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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where's the bar?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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