galloping horse, a suspected anxiety in the talk of the two men had combined to play upon them in their overwrought condition.

Then, the first speaker's voice again, in normal tone,

"Trunk here, but I didn't see anybody get off."

Ann wanted to laugh with relief. Just that one sentence linked her up with everyday life again, took the shake from her knees and the accented leap from her heart. She was impelled to run to him, and held herself to a walk by effort.

"I beg your pardon. Can you tell me the name of the best hotel?" she asked.

The man who had seized the trunk stopped rolling it toward the doorway and turned quickly to look at the woman who stood there in the pallid glow from the one oil lamp. He saw a blue straw toque fitting tightly over a compact mass of black hair; he saw blue eyes, earnest and troubled; red lips, with the fullness of youth; flushed cheeks, a trim, small body clothed in a close fitting, dark suit.

"Yes, ma'am; it's th' Manzanita House. It's th' two-story buildin' up th' street. Is this your trunk?"

"Yes. May I leave it here until morning?"

The man nodded. "Sure," he answered.

"Thank you. Is there a carriage here?"

He set the trunk on end, wiped his palms on his hips and smiled slightly.

"No, ma'am. Yavapai ain't quite up to hacks an' things yet. We're young. You can walk it in two minutes."

Ann hesitated.

"It's ... all right, is it?"

He did not comprehend.

"For me to walk, I mean. Just now.... It sounded as if some one shot, I thought."

He laughed.

"Oh, Yavapai's a safe place! Somebody just shot at somethin', I guess. But it's all right. We ain't got no hacks, but we don't have no killin's either."

"I'm glad of the one anyhow," Ann smiled, and started away from him not, however, wholly reassured.

She walked toward the array of yellow lighted windows that showed through the deepening darkness, making her way over the hard ground, hurriedly, skirt lifted in the free hand. She had not inspected the shadowy town beyond glancing casually to register the ill-defined impressions of scattered stock pens, sprawling buildings, a short string of box-cars, a water-tank. The country, the location of the settlement, was the thing which had demanded her first attention, for it was all strange, new, a bit terrifying in the twilight. Two men passed her, talking; their voices ceased and she knew that they turned to stare; then one spoke in a lowered tone ... and the night had them. A man on horseback rode down the street at a slow trot. She wondered uneasily if that was the horse which had raced away at the sound of the shot. From the most brilliantly lighted building the sound of a mechanical piano suddenly burst, hammering out a blatant melody.

A thick sprinkling of stars had pricked through the darkening sky and Ann, as she walked along, scanned the outline that each structure made against them. Once she laughed shortly to herself and thought,

"The two-story building!"

And, almost with that thought, she stood before it. An oil lamp on an uncertain post was set close against the veranda and through an open window she saw a woman, bearing a tray, pause beside a table and deposit steaming dishes. She walked up the steps, opened the screen door, and entered an unlighted hall, barren, also, to judge from the sounds. On one side was the dining room; on the other, a cramped office.

"This is the Manzanita House?" she asked a youth who, hat on the back of his head, read a newspaper which was spread over the top of a small glass cigar case on the end of a narrow counter.

"Yes, ma'am"—evidently surprised.

He saw her bag, looked at her face again, took off his hat shyly and opened a ruled copybook to which a pencil was attached by a length of grimy cotton twine. He pushed it toward her, and the woman, as she drew off her glove, saw that this was the hotel register.

In a bold, large hand she wrote:

"Ann Lytton, Portland, Maine."

"I'd like a room for to-night," she said, "and to-morrow I'd like to get to the Sunset mine. Can you direct me?"

A faint suggestion of anxiety was in her query and on the question the youth looked at her sharply, met her gaze and let his waver off. He turned to put the register on the shelf behind him.

"Why, I can find out," he answered, evasively. "It's over thirty miles out there and th' road ain't so very good yet. You can get th' automobile to take you. It's out now—took the doctor out this afternoon—and won't be back till late, prob'ly."

He took the register from the shelf again and, on pretext of noting her room number on the margin of the leaf, re-read her name and address, moving his lips in the soundless syllables.

"I'd ... I'd like to go to my room, if I may," the woman said, and, picking up one of the two lighted lamps, the other led her into the hall and up the narrow flight of stairs.

Ten minutes later, the young man stood in the hotel kitchen, the house register in his hands. Over his right shoulder the waitress peered and over his left, the cook breathed heavily, as became her weight.

"Just Ann. It don't say Miss or Missus," the waitress said.

"I know, Nora, but somehow she don't look like his Missus," the boy said, with a shake of his head.

"From what you say about her, she sure don't. Are you goin' to tell her anythin'? Are you goin' to try to find out?"

"Not me. I wouldn't tell her nothin'! Gee, I wouldn't have th' nerve. Not after knowin' him and then takin' a real good look at a face like hers."

"If she is his, it's a dirty shame!" the girl declared, picking up her tray. She kicked open the swinging door and passed into the dining room.

CHAPTER II

SOME MEN

Ann Lytton ate alone—ate alone, but did not sit alone. She was the last patron of the dining room that evening, and, after Nora Brewster, the waitress, had surrounded her plate with an odd assortment of heavy side-dishes, she drew out a chair at the end of the table, seated herself, elbows on the limp, light linen, and, black eyes fast on the face of the other woman, pushed conversation.

"From the East, ain't you?" she began, and Ann smiled assent.

"New York?"

"No, not New York," and the blue eyes met the black ones, running quickly over the pretty, dark-skinned face, the thick coils of chestnut hair, noting the big, kindly mouth, the peculiarly weak chin. Obviously, the girl was striving to pump the newcomer and on the realization some of the trouble retreated far into the blue eyes and Ann smiled in kindliness at Nora, as she parried the girl's direct questions.

In another mood a part of her might have resented this blunt curiosity, but just now it came as a relief from a line of thought which had been too long sustained. And, after they had talked a few moments, the eastern woman found herself interested in the simplicity, the patent sincerity, of the other. The conversation flourished throughout the meal and by the time Ann had tasted and put aside the canned plums she had discovered much about Nora Brewster, while Nora, returning to the kitchen to tell the cook and the boy from the office all she had learned, awakened to the fact that she had found out nothing at all!

Ann walked slowly from the dining room into the office to leave instructions about her trunk, but the room was empty and she went back to the door which stood open and looked out into the street. From across the way the mechanical piano continued its racket, and an occasional voice was lifted in song or laughter. She thought again of the shot, the running horse. She watched the shadowy figures passing to and fro behind the glazed windows of the saloon and between her brows came a frown. She drew a deep breath, held it a long instant, then let it slip quickly out, ending in a little catch of a cough. She closed one hand and let it fall into the other