uriously as she walked along.

A sudden turn about the base of a large cliff brought them to Haskell,
a single street running up the broadening valley, lined mostly with
shacks, although a few more pretentious buildings were scattered here
and there, while an occasional tent flapped its discoloured canvas in
the night wind. There were no street lamps, and only a short stretch
of wooden sidewalk, but lights blazed in various windows, shedding
illumination without, and revealing an animated scene.

They went forward, Westcott, in spite of his confident words, watchful
and silent, the valise in one hand, the other grasping her arm. The
narrow stretch of sidewalk was jammed with men, surging in and out
through the open door of a saloon, and the two held to the middle of
the road, which was lined with horses tied to long poles. Men reeled
out into the street, and occasionally the sharp crack of some
frolicsome revolver punctuated the hoarse shouts and bursts of drunken
laughter. No other woman was visible, yet, apparently, no particular
attention was paid to their progress. But the stream of men thickened
perceptibly, until Westcott was obliged to shoulder them aside
good-humouredly in order to open a passage. The girl, glancing in
through the open doors, saw crowded bar-rooms, and eager groups about
gambling tables. One place dazzlingly lighted was evidently a
dance-hall, but so densely jammed with humanity she could not
distinguish the dancers. A blare of music, however, proved the
presence of a band within. She felt the increasing pressure of her
escort's hand.

"Can we get through?"

"Sure; some crowd, though. 'Tisn't often as bad as this; miners and
punchers all paid off at once." He released her arm, and suddenly
gripped the shoulder of a man passing. He was the town marshal.

"Say, Dan, I reckon this is your busy night, but I wish you'd help me
run this lady through as far as Timmons; this bunch of long-horns
appear to be milling, and we're plum stalled."

The man turned and stared at them. Short, stockily built, appearing at
first view almost grotesque under the broad brim of his hat, Stella,
recognising the marshal, was conscious only of a clean-shaven face, a
square jaw, and a pair of stern blue eyes.

"Oh, is that you, Jim?" he asked briefly. "Lord, I don't see why a big
boob like you should need a guardian. The lady? Pardon me, madam,"
and he touched his hat. "Stand back there, you fellow