LITMIR.BIZ

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triangular face as he turned to the crowd. Nodding again at Denver, he walked quickly from the place. Talk sprang up on his departure like air rushing into a vacuum. Nightingale came forward, with Steve Steers and Steele and Niland. The Englishman's bright blue eyes held some reserved, remote expression.

      "Thanks," he drawled, "for the timely intervention. Y'know, I gen'rally take care of my own sorrows. Would have done so this evenin', but things moved so blasted fast that I scarcely had puckered my mouth to say something than it was all over. I shall have to be a little—er—quicker on the trigger, as it were. Now, I wonder if the proper move in the circumstances isn't to have a little spirituous stimulant? Not so?"

      "Any time's time to drink," observed Cal Steele.

      "My judgment is that your poker technique was derived from other sources beside Hoyle," grinned Denver.

      "I have played—a game or two," drawled Nightingale; and it seemed to Denver that somewhere behind those remarkably azure eyes there was a cheerful grin.

      "Here's to sin," observed Steve Steers; and so they christened a friendship.

      "Do I look bad?" questioned Denver.

      "Yore spine may be crooked," said Niland, "but he didn't reach your face at all. However, that shirt will do you no further good. Button up your coat."

      "I will do same and depart," agreed Denver. "See you in church."

      "Stick around," adjured Steve. "The night's but a pup."

      "It'll be a long-haired dog before you drag out of here," said Denver and walked down the hall, stiff from the pounding he had received. Nightingale looked thoughtfully at the rugged back and made a quiet observation.

      "A most cur'ous combination of dynamite, the irresist'ble force, nine hungry leopards, and Vesuvius in eruption. I take it he was rather angry with this Stinger Dann. Am I right?"

      "That's approximately correct," chuckled Cal Steele.

      "I like the beggar," stated Nightingale three drinks later, "and trust the feeling may presently be reciprocated."

      "Hold on," broke in Steve Steers coldly. "No man can say that word in my presence. I want you to understand I'm a lady."

      Denver walked out to his horse and led it down as far as the hotel, where he discovered the Leverage family gathered. Jake Leverage appealed to him. "I've got to stay over tonight, Dave, and Ma is too tired to go back this evenin'. But Eve figgers she wants to drift home."

      "I'm heading that way," said Denver, "and came to offer my company."

      "It's three miles out of your way," observed Eve. "I can go alone."

      "Would it be the first time I took the long way home with you, Eve?" drawled Denver. The girl blushed and drew up the collar of her coat against the encroaching cold. Mrs. Leverage smiled knowingly. The crowd, released from the show, eddied around them, and there was a general shifting to make room on the porch. Lola Monterey walked swiftly by, smiling through a pale and weary face. Dave lifted his hat. Lola's husky "Goodnight, Dave" floated gently over the assembled people; then she was gone. Dave tied his pony to the Leverage buggy and helped Eve to the seat, wrapping the robe about her feet. When he settled beside her and gathered the reins she leaned nearer to him, to speak just above a whisper.

      "She's beautiful, David."

      "I have always thought so," he replied, and looked more closely at the clear, frank face turned up to him. "So are you, Eve."

      "I think," said she, smiling wistfully, "this is going to be the nicest part of the evening."

      He turned the buggy in the choked street and drew aside. Dr. Williamson reined in on a borrowed horse, heavy eyed. "It was a boy, Dave, and the Jessons said to thank you."

      "Another young Stephen to buck the world, I reckon," mused Dave.

      Williamson looked at the pair with solemn approval. "Tuck the robe higher on Eve's throat. It's raw tonight. Don't drive too fast goin' home. It's a fine evenin'—for young people." As he swung away he added another phrase. "No, they named the baby David, which I thought fit and proper."

      "The first David named after me," said Denver uncomfortably and maneuvered down Prairie Street. The damp, swirling darkness of the stage road absorbed them. Eve stirred slightly, and he put his arm about her to catch up the robe—and left it there.

      "A brotherly interest, David?" asked Eve, softly.

      "Sometimes I'm not so sure of that, Eve."

      "Well, it makes no difference. It helps to keep the cold away."

      He thought she was smiling to herself. So in comfortable silence they jogged along.

      THE EASY EVIL TRAIL

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      When Lola Monterey climbed the stairs and turned toward her room a slim man in a black hat stepped from the obscurity of the hall's end.

      "I wanted to see you, Lola," said he quietly.

      The girl stopped with a breath of surprise. "Lou—you come like a ghost."

      He drew off his hat, smiling with pleasure. "A ghost out of the past—a not pleasant past?" The dark and triangular face of the man studied her with quick pride. She rested against the wall, eyes half shut, passive. "I had to see you," he went on.

      She motioned to her door. "Go in, then. Five minutes, no more."

      He shook his head. "I wouldn't do that. It's too late at night."

      "You have not changed," she observed gently. "You still protect me."

      "You've changed."

      "For better or worse?"

      "Better for you—worse for me. Once you were Peter Monterey's daughter in a knockdown shack, and I fed you rustled beef to keep that fire in your eyes. Now you are a fine lady and past my help. Maybe you have forgotten."

      "Never! Why should I forget? I am not ashamed of my past, Lou. I am proud that this sand nourished me. There is only one thing I'm not proud of."

      "What's that?" he asked, sharp and intent.

      "For ever leaving. Tell me, is David serious with Eve Leverage?"

      Redmain's expressive face darkened. "I wish to God I knew!"

      Her luminous eyes widened on him. "So—it is that way with you?"

      "It is," was his short answer. "I have wanted that girl since she was out of pigtails. She doesn't know it. Nobody knows it but you, chiquita. And you are keeping it to yourself."

      "As you once kept my secrets," she promised him, "away back when I was fighting to be a fine and great lady. Ah, Lou, I am sorry for you. But he is not happy."

      "Who, Dave? I suppose not. Neither am I, neither are you. Neither is anybody in this world who's got mind enough to see how crooked the whole game is and blood enough to fight back."

      "You never have quarreled with him, Lou?" she asked, worry in her eyes.

      "Never yet. I like the man as much as it is in me to like anybody, which is say in' little."

      "I never want you to quarrel with him."

      He shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows what's to come? Things are pretty badly tangled in Yellow Hill. He and I step around each other politely. How long that continues only God knows."

      "You are bitter," she remarked. "What could happen that would make you two have trouble?"

      But he laughed shortly and changed the subject. "I had to see you for a minute. One of the few things I look back on with considerable satisfaction, Lola, is that I was a friend of yours and never let you down. Reckon it'll be a long time until—"

      "No. I am staying

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