yalty to his master. The colonel
turns the entire business of the cattle raising and selling over to him;
doesn't go near the ranch once a month himself."

"'The colonel,'" repeated Ballard. "You call him 'the colonel,' and Mr.
Pelham calls him the 'King of Arcadia.' I assume that he has a name,
like other men?"

"Sure!" said Bromley. "Hadn't you heard it? It's Craigmiles."

"What!" exclaimed Ballard, holding the match with which he was about to
relight his pipe until the flame crept up and scorched his fingers.

"That's it--Craigmiles; Colonel Adam Craigmiles--the King of Arcadia.
Didn't Mr. Pelham tell you----"

"Hold on a minute," Ballard cut in; and he got out of his chair to pace
back and forth on his side of the table while he was gathering up the
pieces scattered broadcast by this explosive petard of a name.

At first he saw only the clearing up of the little mysteries shrouding
Miss Elsa's suddenly changed plans for the summer; how they were
instantly resolved into the commonplace and the obvious. She had merely
decided to come home and play hostess to her father's guests. And since
she knew about the war for the possession of Arcadia, and would quite
naturally be sorry to have her friend pitted against her father, it
seemed unnecessary to look further for the origin of Lassley's curiously
worded telegram. "Lassley's," Ballard called it; but if Lassley had
signed it, it was fairly certain now that Miss Craigmiles had dictated
it.

Ballard thought her use of the fatalities as an argument in the warning
message was a purely feminine touch. None the less he held her as far
above the influences of the superstitions as he held himself, and it was
a deeper and more reflective second thought that turned a fresh leaf in
the book of mysteries.

Was it possible that the three violent deaths were not mere
coincidences, after all? And, admitting design, could it be remotely
conceivable that Adam Craigmiles's daughter was implicated, even to the
guiltless degree of suspecting it? Ballard stopped short in his pacing
sentry beat and began to investigate, not without certain misgivings.

"Loudon, what manner of man is this Colonel Craigmiles?"

Bromley's reply was characteristic. "The finest ever--type of the
American country gentleman; suave, courteous, a little inclined to be
grandiloquent; does the paternal with you till you catch yourself on the
edge of saying 'sir' to him; and has the biggest, deepest, sweetest