knew her own mind. His conceit had led him into error. It was done.

He opened the other telegram mechanically. It was from Prescott and
partially in code. It was a long one for Prescott to send, but Van
Lennop looked at it without interest. He would translate it at his
leisure--there was no hurry now--the game had lost its zest.

Van Lennop turned to the dingy register. A train had arrived in his
absence and perhaps Britt, the new superintendent, had come. His name
was there--that was something for which to be grateful, as he could the
sooner get back into the world where he could find in business something
better than his own wretched thoughts to occupy his mind.

He walked languidly over the stone flagging to his room and dropped
listlessly into a chair. It was not long before he heard Britt's alert
step in the corridor quickly followed by his brisk rap upon the door. He
always had liked the ambitious young engineer and they shook hands
cordially.

"I'm more than glad to see you."

Britt laughed.

"I dare say. A week in a place like this is much like a jail sentence
unless you're hard at work. Are things in pretty much of a mess?"

Van Lennop went over the situation briefly, and concluded--

"I'll stay over a day or so, if you desire."

"There's no necessity, I think," said Britt, rising. "I'll keep in touch
with you by wire. Crowheart again?"

Van Lennop shook his head.

"I'm going east from here."

"Here's a late paper; perhaps you'd like to look it over. When I'm in a
place like this I can read a patent medicine pamphlet, and enjoy it."

Van Lennop smiled.

"Much obliged. There's the supper gong. Don't wait for me; I'll be a
little late."

Van Lennop had no desire for food, much less for conversation, so he
picked up the travel-worn newspaper which Britt had tossed upon the
table and glanced at the headlines.

The stock market was stronger. Nevada Con was up three points. The girl
with the beautiful eyebrows had married that French jackanapes after
all. Another famine in India. A Crowheart date-line caught his eye.

WEALTHY SHEEPMAN MURDERED
EDOUARD DUBOIS SHOT AND KILLED AT HIS CAMP
BRIDE OF A DAY TO BE ARRESTED

The story of Essie Tisdale's marriage with Dubois followed, and even the
news editor's pencil could not eliminate Sylvanus Starr's distinctive
style. He had made the most of a chance of a lifetime. "An old man's
darling"--"Serpent he had warmed in his bosom"--"Welterin