r getting me mixed up
in a murder? And--" this time he looked at Fairchild with dolorous
eyes--"'ow 're we going to furnish bond this time, if the grand jury
indicts me?"

"I 'm afraid there won't be any."

Mother Howard set her lips for a minute, then straightened proudly.

"Well, I guess there will! They can't charge you a million dollars on
a thing like that. It's bondable--and I guess I 've got a few things
that are worth something--and a few friends that I can go to. I don't
see why I should be left out of everything, just because I 'm a woman!"

"Lor' love you!" Harry grinned, his eyes showing plainly that the
world was again good for him and that his troubles, as far as a few
slight charges of penitentiary offenses were concerned, amounted to
very little in his estimation. Harry had a habit of living just for
the day. And the support of Mother Howard had wiped out all future
difficulties for him. The fact that convictions might await him and
that the heavy doors at Canon City might yawn for him made little
difference right now. Behind the great bulwark of his mustache, his
big lips spread in a happy announcement of joy, and the world was good.

Silently, Robert Fairchild rose and left the parlor for his own room.
Some way he could not force himself to shed his difficulties in the
same light, airy way as Harry. He wanted to be alone, alone where he
could take stock of the obstacles which had arisen in his path, of the
unexplainable difficulties and tribulations which had come upon him,
one trailing the other, ever since he had read the letter left for him
by his father. And it was a stock-taking of disappointing proportions.

Looking back, Fairchild could see now that his dreams had led only to
catastrophes. The bright vista which had been his that day he sat
swinging his legs over the tailboard of the truck as it ground up Mount
Lookout had changed to a thing of gloomy clouds and of ominous futures.
Nothing had gone right. From the very beginning, there had been only
trouble, only fighting, fighting, fighting against insurmountable odds,
which seemed to throw him ever deeper into the mire of defeat, with
every onslaught. He had met a girl whom he had instinctively liked,
only to find a mystery about her which could not be fathomed. He had
furthered his acquaintance with her, only to bring about a condition
where now she passed him on the street without speaking and which, he
felt, had instiga