ws_ appeared upon the streets. It
contained much original matter--or so at least it claimed. The account
of the murder of Culver, the death of Queenie, and the threatened
lynching of Van Buren made a highly sensational story. It was given
the prominent place, for the editor was proud to have made it so full
in a time that he deemed rather short. On a second page was a tale
less tragic.

It was, according to one of its many sub-headings, "A Humorous Outcrop
concerning two Maids and a Man." It related, with many gay sallies of
"wit," how Van had piloted Mr. J. Searle Bostwick into the hands of the
convicts, recently escaped, packed off his charges, Miss Beth Kent and
her maid, and brought them to Goldite by way of the Monte Cristo mine,
in time to behold the discomfited entrance of the said J. Searle
Bostwick in prisoner's attire. Mr. Bostwick was described as having
been "on his ear" towards Van Buren ever since.

In the main the account was fairly accurate. Gettysburg, Napoleon, and
old Dave had over-talked, during certain liquifying processes. The
matter was out beyond repair.

Mrs. Dick was prompt in pouncing on the story, hence Beth was soon
presented with a copy. In the natural annoyance she felt when it was
read, there was one consolation, at least: Searle was away, to be gone
perhaps two or three days. He might not see the article, which would
soon be forgotten in the camp.

To culminate the day's events, that evening Elsa ran away. She went
with a "gentleman" lodger, taking the slight precaution to be married
by the Justice of the Peace.

Beth discovered her loss too late to interfere. She felt herself
alone, indeed, with Bostwick away, her brother off in the desert, and
Van--she refused to think of Van. Fortunately, Mrs. Dick was more than
merely a friend. She was a staunch little warrior, protecting the
champion, to anger whom was unhealthy. Despite the landlady's attitude
of friendliness, however, Beth felt wretchedly alone. It was a
terrible place. She was cooped up all day within the lodging house,
since the street full of men was more than she cared to encounter; and
with life all about her, and wonderful days spreading one after another
across the wide-open land, her liberties were fairly in a cage.

From time to time she thought of the horse, awaiting her order at the
hay-yard. She tried to convince herself she would never accept or ride
the animal. She was certain she resented e