceived word that the Russian servant had been arrested. He at oncedrove to Scotland Yard to question him. He came back to us in anhour, and informed me that the servant had refused to tell anythingof what had happened the night before, or of himself, or of thePrincess Zichy. He would not even give them the address of her house. 

"'He is in abject terror, ' Lyle said. 'I assured him that he was notsuspected of the crime, but he would tell me nothing. '

"There were no other developments until two o'clock this afternoon, when word was brought to us that Arthur had been found, and that hewas lying in the accident-ward of St. George's Hospital. Lyle and Idrove there together, and found him propped up in bed with his headbound in a bandage. He had been brought to the hospital the nightbefore by the driver of a hansom that had run over him in the fog. The cab-horse had kicked him on the head, and he had been carried inunconscious. There was nothing on him to tell who he was, and it wasnot until he came to his senses this afternoon that the hospitalauthorities had been able to send word to his people. Lyle at onceinformed him that he was under arrest, and with what he was charged, and though the Inspector warned him to say nothing which might beused against him, I, as his solicitor, instructed him to speak freelyand to tell us all he knew of the occurrences of last night. It wasevident to anyone that the fact of his brother's death was of muchgreater concern to him than that he was accused of his murder. 

"'That, ' Arthur said, contemptuously, 'that is damned nonsense. It ismonstrous and cruel. We parted better friends than we have been inyears. I will tell you all that happened--not to clear myself, but tohelp you to find out the truth. ' His story is as follows: Yesterdayafternoon, owing to his constant attendance on his father, he did notlook at the evening papers, and it was not until after dinner, whenthe butler brought him one and told him of its contents, that helearned that his brother was alive and at the Bath Hotel. He drovethere at once, but was told that about eight o'clock his brother hadgone out, but without giving any clew to his destination. As Chetneyhad not at once come to see his father, Arthur decided that he wasstill angry with him, and his mind, turning naturally to the cause oftheir quarrel, determined him to look for Chetney at the home of thePrincess Zichy. 

"Her house had been pointed out to him, and though he had nevervisited it, he had passed it many times and knew its exact location. He accordingly drove in that direction, as far as the fog wouldpermit the hansom to go, and walked the rest of the way, reaching thehouse about nine o'clock. He rang, and was admitted by the Russianservant. The man took his card into the drawing-room, and at once hisbrother ran out and welcomed him. He was followed by the PrincessZichy, who also received Arthur most cordially. 

"'You brothers will have much to talk about, ' she said. 'I am goingto the dining-room. When you have finished, let me know. '

"As soon as she had left them, Arthur told his brother that theirfather was not expected to outlive the night, and that he must cometo him at once. 

"'This is not the moment to remember your quarrel, ' Arthur said tohim; 'you have come back from the dead only in time to make yourpeace with him before he dies. '

"Arthur says that at this Chetney was greatly moved. 

"'You entirely misunderstand me, Arthur, ' he returned. 'I did notknow the governor was ill, or I would have gone to him the instant Iarrived. My only reason for not doing so was because I thought he wasstill angry with me. I shall return with you immediately, as soon asI have said good-by to the Princess. It is a final good-by. After to-night I shall never see her again. '

"'Do you mean that?' Arthur cried. 

"'Yes, ' Chetney answered. 'When I returned to London I had nointention of seeking her again, and I am here only through amistake. ' He then told Arthur that he had separated from the Princesseven before he went to Central Africa, and that, moreover, while atCairo on his way south, he had learned certain facts concerning herlife there during the previous season, which made it impossible forhim to ever wish to see her again. Their separation was final andcomplete. 

