leaving a considerable hollow which was
devoid of vegetation. Examining this hollow closely, Lowell paused
suddenly and uttered a low ejaculation. Then he walked slowly to his
automobile and drove in the direction of the Greek Letter Ranch.

When he arrived at the ranch house Lowell was relieved to find that
Helen was not at home. Wong, who opened the door a scant six inches,
told him she had taken the white horse and gone for a ride.

"Well, tell Mister Willis Morgan I want to see him," said Lowell.

Wong was much alarmed. Mister Morgan could not be seen. The Chinese
combination of words for "impossible" was marshaled in behalf of Wong's
employer.

Lowell, putting his shoulder against the Greek letter brand which was
burnt in the panel, pushed the door open and stepped into the room which
served as a library.

"Now tell Mister Morgan I wish to see him, Wong," said the agent firmly.

The door to the adjoining room opened, and Lowell faced the questioning
gaze of a gray-haired man who might have been anywhere from forty-five
to sixty. One hand was in the pocket of a velvet smoking-jacket, and the
other held a pipe. The man's eyes were dark and deeply set. They did not
seem to Lowell to be the contemplative eyes of the scholar, but rather
to belong to a man of decisive action--one whose interests might be in
building bridges or tunnels, but whose activities were always concerned
with material things. His face was lean and bronzed--the face of a man
who lived much in the outdoors. His nose was aquiline, and his lips,
though thin and firm, were not unkindly. In fact, here was a man who, in
the class-room, might be given to quips with his students, rather than
to sternness. Yet this was the man of whom it was said.... Lowell's face
grew stern as the long list of indictments against Willis Morgan,
recluse and "squaw professor," came to his mind.

The gray-haired man sat down at the table, and Lowell, in response to a
wave of the hand that held the pipe, drew up opposite.

"You and I have been living pretty close together a long time," said
Lowell bluntly, "and if we'd been a little more neighborly, this call
might not be so difficult in some ways."

"My fault entirely." Again the hand waved--this time toward the
ceiling-high shelves of books. "Library slavery makes a man selfish,
I'll admit."

The voice was cold and hard. It was such a voice that had extended a
mocking welcome to Helen Ervin when she had stood hes