osing at the front of the
restaurant. Then he reached for his hat, stood up and went lightly
around into the other booth, where he pulled the green calico curtain
across the opening.

A girl of about seventeen, of plump clean prettiness, still sat at the
table, which was littered with dishes. The cheap finery of her hat and
dress showed a pathetic attempt to increase her natural comeliness. At
this minute her face showed amazement and a hint of apprehension.

"What are you coming in here for?" she demanded.

"I want to talk to you for a little while," Weir replied, seating
himself. "You will please listen. I've overheard enough of your talk
to catch its drift; you came here to be married, but now this man
wants to induce you to go to Los Angeles first."

"That isn't any of your business," the girl flashed back, going white
and red by turns.

"I'm making it mine, however. You live up on Terry Creek, by what I
heard; that's not far from my camp. I'm manager at the dam and my
name's Weir."

At this statement the girl shrank back, beginning to bite the hem of
her handkerchief nervously and gazing at him with terrified eyes.

"I'm here to help you, not harm you. You've run away from home to-day
to marry this fellow. Did he promise to marry you if you came to
Bowenville?"

"Yes."

"And now he wants you to go with him to Los Angeles first, promising
to marry you there?"

The girl hesitated, with a wavering look.

"Yes."

"He gives you excuses, of course. But they don't satisfy your mind,
do they? They don't satisfy mine, at any rate. It's the old trick.
Suppose when you reached the coast he didn't marry you after all and
put you off with more promises and after a week or two abandoned
you?"

"Oh, he wouldn't do that!" she cried, with a gulp.

"That's just what he is planning. He didn't meet you here until after
dark, I judge. You'll both go to the train separately--I overheard
that part. Afterwards he could return from the coast and deny that he
had ever had anything to do with you, and it would simply be your word
against his. And which would people hereabouts believe, tell me that,
which would they believe, yours or his, after you had gone wrong?"

The girl sat frozen. Then suddenly she began to cry, softly and with
jerks of her shoulders. Weir reached out and patted her arm.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Mary--Mary Johnson."

"Mary, I'm interfering in your affairs only because I know what men
wi