lsied
fingers of his left hand could scarce turn the key.

It seemed to him that the night was alive with the noise he made in
turning the lock and opening the door. The hinges grated and the floor
squeaked beneath the fall of his foot as he stood at the threshold.

Two men were in front of the wire grating which protected the big safe
that filled the alcove to the right. One held a file and the other a
candle. Their blank, masked faces were turned toward Milton, and each
of them covered him with a weapon.

"W-what are you doing here?" quavered the cashier.

"Drop that gun," came the low, sharp command from one of them.

Under the menace of their revolvers the heart of Milton pumped water
instead of blood. The strength oozed out of him. His body swayed and he
shut his eyes. A hand groped for the casement of the door to steady him.

"Drop it--quick."

Some old ancestral instinct in the bank cashier rose out of his panic
to destroy him. He wanted to lie down quietly in a faint. But his mind
asserted its mastery over the weakling body. In spite of his terror, of
his flaccid will, he had to keep the faith. He was guardian of the bank
funds. At all costs he must protect them.

His forearm came up with a jerk. Two shots rang out almost together. The
cashier sagged back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor.

* * * * *

The guests of Mrs. Selfridge danced well into the small hours. The
California champagne that Wally had brought in stimulated a gayety that
was balm to his wife's soul. She wanted her dinner-dance to be smart, to
have the atmosphere she had found in the New York cabarets. If everybody
talked at once, she felt they were having a good time. If nobody
listened to anybody else, it proved that the affair was a screaming
success.

Mrs. Wally was satisfied as she bade her guests good-bye and saw them
pass into the heavy snow that was again falling. They all assured her
that there had not been so hilarious a party in Kusiak. One old-timer, a
trifle lit up by reason of too much hospitality, phrased his enjoyment a
little awkwardly.

"It's been great, Mrs. Selfridge. Nothing like it since the days of the
open dance hall."

Mrs. Mallory hastily suppressed an internal smile and stepped into the
breach. "_How_ do you do it?" she asked her hostess enviously.

"My dear, if _you_ say it was a success--"

"What else could one say?"

Genevieve Mallory always preferred to