of cattle!"

"Oh no!" wailed Elsie. "Not that. Surely in this great city there are
places where a friendless girl can find protection!"

Kentucky Lou laughed again but the laugh contained no mirth.

"I thought that too, kid," she said more gently. "And perhaps--perhaps--if
you could find the right people and they believed you they might help you.
But they didn't help me. I went to one of these institutions that
advertise to help friendless girls. Yes, I went to them. I had my baby in
my arms. And they began by shooting me full of questions that I'd rather
die than answer. And me perishing for a kind word and a slap on the
back--just something to keep me fighting to be good. They gave me tracts,
and sermons and advice. And then my baby died and I didn't care what
happened. I guess I went crazy after that. 'It's hell, anyway,' I says,
'so here goes.' And here I am."

While she spoke Kentucky Lou was fumbling with her dress. Her hand
reappeared in a moment with a five dollar bill. She shoved the bill into
Elsie's hand.

"Take that," she said, "and go. Go as far as you can. It's all I can do
for you and it may save you. I think you'll come back to Druce but I'm
taking a gambler's chance."

She took Elsie by the arm, half lifted the stupefied girl to her feet and
led her to the door. Impelled by a terror which both blinded and choked
her Elsie fled into the gathering darkness without even pausing to thank
her benefactor.

Lou returned to the saloon and ordered more whisky.

"Lou," inquired one of the men, "who's you're friend?"

Lou regarded the questioner calmly.

"That?" she replied, "Oh, that's a little lost lamb turned loose in a den
of you human hyenas."

CHAPTER XIX

MARY RANDALL GOES TO LIVE IN A WOLF'S DEN

Martin Druce, still pacing uneasily; about the big drinking room of the
Cafe Sinister after his angry parting with Elsie Welcome, looked up
suddenly and saw the street door open. He stood still staring. The new
arrival was Mary Randall. She wore a smart tailored suit and a modish
hat. Druce noted these details of costume, the shining bronze hair, the
fresh complexion and the trim figure. He gasped with surprise.

Druce's surprise was not due to any recognition of his visitor as the
reformer. To him Mary Randall was still Miss Masters, for he had heard
nothing of the episode in John Boland's office when the electric king's
private secretary rev