"'She deceived me cruelly, ' he said; 'I cannot tell you how cruelly. During the two years when I was trying to obtain my father's consentto our marriage she was in love with a Russian diplomat. During allthat time he was secretly visiting her here in London, and her tripto Cairo was only an excuse to meet him there. '

"'Yet you are here with her to-night, ' Arthur protested, 'only a fewhours after your return. '

"'That is easily explained, ' Chetney answered. 'As I finished dinnerto-night at the hotel, I received a note from her from this address. In it she said she had just learned of my arrival, and begged me tocome to her at once. She wrote that she was in great and presenttrouble, dying of an incurable illness, and without friends or money. She begged me, for the sake of old times, to come to her assistance. During the last two years in the jungle all my former feeling forZichy has utterly passed away, but no one could have dismissed theappeal she made in that letter. So I came here, and found her, as youhave seen her, quite as beautiful as she ever was, in very goodhealth, and, from the look of the house, in no need of money. 

"'I asked her what she meant by writing me that she was dying in agarret, and she laughed, and said she had done so because she wasafraid, unless I thought she needed help, I would not try to see her. That was where we were when you arrived. And now, ' Chetney added, 'Iwill say good-by to her, and you had better return home. No, you cantrust me, I shall follow you at once. She has no influence over menow, but I believe, in spite of the way she has used me, that she is, after her queer fashion, still fond of me, and when she learns thatthis good-by is final there may be a scene, and it is not fair to herthat you should be here. So, go home at once, and tell the governorthat I am following you in ten minutes. '

"'That, ' said Arthur, 'is the way we parted. I never left him on morefriendly terms. I was happy to see him alive again, I was happy tothink he had returned in time to make up his quarrel with my father, and I was happy that at last he was shut of that woman. I was neverbetter pleased with him in my life. ' He turned to Inspector Lyle, whowas sitting at the foot of the bed, taking notes of all he told us. 

"'Why, in the name of common-sense, ' he cried, 'should I have chosenthat moment, of all others, to send my brother back to the grave?'For a moment the Inspector did not answer him. I do not know if anyof you gentlemen are acquainted with Inspector Lyle, but if you arenot, I can assure you that he is a very remarkable man. Our firmoften applies to him for aid, and he has never failed us; my fatherhas the greatest possible respect for him. Where he has the advantageover the ordinary police-official is in the fact that he possessesimagination. He imagines himself to be the criminal, imagines how hewould act under the same circumstances, and he imagines to suchpurpose that he generally finds the man he wants. I have often toldLyle that if he had not been a detective he would have made a greatsuccess as a poet or a playwright. 

"When Arthur turned on him, Lyle hesitated for a moment, and thentold him exactly what was the case against him, "'Ever since your brother was reported as having died in Africa, ' hesaid, 'your lordship has been collecting money on post-obits. LordChetney's arrival, last night, turned them into waste-paper. You weresuddenly in debt for thousands of pounds--for much more than youcould ever possibly pay. No one knew that you and your brother hadmet at Madame Zichy's. But you knew that your father was not expectedto outlive the night, and that if your brother were dead also, youwould be saved from complete ruin, and that you would become theMarquis of Edam. '

"'Oh, that is how you have worked it out, is it?' Arthur cried. 'Andfor me to become Lord Edam was it necessary that the woman shoulddie, too?'

"'They will say, ' Lyle answered, 'that she was a witness to themurder--that she would have told. '

"'Then why did I not kill the servant as well?' Arthur said. 

"'He was asleep, and saw nothing. '

"'And you believe that?' Arthur demanded. 

"'It is not a question of what I believe, ' Lyle said, gravely. 'It isa question for your peers. '

"'The man is insolent!' Arthur cried. 'The thing is monstrous!Horrible!'

"Before we could stop him, he sprang out of his cot and began pullingon his clothes. When the nurses tried to hold him down, he foughtwith them. 

