"Too late!" cried the Marshal, and dashed clumsily up the front steps,
followed by four or five of his henchmen.

Yanking open the screen-door, he plunged headlong into the softly
lighted veranda. Behind him came Sim Jackson, brandishing a revolver,
and Bill Kepsal, clutching the hammer he had brought from his forge.

[Illustration: _Yanking open the screen-door, he plunged headlong into
the softly lighted veranda_]

They stopped short. A woman in a filmy white gown, cut extremely low in
the neck, confronted them, an expression of alarm in her wide dark eyes.
She was very beautiful. They had never seen any one so beautiful, so
striking, or so startlingly dressed. She had just arisen from the
comfortable wicker chair beside the table, the surface of which was
littered with magazines, papers and documents in all sorts of disorder.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" she demanded, recovering her
composure after the first instant of alarm.

Mr. Crow found his voice. "Surrender peaceable," he said. "I've got you
completely surrounded. Won't do any good to resist. My men are
everywhere. Your partner will be shot down if he--"

"Why, you--you old goose!" cried out the lady, and forthwith burst into
a merry peal of laughter.

The Marshal stiffened.

"That kind of talk won't--" he began, and then broke off to roar: "Quit
your laughin'! You won't be gigglin' like that when you're settin' in
the 'lectric chair. Hustle inside there, men! Take her paramour, dead or
alive!"

"Oh, what a stupendous situation!" cried the beautiful lady, her eyes
dancing. "You really are a darling, Mr. Crow--a perfect, old dear.
You--"

"None o' that now--none o' that!" Mr. Crow warned, taking a step
backward. "Won't do you any good to talk sweet to me. I've got the goods
on you. A dozen witnesses have heard you plottin' to murder. Throw up
your hands! Up with 'em! Now, keep 'em up! _An' stop laughin'!_ You'll
soon find out you can't murder a man in cold blood, even if he is a
trespasser on your property. You can't go around killin'--Say, where is
Mrs. Smith? Where's the lady of the house?"

"I am the lady of the house, Mr. Crow," said the lady, performing a
graceful Delsartian movement with her long bare arms. Mr. Crow and his
companions stared upward at her arms as if fascinated. "I am Mrs.
Smith--Mrs. John Smith."

"I guess not," said Anderson sharply. "She wears a veil, asleep an'
awake. Hold on! Put your hands down! She's sig