d upon his mind much in the manner of mental
vampires. He knew that Charlie was threatened, and he knew that
Charlie knew it, and made no attempt to protect himself. He knew that
Charlie was also scared--frightened out of all control of himself in a
manner that was absurdly contradictory. He knew that he was now at the
saloon for the purpose of drowning his hopeless feelings in the
maddening spirit O'Brien dispensed. He knew that his own baggage had
at last arrived from Heaven only knew where, and he wished it hadn't,
for it left him feeling even more burdened than ever with the
responsibilities of the pestilential valley. He knew that he was
beginning to hate the police, and Fyles, almost as much as Charlie
did. He knew that if prevailing conditions weren't careful he would
lose his temper with them, and make things hot for somebody or
something. But, more than all else, he knew that Helen Seton was more
than worth all the worry and anxiety he was enduring.

In consequence of all this he arrayed himself in a light tweed suit, a
clean, boiled shirt and collar, a tie, that might well have startled
the natives of his home city, and a panama hat which he felt was
necessary to improve the tropical appearance of his burnt and
perspiring features, and hastened to Helen's presence for comfort and
support.

The girl had been waiting for him. She looked the picture of
diaphanous coolness in the shade of the house, lounging in an old
wicker chair, with its fellow, empty, drawn up beside her. There were
no feminine eyes to witness her little schemes, and Bill?--why, Bill
was delighted beyond words that she was there, also the empty chair,
also, that, as he believed, while she was wholly unconscious of the
fact, the girl's attitude and costume were the most innocently
pleasing things he had ever beheld with his two big, blue,
appreciative eyes.

He promptly told her so.

"Say, Hel," he cried, "you don't mind me calling you 'Hel,' do
you?--you see, everything delightful seems to be associated with
'Hell' nowadays. If you could see yourself and the dandy picture
you make you'd kind of understand how I feel just about now."

The girl smiled her delight.

"Maybe I do understand," she said. "You see, I don't always sit around
in this sort of fancy frock. Then, no girl of sense musses herself
into an awkward pose when six foot odd of manhood's getting around her
way. No, no Big Brother Bill. That chair didn't get there by itself.