"'Do you think you can keep me here, ' he shouted, 'when they areplotting to hang me? I am going with you to that house!' he cried atLyle. 'When you find those bodies I shall be beside you. It is myright. He is my brother. He has been murdered, and I can tell you whomurdered him. That woman murdered him. '

'She first ruined his life, and now she has killed him. For the lastfive years she has been plotting to make herself his wife, and lastnight, when he told her he had discovered the truth about theRussian, and that she would never see him again, she flew into apassion and stabbed him, and then in terror of the gallows, killedherself. She murdered him, I tell you, and I promise you that we willfind the knife she used near her--perhaps still in her hand. Whatwill you say to that?'

"Lyle turned his head away and stared down at the floor. 'I mightsay, ' he answered, 'that you placed it there. '

"Arthur gave a cry of anger and sprang at him, and then pitchedforward into his arms. The blood was running from the cut under thebandage, and he had fainted. Lyle carried him back to the bed again, and we left him with the police and the doctors, and drove at once tothe address he had given us. We found the house not three minutes'walk from St. George's Hospital. It stands in Trevor Terrace, thatlittle row of houses set back from Knightsbridge, with one end inHill Street. 

"As we left the hospital, Lyle had said to me, 'You must not blame mefor treating him as I did. All is fair in this work, and if byangering that boy I could have made him commit himself, I was rightin trying to do so; though, I assure you, no one would be betterpleased than myself if I could prove his theory to be correct. But wecannot tell. Everything depends upon what we see for ourselves withinthe next few minutes. '

"When we reached the house, Lyle broke open the fastenings of one ofthe windows on the ground-floor, and, hidden by the trees in thegarden, we scrambled in. We found ourselves in the reception-room, which was the first room on the right of the hall. The gas was stillburning behind the colored glass and red, silk shades, and when thedaylight streamed in after us it gave the hall a hideously dissipatedlook, like the foyer of a theatre at a matinee, or the entrance to anall-day gambling-hall. The house was oppressively silent, and, because we knew why it was so silent, we spoke in whispers. When Lyleturned the handle of the drawing-room door, I felt as though someonehad put his hand upon my throat. But I followed, close at hisshoulder, and saw, in the subdued light of many-tinted lamps, thebody of Chetney at the foot of the divan, just as Lieutenant Searshad described it. In the drawing-room we found the body of thePrincess Zichy, her arms thrown out, and the blood from her heartfrozen in a tiny line across her bare shoulder. But neither of us, although we searched the floor on our hands and knees, could find theweapon which had killed her. 

"'For Arthur's sake, ' I said, 'I would have given a thousand poundsif we had found the knife in her hand, as he said we would. '

"'That we have not found it there, ' Lyle answered, 'is to my mind thestrongest proof that he is telling the truth, that he left the housebefore the murder took place. He is not a fool, and had he stabbedhis brother and this woman, he would have seen that by placing theknife near her he could help to make it appear as if she had killedChetney and then committed suicide. Besides, Lord Arthur insistedthat the evidence in his behalf would be our finding the knife here. He would not have urged that if he knew we would NOT find it, if heknew he himself had carried it away. This is no suicide. A suicidedoes not rise and hide the weapon with which he kills himself, andthen lie down again. No, this has been a double murder, and we mustlook outside of the house for the murderer. '

"While he was speaking, Lyle and I had been searching every corner, studying the details of each room. I was so afraid that, withouttelling me, he would make some deductions prejudicial to Arthur, thatI never left his side. I was determined to see everything that hesaw, and, if possible, to prevent his interpreting it in the wrongway. He finally finished his examination, and we sat down together inthe drawing-room, and he took out his note-book and read aloud allthat Mr. Sears had told him of the murder and what we had justlearned from Arthur. We compared the two accounts, word for word, andweighed statement with statement, but I could not determine, fromanything Lyle said, which of the two versions he had decided tobelieve. 

"'We are trying to build a house of blocks, ' he exclaimed, 'with halfof the blocks missing. We have been considering two theories, ' hewent on: 'one that Lord Arthur is responsible for both murders, andthe other that the dead woman in there is responsible for one ofthem, and has committed suicide; but, until the Russian servant isready to talk, I shall refuse to believe in the guilt of either. '

"'What can you prove by him?' I asked. 'He was drunk and asleep. Hesaw nothing. '

"Lyle hesitated, and then, as though he had made up his mind to bequite frank with me, spoke freely. 

