"Me an' the doctor."

"What was the other errand he gave you a dollar for?"

"Dassent tell."

"How did you know it was I you should give your note to?"

"He told me it was for the brown-haired young lady that walked so
straight--I knew you all right--I seen you on horseback. I guess I'll
have to be going 'cause I got a lot of telegrams to deliver up town."

"No hurry about them, is there?"

"No, but's getting near dinner time. Good-by."

"Wait. Take this box of candy with you."

Solomon staggered. "The whole box?"

"Certainly."

"Gee!"

He slid over the rail with the candy under his arm.

When he disappeared, Gertrude went back to her stateroom, closed the
door, though quite alone in the car, and re-read her note.

"I have no right to keep this after you leave; perhaps I had no right
to keep it at all. But in returning it to you I surely may thank you
for the impulse that made you throw it over me the morning I lay asleep
behind the Spider dike."

It was he, then, lying in the rain, ill then, perhaps--nursed by the
nondescript cub that had just left her.

The Newmarket lay across the berth--a long, graceful garment. She had
always liked the coat, and her eye fell now upon it critically,
wondering what he thought of the garment upon making so unexpected an
acquaintance with her intimate belongings. Near the bottom of the
lining she saw a mud stain on the silk and the pretty fawn melton was
spotted with rain. She folded it up before the horseback party
returned and put it away, stained and spotted, at the bottom of her
trunk.

CHAPTER XI

IN THE LALLA ROOKH

The car in itself was in no way remarkable. A twelve-section and
drawing-room, mahogany-finish, wide-vestibule sleeper, done in cream
brown, hangings shading into Indian reds--a type of the Pullman car so
popular some years ago for transcontinental travel; neither too heavy
for the mountains nor too light for the pace across the plains.

There were many features added to the passenger schedule on the West
End the year Henry S. Brock and his friends took hold of the road, but
none made more stir than the new Number One, run then as a crack
passenger train, a strictly limited, vestibuled string, with barbers,
baths, grill rooms, and five-o'clock tea. In and out Number One was
the finest train that crossed the Rockies, and bar nobody's.

It was October, with the Colorado travel almost entirely eastbound and
the California tra