s, for Glen to her was of far more importance than all
the mines in Nevada.

"I am glad to hear that Glen is _well_," she said, determined on
another tack. "He hasn't answered my letter."

Once more Bostwick colored, beneath his tan and the gun-metal tint of
his jaw.

"I suppose he's been too busy," he answered. "Have you written again?"

"Not yet," she answered honestly. "I wasn't sure of his whereabouts.
You are sure he's in Starlight now?"

"Yes--but you needn't write," he hastened to say. "He said he might
come, perhaps to-morrow." He rose from his chair. "I've got to hurry
off, little girl. These negotiations cannot wait. I'll run in when I
can--this afternoon at the latest. I'm glad to see you looking so
well." He approached her with lover-like intent. "My heart has been
empty and forlorn, away from you, Beth. Surely you have a little--a
little something for me, pet? You know how starved----"

"Oh--Mrs. Dick is coming!" she interrupted desperately. "You must have
a great deal to do."

Mrs. Dick was making a large and lively noise in the kitchen.

Bostwick listened for a second, his deep-set eyes keenly fixed on the
girl, like very orbs of suspicion and jealousy. He lowered his voice.

"Has that ruffian, Van Buren, been here recently?"

She raised her brows in well-feigned astonishment,

"I haven't heard of any ruffian being in town."

Bostwick studied her face for a moment in silence.

"I'll be around this afternoon," he repeated. "Good-by."

He departed hurriedly, glancing at his watch as he went.

Not a block from the house he met old Billy Stitts, who, though quite
unknown to the New York man, knew Bostwick in a way of his own.

"Morning, Uncle.--Howdy?" he said, blocking Bostwick's path. "Back, I
see. Welcome home. I guess you don't know me as well as I know you.
My name is Stitts--Billy Stitts--and I'm gittin' on fine with your
niece. I'm the one which runs her errands and gits the inside track."

Bostwick, staring at Billy ominously, and about to sweep him aside as a
bit of old rubbish, too familiar and impudent for tolerance, paused
abruptly in his impulse, at a hint which Billy had supplied.

"Oh," he said. "How are you? So you are the friend who runs Miss
Kent's errands? You must be the one she asked me to befriend."

"Did she?" said old Billy, inordinately pleased. "What did I tell you
about the inside track?"

"I'm glad if you have been of use," Bostwick to