"'I do not know that he was either drunk or asleep, ' he answered. 'Lieutenant Sears describes him as a stupid boor. I am not satisfiedthat he is not a clever actor. What was his position in this house?What was his real duty here? Suppose it was not to guard this woman, but to watch her. Let us imagine that it was not the woman he served, but a master, and see where that leads us. For this house has amaster, a mysterious, absentee landlord, who lives in St. Petersburg, the unknown Russian who came between Chetney and Zichy, and becauseof whom Chetney left her. He is the man who bought this house forMadame Zichy, who sent these rugs and curtains from St. Petersburg tofurnish it for her after his own tastes, and, I believe, it was healso who placed the Russian servant here, ostensibly to serve thePrincess, but in reality to spy upon her. At Scotland Yard we do notknow who this gentleman is; the Russian police confess to equalignorance concerning him. When Lord Chetney went to Africa, MadameZichy lived in St. Petersburg; but there her receptions and dinnerswere so crowded with members of the nobility and of the army anddiplomats, that, among so many visitors, the police could not learnwhich was the one for whom she most greatly cared. '

"Lyle pointed at the modern French paintings and the heavy, silk rugswhich hung upon the walls. 

"'The unknown is a man of taste and of some fortune, ' he said, 'notthe sort of man to send a stupid peasant to guard the woman he loves. So I am not content to believe, with Mr. Sears, that the servant is aboor. I believe him, instead, to be a very clever ruffian. I believehim to be the protector of his master's honor, or, let us say, of hismaster's property, whether that property be silver plate or the womanhis master loves. Last night, after Lord Arthur had gone away, theservant was left alone in this house with Lord Chetney and MadameZichy. From where he sat in the hall, he could hear Lord Chetneybidding her farewell; for, if my idea of him is correct, heunderstands English quite as well as you or I. Let us imagine that heheard her entreating Chetney not to leave her, reminding him of hisformer wish to marry her, and let us suppose that he hears Chetneydenounce her, and tell her that at Cairo he has learned of thisRussian admirer--the servant's master. He hears the woman declarethat she has had no admirer but himself, that this unknown Russianwas, and is, nothing to her, that there is no man she loves but him, and that she cannot live, knowing that he is alive, without his love. Suppose Chetney believed her, suppose his former infatuation for herreturned, and that, in a moment of weakness, he forgave her and tookher in his arms. That is the moment the Russian master has feared. Itis to guard against it that he has placed his watch-dog over thePrincess, and how do we know but that, when the moment came, thewatch-dog served his master, as he saw his duty, and killed themboth? What do you think?' Lyle demanded. 'Would not that explain bothmurders?'

"I was only too willing to hear any theory which pointed to anyoneelse as the criminal than Arthur, but Lyle's explanation was tooutterly fantastic. I told him that he certainly showed imagination, but that he could not hang a man for what he imagined he had done. 

"'No, ' Lyle answered, 'but I can frighten him by telling him what Ithink he has done, and now when I again question the Russian servantI will make it quite clear to him that I believe he is the murderer. I think that will open his mouth. A man will at least talk to defendhimself. Come, ' he said, 'we must return at once to Scotland Yard andsee him. There is nothing more to do here. '

"He arose, and I followed him into the hall, and in another minute wewould have been on our way to Scotland Yard. But just as he openedthe street-door a postman halted at the gate of the garden, and beganfumbling with the latch. 

"Lyle stopped, with an exclamation of chagrin. 

