ed herself with a final cigarette and remarked that she
never knew when to stop talking. Some parties did, but not her; and she
having to be up and on the way to Horsefly Mountain by six-thirty in the
A.M.! Her last apology was for a longing she had not been able to
conquer: She couldn't help a debased wish to know how that last fight
would of come out.

"Of course it ain't nice to want men to act like the brutes," said the
lady. "Still, I can't help wondering; not that I'm inquisitive, but just
out of curiosity."

V

ONE ARROWHEAD DAY

It began with the wonted incitement to murder. A wooden staff projects
some five feet above the topmost roof peak of the Arrowhead ranch house,
and to this staff is affixed a bell of brazen malignity. At five-thirty
each morning the cord controlling this engine of discord is jerked
madly and forever by Lew Wee, our Chinese chef. It is believed by those
compelled to obey the horrid summons that this is Lew Wee's one moment
of gladness in a spoiled life. The sound of the noon bell, the caressing
call of the night bell--these he must know to be welcome. The morning
clangour he must know to be a tragedy of foulest import. It is undeniably
rung with a keener relish. There will be some effort at rhythm with the
other bells, but that morning bell jangles in a broken frenzy of clangs,
ruthlessly prolonged, devilish to the last insulting stroke. Surely one
without malice could manage this waking bell more tactfully.

A reckless Chinaman, then, takes his life in his hands each morning at
five-thirty. Something like a dozen men are alarmed from deep sleep to
half-awakened incredulity, in which they believe the bell to be a dream
bell and try to dream on of something noiseless. Ten seconds later these
startled men have become demons, with their nice warm feet on the icy
floor of the bunk-house, and with prayers of simple fervour that the
so-and-so Chink may be struck dead while his hand is still on the
rope. This prayer is never answered; so something like a dozen men
dress hurriedly and reach the Arrowhead kitchen hurriedly, meaning to
perform instantly there a gracious deed which Providence has thus far
unaccountably left undone.

That the Arrowhead annals are, as yet, unspiced with a crime of violence
is due, I consider, to Lew Wee's superb control of his facial muscles.
His expression when he maniacally yanks the bell cord is believed by
his victims to be one of hellish glee; so t