ESERT TO THE END
XXIX THE SUMMIT OF SUCCESS
XXX THE MISSION OF A LETTER

BETH NORVELL

A TALE OF THE WEST

CHAPTER I

A CHANCE MEETING

There were nine altogether in the party registering. This number
included the manager, who, both on and off the stage, quite
successfully impersonated the villain--a rather heavy-jawed,
middle-aged fellow, of foreign appearance, with coarse, gruff voice;
three representatives of the gentler sex; a child of eight, exact
species unknown, wrapped up like a mummy; and four males. Beyond doubt
the most notable member of the troupe was the comedian "star," Mr. T.
Macready Lane, whose well-known cognomen must even now awaken happy
histrionic memories throughout the western circuit. The long night's
ride from their previous stand, involving as it did two changes of
trains, had proven exceedingly wearisome; and the young woman in the
rather natty blue toque, the collar of her long gray coat turned up in
partial concealment of her face, was so utterly fatigued that she
refused to wait for a belated breakfast, and insisted upon being at
once directed to her room. There was a substantial bolt decorating the
inside of the door, but, rendered careless by sheer exhaustion of both
mind and body, she forgot everything except her desire for immediate
rest, dropped her wraps upon the only chair visible, and flung herself,
fully dressed, upon the bed. Her cheek had barely pressed the hard
pillow before she was sleeping like a tired child.

It must have been an hour later when Winston drove in from Flat Rock,
shook the powdery snow from off his long fur overcoat, his cheeks still
tingling from the sharp wind, and, with fingers yet stiffened by cold,
wrote his name carelessly across the lower line of the dilapidated
hotel register.

"Can you let me have the same room, Tom?" he questioned familiarly of
the man ornamenting the high stool behind the desk.

The latter, busy with some figures, nodded carelessly, and the last
arrival promptly picked up his valise from the floor and began climbing
the stairs, whistling softly. He was a long-limbed, broad-chested
young fellow, with clean-shaven face, and a pair of dark-gray eyes that
looked straight ahead of him; and he ran up the somewhat steep steps as
though finding such exercise a pleasure. Rounding the upper railing,
he stopped abruptly before Number Twenty-seven, flung open the door,
took a single step within, and came to a