"'How stupid of me!' he exclaimed. He turned quickly and pointed to anarrow slit cut in the brass plate of the front door. 'The house hasa private letter-box, ' he said, 'and I had not thought to look in it!If we had gone out as we came in, by the window, I would never haveseen it. The moment I entered the house I should have thought ofsecuring the letters which came this morning. I have been grosslycareless. ' He stepped back into the hall and pulled at the lid of theletter-box, which hung on the inside of the door, but it was tightlylocked. At the same moment the postman came up the steps holding aletter. Without a word, Lyle took it from his hand and began toexamine it. It was addressed to the Princess Zichy, and on the backof the envelope was the name of a West End dressmaker. 

"'That is of no use to me, ' Lyle said. He took out his card andshowed it to the postman. 'I am Inspector Lyle from Scotland Yard, 'he said. 'The people in this house are under arrest. Everything itcontains is now in my keeping. Did you deliver any other letters herethis morning?'

"The man looked frightened, but answered, promptly, that he was nowupon his third round. He had made one postal delivery at seven thatmorning and another at eleven. 

"'How many letters did you leave here?' Lyle asked. 

"'About six altogether, ' the man answered. 

"'Did you put them through the door into the letter-box?'

"The postman said, 'Yes, I always slip them into the box, and ringand go away. The servants collect them from the inside. '

"'Have you noticed if any of the letters you leave here bear aRussian postage-stamp?' Lyle asked. 

"'The man answered, 'Oh, yes, sir, a great many. '

"'From the same person, would you say?'

"'The writing seems to be the same, ' the man answered. 'They comeregularly about once a week--one of those I delivered this morninghad a Russian postmark. '

"'That will do, ' said Lyle, eagerly. 'Thank you, thank you verymuch. '

"He ran back into the hall, and, pulling out his penknife, began topick at the lock of the letter-box. 

"'I have been supremely careless, ' he said, in great excitement. 'Twice before when people I wanted had flown from a house I have beenable to follow them by putting a guard over their mailbox. Theseletters, which arrive regularly every week from Russia in the samehandwriting, they can come but from one person. At least, we shallnow know the name of the master of this house. Undoubtedly, it is oneof his letters that the man placed here this morning. We may make amost important discovery. '

"As he was talking he was picking at the lock with his knife, but hewas so impatient to reach the letters that he pressed too heavily onthe blade and it broke in his hand. I took a step backward and drovemy heel into the lock, and burst it open. The lid flew back, and wepressed forward, and each ran his hand down into the letter-box. Fora moment we were both too startled to move. The box was empty. 

"I do not know how long we stood, staring stupidly at each other, butit was Lyle who was the first to recover. He seized me by the arm andpointed excitedly into the empty box. 

"'Do you appreciate what that means?' he cried. 'It means thatsomeone has been here ahead of us. Someone has entered this house notthree hours before we came, since eleven o'clock this morning. '

"'It was the Russian servant!' I exclaimed. 

"'The Russian servant has been under arrest at Scotland Yard, ' Lylecried. 'He could not have taken the letters. Lord Arthur has been inhis cot at the hospital. That is his alibi. There is someone else, someone we do not suspect. And that someone is the murderer. He cameback here either to obtain those letters because he knew they wouldconvict him, or to remove something he had left here at the time ofthe murder, something incriminating--the weapon, perhaps, or somepersonal article; a cigarette-case, a handkerchief with his name uponit, or a pair of gloves. Whatever it was, it must have been damningevidence against him to have made him take so desperate a chance. '

"'How do we know, ' I whispered, 'that he is not hidden here now?'

"'No, I'll swear he is not, ' Lyle answered. 'I may have bungled insome things, but I have searched this house thoroughly. Nevertheless, ' he added, 'we must go over it again, from the cellarto the roof. We have the real clew now, and we must forget the othersand work only it. ' As he spoke he began again to search the drawing-room, turning over even the books on the tables and the music on thepiano. 

