. It's only a question of my
being RUN OUT of 'Frisco, or hiding until I can SLIP OUT myself; and
I've reckoned I might as well give them the trouble and expense of
transportation. And if I can put a good thing in your way in doing
it--why, it will sort of make things square with you for the fuss I've
given you."

Even in the stupefaction and helplessness of knowing that the man
before him was the notorious duellist and gambler George Dornton, one
of the first marked for deportation by the Vigilance Committee, Herbert
recognized all he had heard of his invincible coolness, courage, and
almost philosophic fatalism. For an instant his youthful imagination
checked even his indignation. When he recovered himself, he said, with
rising color and boyish vehemence:

"Whoever YOU may be, I am neither a police officer nor a spy. You have
no right to insult me by supposing that I would profit by the mistake
that made you my guest, or that I would refuse you the sanctuary of the
roof that covers your insult as well as your blunder."

The stranger gazed at him with an amused expression, and then rose and
stretched out his hand.

"Shake, Mr. Bly! You're the only man that ever kicked George Dornton
when he deserved it. Good-night!" He took his hat and walked to the
door.

"Stop!" said Herbert impulsively; "the night is already far gone; go
back and finish your sleep."

"You mean it?"

"I do."

The stranger turned, walked back to the bed, unfastening his coat and
collar as he did so, and laid himself down in the attitude of a moment
before.

"I will call you in the morning," continued Herbert. "By that
time,"--he hesitated,--"by that time your pursuers may have given up
their search. One word more. You will be frank with me?"

"Go on."

"Tappington and you are--friends?"

"Well--yes."

"His mother and sister know nothing of this?"

"I reckon he didn't boast of it. I didn't. Is that all?" sleepily.

"Yes."

"Don't YOU worry about HIM. Good-night."

"Good-night."

But even at that moment George Dornton had dropped off in a quiet,
peaceful sleep.

Bly turned down the light, and, drawing his easy-chair to the window,
dropped into it in bewildering reflection. This then was the
secret--unknown to mother and daughter--unsuspected by all! This was
the double life of Tappington, half revealed in his flirtation with the
neighbors, in the hidden cards behind the books, in the mysterious
visitor--still