ation were two things
she said on the way back, when we two had paired off and were a bit
behind the rest.

"The sandwiches and the whiskey were very good," she told me, "and I'm
so grateful for the trouble you took."

"It was a pleasure," I said.

"And, Mr. Gordon," she continued, and then hesitated for a
moment--"my--Frederic told me that you--you said you honored me
for--?"

"I do," I exclaimed energetically, as she paused and colored.

"Do you really?" she cried. "I thought Fred was only trying to make me
less unhappy by saying that you did."

"I said it, and I meant it," I told her.

"I have been so miserable over that lie," she went on; "but I thought
if I let you have the letters it would ruin papa. I really wouldn't
mind poverty myself, Mr. Gordon, but he takes such pride in success
that I couldn't be the one to do it. And then, after you told me that
train-robbers were hung, I had to lie to save them. I ought to have
known you would help us."

I thought this a pretty good time to make a real apology for my
conduct on the trail, as well as to tell her how sorry I was at not
having been able to repack her bag better. She accepted my apology
very sweetly, and assured me her belongings had been put away so
neatly that she had wondered who did it. I knew she only said this out
of kindness, and told her so, telling also of my struggles over that
pink-beribboned and belaced affair, in a way which made her laugh. I
had thought it was a ball gown, and wondered at her taking it to the
Canon; but she explained that it was what she called a "throw"--which
I told her accounted for the throes I had gone through over it. It
made me open my eyes, thinking that anything so pretty could be used
for the same purposes for which I use my crash bath-gown, and while my
eyes were open I saw the folly of thinking that a girl who wore such
things would, or in fact could, ever get along on my salary. In that
way the incident was a good lesson for me, for it made me feel that,
even if there had been no Lord Ralles, I still should have had no
chance.

On our return to the cars there was a telegram from the
Postmaster-General awaiting me. After a glance at it, as the rest of
the party looked anxiously on, I passed it over to Miss Cullen, for I
wanted her to have the triumph of reading it aloud to them. It read--

"Hold letters pending arrival of special agent Jackson, due in
Flagstaff October twentieth."

"The election is th