aking his cue from certain passages in the book of painful memories,
Lidgerwood meant to obey his first impulse, which prompted him to follow
Mr. Brewster to the private office state-room in the forward end of the
car, disregarding the couple in the _tete-a-tete_ contrivance. But the
triumphantly beautiful young woman in the nearer half of the
crooked-backed seat would by no means sanction any such easy solution of
the difficulty.

"Not a word for me, Howard?" she protested, rising and fairly compelling
him to stop and speak to her. Then: "For pity's sake! what have you been
doing to yourself to make you look so hollow-eyed and anxious?" After
which, since Lidgerwood seemed at a loss for an answer to the
half-solicitous query, she presented her companion of the "S"-shaped
chair. "Possibly you will shake hands a little less abstractedly with
Mr. Van Lew. Herbert, this is Mr. Howard Lidgerwood, my cousin, several
times removed. He is the tyrant of the Red Butte Western, and I can
assure you that he is much more terrible than he looks--aren't you,
Howard?"

Lidgerwood shook hands cordially enough with the tall young athlete who,
it seemed, would never have done increasing his magnificent stature as
he rose up out of his half of the lounging-seat.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Lidgerwood, I'm sure," said the young man,
gripping the given hand until Lidgerwood winced. "Miss Eleanor has been
telling me about you--marooned out here in the Red Desert. By Jove!
don't you know I believe I'd like to try it awhile myself. It's ages
since I've had a chance to kill a man, and they tell me----"

Lidgerwood laughed, recognizing Miss Brewster's romancing gift, or the
results of it.

"We shall have to arrange a little round-up of the bad men from Bitter
Creek for you, Mr. Van Lew. I hope you brought your armament along--the
regulation 45's, and all that."

Miss Brewster laughed derisively.

"Don't let him discourage you, Herbert," she mocked. "Bitter Creek is in
Wyoming--or is it in Montana?" this with a quick little eye-stab for
Lidgerwood, "and the name of Mr. Lidgerwood's refuge is Angels. Also,
papa says there is a hotel there called the 'Celestial.' Do you live at
the Celestial, Howard?"

"No, I never properly lived there. I existed there for a few weeks until
Mrs. Dawson took pity on me. Mrs. Dawson is from Massachusetts."

"Hear him!" scoffed Miss Eleanor, still mocking. "He says that as if to
be 'from Massachusetts' were a p