s; now I'm going to do what
I can to straighten it out. Sometimes two are better than one. Anyway
I'm going to stick with you till you've found her or lost her for
good. You see?"

Bill Gregg sighed. "You're pretty straight, Ronicky," he said, "but
what good does it do for two gents to look for a needle in a haystack?
How could we start to hit the trail?"

"This way. We know the train that she took. Maybe we could find the
Pullman conductor that was on it, and he might remember her. They got
good memories, some of those gents. We'll start to find him, which had
ought to be pretty easy."

"Ronicky, I'd never of thought of that in a million years!"

"It ain't thinking that we want now, it's acting. When can you start
with me?"

"I'll be fit tomorrow."

"Then tomorrow we start."

Chapter Five

_Macklin's Library_

Robert Macklin, Pullman conductor, had risen to that eminent position
so early in life that the glamour of it had not yet passed away. He
was large enough to have passed for a champion wrestler or a burly
pugilist, and he was small enough to glory in the smallest details of
his work. Having at the age of thirty, through a great deal of luck
and a touch of accident, secured his place, he possessed, at least,
sufficient dignity to fill it.

He was one of those rare men who carry their dignity with them past
the doors of their homes. Robert Macklin's home, during the short
intervals when he was off the trains, was in a tiny apartment. It was
really one not overly large room, with a little alcove adjoining; but
Robert Macklin had seized the opportunity to hang a curtain across
the alcove, and, since it was large enough to contain a chair and a
bookshelf, he referred to it always as his "library."

He was this morning seated in his library, with his feet protruding
through the curtains and resting on the foot of his bed, when the
doorbell rang. He surveyed himself in his mirror before he answered
it. Having decided that, in his long dressing gown, he was imposing
enough, he advanced to the door and slowly opened it.

He saw before him two sun-darkened men whose soft gray hats proclaimed
that they were newly come out of the West. The one was a fellow whose
face had been made stern by hard work and few pleasures in life. The
other was one who, apparently, had never worked at all. There was
something about him that impressed Robert Macklin. He might be a young
Western millionaire, for instance. A