"'Whoever the man is, ' he said, over his shoulder, 'we know that hehas a key to the front door and a key to the letter-box. That showsus he is either an inmate of the house or that he comes here when hewishes. The Russian says that he was the only servant in the house. Certainly, we have found no evidence to show that any other servantslept here. There could be but one other person who would possess akey to the house and the letter-box--and he lives in St. Petersburg. At the time of the murder he was two thousand miles away. ' Lyleinterrupted himself, suddenly, with a sharp cry, and turned upon me, with his eyes flashing. 'But was he?' he cried. 'Was he? How do weknow that last night he was not in London, in this very house whenZichy and Chetney met?'

"He stood, staring at me without seeing me, muttering, and arguingwith himself. 

"'Don't speak to me, ' he cried, as I ventured to interrupt him. 'Ican see it now. It is all plain. It was not the servant, but hismaster, the Russian himself, and it was he who came back for theletters! He came back for them because he knew they would convicthim. We must find them. We must have those letters. If we find theone with the Russian postmark, we shall have found the murderer. ' Hespoke like a madman, and as he spoke he ran around the room, with onehand held out in front of him as you have seen a mind-reader at atheatre seeking for something hidden in the stalls. He pulled the oldletters from the writing-desk, and ran them over as swiftly as agambler deals out cards; he dropped on his knees before the fireplaceand dragged out the dead coals with his bare fingers, and then, witha low, worried cry, like a hound on a scent, he ran back to thewaste-paper basket and, lifting the papers from it, shook them outupon the floor. Instantly, he gave a shout of triumph, and, separating a number of torn pieces from the others, held them upbefore me. 

"'Look!' he cried. 'Do you see? Here are five letters, torn across intwo places. The Russian did not stop to read them, for, as you see, he has left them still sealed. I have been wrong. He did not returnfor the letters. He could not have known their value. He must havereturned for some other reason, and, as he was leaving, saw theletter-box, and, taking out the letters, held them together--so--andtore them twice across, and then, as the fire had gone out, tossedthem into this basket. Look!' he cried, 'here in the upper corner ofthis piece is a Russian stamp. This is his own letter--unopened!'

"We examined the Russian stamp and found it had been cancelled in St. Petersburg four days ago. The back of the envelope bore the postmarkof the branch-station in upper Sloane Street, and was dated thismorning. The envelope was of official, blue paper, and we had nodifficulty in finding the other two parts of it. We drew the tornpieces of the letter from them and joined them together, side byside. There were but two lines of writing, and this was the message:'I leave Petersburg on the night-train, and I shall see you at TrevorTerrace, after dinner, Monday evening. '

"'That was last night!' Lyle cried. 'He arrived twelve hours ahead ofhis letter--but it came in time--it came in time to hang him!'"

The Baronet struck the table with his hand. 

"The name!" he demanded. "How was it signed? What was the man'sname?"

The young Solicitor rose to his feet and, leaning forward, stretchedout his arm. "There was no name, " he cried. "The letter was signedwith only two initials. But engraved at the top of the sheet was theman's address. That address was 'THE AMERICAN EMBASSY, ST. PETERSBURG, BUREAU OF THE NAVAL ATTACHE, ' and the initials, " heshouted, his voice rising into an exultant and bitter cry, "werethose of the gentleman who sits opposite who told us that he was thefirst to find the murdered bodies, the Naval Attache to Russia, Lieutenant Sears!"

A strained and awful hush followed the Solicitor's words, whichseemed to vibrate like a twanging bowstring that had just hurled itsbolt. Sir Andrew, pale and staring, drew away, with an exclamation ofrepulsion. His eyes were fastened upon the Naval Attache withfascinated horror. But the American emitted a sigh of great content, and sank, comfortably, into the arms of his chair. He clapped hishands, softly, together. 

