ne facing the attractive young woman. Here the linked
couple seated themselves. The young woman's glance fell upon them with
a distant, swift disinterest; then with a lovely smile brightening her
countenance and a tender pink tingeing her rounded cheeks, she held out
a little gray-gloved hand. When she spoke her voice, full, sweet, and
deliberate, proclaimed that its owner was accustomed to speak and be
heard.

"Well, Mr. Easton, if you _will_ make me speak first, I suppose I must.
Don't you ever recognize old friends when you meet them in the West?"

The younger man roused himself sharply at the sound of her voice,
seemed to struggle with a slight embarrassment which he threw off
instantly, and then clasped her fingers with his left hand.

"It's Miss Fairchild," he said, with a smile. "I'll ask you to excuse
the other hand; it's otherwise engaged just at present."

He slightly raised his right hand, bound at the wrist by the shining
"bracelet" to the left one of his companion. The glad look in the
girl's eyes slowly changed to a bewildered horror. The glow faded from
her cheeks. Her lips parted in a vague, relaxing distress. Easton,
with a little laugh, as if amused, was about to speak again when the
other forestalled him. The glum-faced man had been watching the girl's
countenance with veiled glances from his keen, shrewd eyes.

"You'll excuse me for speaking, miss, but, I see you're acquainted with
the marshall here. If you'll ask him to speak a word for me when we
get to the pen he'll do it, and it'll make things easier for me there.
He's taking me to Leavenworth prison. It's seven years for
counterfeiting."

"Oh!" said the girl, with a deep breath and returning color. "So that
is what you are doing out here? A marshal!"

"My dear Miss Fairchild," said Easton, calmly, "I had to do something.
Money has a way of taking wings unto itself, and you know it takes
money to keep step with our crowd in Washington. I saw this opening in
the West, and--well, a marshalship isn't quite as high a position as
that of ambassador, but--"

"The ambassador," said the girl, warmly, "doesn't call any more. He
needn't ever have done so. You ought to know that. And so now you are
one of these dashing Western heroes, and you ride and shoot and go into
all kinds of dangers. That's different from the Washington life. You
have been missed from the old crowd."

The girl's eyes, fascinated, went back, widening a littl