s
Wolff! You were in Butte five years ago. You induced a poor, silly
little fool named Rose Trevor to leave the dance hall where she
worked, and go with you. You were one of those who believe that women
are made to be brutalized. But good as most of them are, and bad as
some of them are, there is none, living or dead, that you are or were
fit to consort with. You murdered her. Don't you dare to deny it! They
found her dead outside of your cabin. They arrested you, and tried
you, and should have hanged you, but they couldn't get the proof of
what everybody believed, that you--you brute--had killed, then thrown
her over the rocks to claim that she had fallen there in the
darkness."

She paused as if the tempest of her words had left her breathless, and
men glared at him savagely. It seemed as if every one had crowded
forward to hear her denunciation.

"Bah!" she added scornfully. "The jury was made up of fools, and men
knew it. The sheriff himself told you so when he slipped you out of
the jail where he had protected you, and let you loose across the
border in the night. Didn't he? And he told you that if ever you came
back to Butte, he would not turn a hand to keep you from the clutches
of the mob; didn't he? And now you are plain 'Mister Brown,' working
somewhere back up in the hills, are you? Well, Mr. Brown, you keep
away from the High Light. Get out!"

Some one made a restless motion, and declared the man should be
hanged, even now, but The Lily turned her angry eyes on the speaker,
and silenced him.

"Not if I can help it, or any of my friends can," she said coolly.
"There'll be no mobbing anybody around here. I've said enough. Let him
alone, but remember what kind of a blackguard he is. That's all!"

She turned back and tossed the pistol behind the bar, and the crowd,
as if her words and the advice of the more contained element
prevailed, resumed its play. She looked up, and saw the partners
waiting to bid her good-night, and suddenly bit her lip, as if ashamed
that they had seen her fury unmasked.

"We're going now," Bill said, reaching out his hand. She did not take
it, but looked around the room with unreadable eyes.

"I'll walk with you to the beginning of your trail," she said. "I'm
sick of this," and led the way out into the night.

For half the length of the long street, she strode between them,
wordless, and then suddenly halted and held her arms apart
appealingly.

"What must you think of me?"