"Capital!" he murmured. "I give you my word I never guessed what youwere driving at. You fooled ME, I'll be hanged if you didn't--youcertainly fooled me. "

The man with the pearl stud leaned forward, with a nervous gesture. "Hush! be careful!" he whispered. But at that instant, for the thirdtime, a servant, hastening through the room, handed him a piece ofpaper which he scanned eagerly. The message on the paper read, "Thelight over the Commons is out. The House has risen. "

The man with the black pearl gave a mighty shout, and tossed thepaper from him upon the table. 

"Hurrah!" he cried. "The House is up! We've won!" He caught up hisglass, and slapped the Naval Attache, violently, upon the shoulder. He nodded joyously at him, at the Solicitor, and at the Queen'sMessenger. "Gentlemen, to you!" he cried; "my thanks and mycongratulations!" He drank deep from the glass, and breathed forth along sigh of satisfaction and relief. 

"But I say, " protested the Queen's Messenger, shaking his finger, violently, at the Solicitor, "that story won't do. You didn't playfair--and--and you talked so fast I couldn't make out what it was allabout. I'll bet you that evidence wouldn't hold in a court of law--you couldn't hang a cat on such evidence. Your story is condemnedtommy-rot. Now, my story might have happened, my story bore the mark--"

In the joy of creation, the story-tellers had forgotten theiraudience, until a sudden exclamation from Sir Andrew caused them toturn, guiltily, toward him. His face was knit with lines of anger, doubt, and amazement. 

"What does this mean?" he cried. "Is this a jest, or are you mad? Ifyou know this man is a murderer, why is he at large? Is this a gameyou have been playing? Explain yourselves at once. What does itmean?"

The American, with first a glance at the others, rose and bowed, courteously. 

"I am not a murderer, Sir Andrew, believe me, " he said; "you need notbe alarmed. As a matter of fact, at this moment I am much more afraidof you than you could possibly be of me. I beg you, please to beindulgent. I assure you, we meant no disrespect. We have beenmatching stories, that is all, pretending that we are people we arenot, endeavoring to entertain you with better detective-tales than, for instance, the last one you read, 'The Great Rand Robbery. '"

The Baronet brushed his hand, nervously, across his forehead. 

"Do you mean to tell me, " he exclaimed, "that none of this hashappened? That Lord Chetney is not dead, that his Solicitor did notfind a letter of yours, written from your post in Petersburg, andthat just now, when he charged you with murder, he was in jest?"

"I am really very sorry, " said the American, "but you see, sir, hecould not have found a letter written by me in St. Petersburg becauseI have never been in Petersburg. Until this week, I have never beenoutside of my own country. I am not a naval officer. I am a writer ofshort stories. And to-night, when this gentleman told me that youwere fond of detective-stories, I thought it would be amusing to tellyou one of my own--one I had just mapped out this afternoon. "

"But Lord Chetney IS a real person, " interrupted the Baronet, "and hedid go to Africa two years ago, and he was supposed to have diedthere, and his brother, Lord Arthur, has been the heir. And yesterdayChetney did return. I read it in the papers. "

"So did I, " assented the American, soothingly; "and it struck me asbeing a very good plot for a story. I mean his unexpected return fromthe dead, and the probable disappointment of the younger brother. SoI decided that the younger brother had better murder the older one. The Princess Zichy I invented out of a clear sky. The fog I did nothave to invent. Since last night I know all that there is to knowabout a London fog. I was lost in one for three hours. "

The Baronet turned, grimly, upon the Queen's Messenger. 

"But this gentleman, " he protested, "he is not a writer of shortstories; he is a member of the Foreign Office. I have often seen himin Whitehall, and, according to him, the Princess Zichy is not aninvention. He says she is very well known, that she tried to robhim. "

The servant of the Foreign Office looked, unhappily, at the CabinetMinister, and puffed, nervously, on his cigar. 

"It's true, Sir Andrew, that I am a Queen's Messenger, " he said, appealingly, "and a Russian woman once did try to rob a Queen'sMessenger in a railway carriage--only it did not happen to me, but toa pal of mine. The only Russian princess I ever knew called herselfZabrisky. You may have seen her. She used to do a dive from the roofof the Aquarium. "

Sir Andrew, with a snort of indignation, fronted the young Solicitor. 

"And I suppose yours was a cock-and-bull story, too, " he said. "Ofcourse, it must have been, since Lord Chetney is not dead. But don'ttell me, " he protested, "that you are not Chudleigh's son either. "

"I'm sorry, " said the youngest member, smiling, in someembarrassment, "but my name is not Chudleigh. I assure you, though, that I know the family very well, and that I am on very good termswith them. "

"You should be!" exclaimed the Baronet; "and, judging from theliberties you take with the Chetneys, you had better be on very goodterms with them, too. "

The young man leaned back and glanced toward the servants at the farend of the room. 

"It has been so long since I have been in the Club, " he said, "that Idoubt if even the waiters remember me. Perhaps Joseph may, " he added. "Joseph!" he called, and at the word a servant stepped brisklyforward. 

The young man pointed to the stuffed head of a great lion which wassuspended above the fireplace. 

"Joseph, " he said, "I want you to tell these gentlemen who shot thatlion. Who presented it to the Grill?"

Joseph, unused to acting as master of ceremonies to members of theClub, shifted, nervously, from one foot to the other. 

"Why, you--you did, " he stammered. 

"Of course I did!" exclaimed the young man. "I mean, what is the nameof the man who shot it? Tell the gentlemen who I am. They wouldn'tbelieve me. "

"Who you are, my lord?" said Joseph. "You are Lord Edam's son, theEarl of Chetney. "

"You must admit, " said Lord Chetney, when the noise had died away, "that I couldn't remain dead while my little brother was accused ofmurder. I had to do something. Family pride demanded it. Now, Arthur, as the younger brother, can't afford to be squeamish, but, personally, I should hate to have a brother of mine hanged formurder. "

"You certainly showed no scruples against hanging me, " said theAmerican, "but, in the face of your evidence, I admit my guilt, and Isentence myself to pay the full penalty of the law as we are made topay it in my own country. The order of this court is, " he announced, "that Joseph shall bring me a wine-card, and that I sign it for fivebottles of the Club's best champagne. "

"Oh, no!" protested the man with the pearl stud, "it is not for YOUto sign it. In my opinion, it is Sir Andrew who should pay the costs. It is time you knew, " he said, turning to that gentleman, "that, unconsciously, you have been the victim of what I may call apatriotic conspiracy. These stories have had a more serious purposethan merely to amuse. They have been told with the worthy object ofdetaining you from the House of Commons. I must explain to you that, all through this evening, I have had a servant waiting in TrafalgarSquare with instructions to bring me word as soon as the light overthe House of Commons had ceased to burn. The light is now out, andthe object for which we plotted is attained. "

The Baronet glanced, keenly, at the man with the black pearl, andthen, quickly, at his watch. The smile disappeared from his lips, andhis face was set in stern and forbidding lines. 

"And may I know, " he asked, icily, "what was the object of yourplot?"

"A most worthy one, " the other retorted. "Our object was to keep youfrom advocating the expenditure of many millions of the people'smoney upon more battle-ships. In a word, we have been workingtogether to prevent you from passing the Navy Increase Bill. "

Sir Andrew's face bloomed with brilliant color. His body shook withsuppressed emotion. 

"My dear sir!" he cried, "you should spend more time at the House andless at your Club. The Navy Bill was brought up on its third readingat eight o'clock this evening. I spoke for three hours in its favor. My only reason for wishing to return again to the House to-night wasto sup on the terrace with my old friend, Admiral Simons; for my workat the House was completed five hours ago, when the Navy IncreaseBill was passed by an overwhelming majority. "

The Baronet rose and bowed. "I have to thank you, sir, " he said, "fora most interesting evening. "

The American shoved the wine-card which Joseph had given him towardthe gentleman with the black pearl. 

"You sign it, " he said.