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diff --git a/old/62409-0.txt b/old/62409-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index eac3c46..0000000 --- a/old/62409-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12325 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Girl from Hollywood, by Edgar Rice Burroughs - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Girl from Hollywood - -Author: Edgar Rice Burroughs - -Release Date: June 15, 2020 [EBook #62409] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM HOLLYWOOD *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber’s Note - - -Table of Contents added by Transcriber and placed in the Public Domain. - - - - -THE GIRL FROM HOLLYWOOD - - - - -[Illustration: The director’s eyes snapped.... “Only a camera man and -myself are here,” he said] - - - - - THE - GIRL FROM HOLLYWOOD - - - BY - EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS - AUTHOR OF “TARZON OF THE APES,” “THE - RETURN OF TARZON,” ETC. - - - FRONTISPIECE BY - P. J. MONAHAN - - - NEW YORK - THE MACAULAY COMPANY - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1923, - BY EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS - - -PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I 1 - II 9 - III 16 - IV 21 - V 32 - VI 46 - VII 54 - VIII 58 - IX 63 - X 70 - XI 79 - XII 88 - XIII 96 - XIV 103 - XV 115 - XVI 129 - XVII 145 - XVIII 151 - XIX 164 - XX 168 - XXI 180 - XXII 189 - XXIII 195 - XXIV 204 - XXV 211 - XXVI 218 - XXVII 226 - XXVIII 236 - XXIX 244 - XXX 249 - XXXI 254 - XXXII 264 - XXXIII 275 - XXXIV 283 - XXXV 293 - XXXVI 304 - XXXVII 308 - - - - -THE GIRL FROM HOLLYWOOD - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -The two horses picked their way carefully downward over the loose -shale of the steep hillside. The big bay stallion in the lead sidled -mincingly, tossing his head nervously, and flecking the flannel shirt -of his rider with foam. Behind the man on the stallion a girl rode a -clean-limbed bay of lighter color, whose method of descent, while less -showy, was safer, for he came more slowly, and in the very bad places -he braced his four feet forward and slid down, sometimes almost sitting -upon the ground. - -At the base of the hill there was a narrow level strip; then an -eight-foot wash, with steep banks, barred the way to the opposite side -of the cañon, which rose gently to the hills beyond. At the foot of -the descent the man reined in and waited until the girl was safely -down; then he wheeled his mount and trotted toward the wash. Twenty -feet from it he gave the animal its head and a word. The horse broke -into a gallop, took off at the edge of the wash, and cleared it so -effortlessly as almost to give the impression of flying. - -Behind the man came the girl, but her horse came at the wash with a -rush--not the slow, steady gallop of the stallion--and at the very -brink he stopped to gather himself. The dry bank caved beneath his -front feet, and into the wash he went, head first. - -The man turned and spurred back. The girl looked up from her saddle, -making a wry face. - -“No damage?” he asked, an expression of concern upon his face. - -“No damage,” the girl replied. “Senator is clumsy enough at jumping, -but no matter what happens he always lights on his feet.” - -“Ride down a bit,” said the man. “There’s an easy way out just below.” - -She moved off in the direction he indicated, her horse picking his way -among the loose bowlders in the wash bottom. - -“Mother says he’s part cat,” she remarked. “I wish he could jump like -the Apache!” - -The man stroked the glossy neck of his own mount. - -“He never will,” he said. “He’s afraid. The Apache is absolutely -fearless; he’d go anywhere I’d ride him. He’s been mired with me twice, -but he never refuses a wet spot; and that’s a test, I say, of a horse’s -courage.” - -They had reached a place where the bank was broken down, and the girl’s -horse scrambled from the wash. - -“Maybe he’s like his rider,” suggested the girl, looking at the Apache; -“brave, but reckless.” - -“It was worse than reckless,” said the man. “It was asinine. I -shouldn’t have led you over the jump when I know how badly Senator -jumps.” - -“And you wouldn’t have, Custer”--she hesitated--“if----” - -“If I hadn’t been drinking,” he finished for her. “I know what you were -going to say, Grace; but I think you’re wrong. I never drink enough to -show it. No one ever saw me that way--not so that it was noticeable.” - -“It is always noticeable to me and to your mother,” she corrected him -gently. “We always know it, Custer. It shows in little things like what -you did just now. Oh, it isn’t anything, I know, dear; but we who love -you wish you didn’t do it quite so often.” - -“It’s funny,” he said, “but I never cared for it until it became a -risky thing to get it. Oh, well, what’s the use? I’ll quit it if you -say so. It hasn’t any hold on me.” - -Involuntarily he squared his shoulders--an unconscious tribute to the -strength of his weakness. - -Together, their stirrups touching, they rode slowly down the cañon -trail toward the ranch. Often they rode thus, in the restful silence -that is a birthright of comradeship. Neither spoke until after they -reined in their sweating horses beneath the cool shade of the spreading -sycamore that guards the junction of El Camino Largo and the main trail -that winds up Sycamore Cañon. - -It was the first day of early spring. The rains were over. The -California hills were green and purple and gold. The new leaves lay -softly fresh on the gaunt boughs of yesterday. A blue jay scolded from -a clump of sumac across the trail. - -The girl pointed up into the cloudless sky, where several great birds -circled majestically, rising and falling upon motionless wings. - -“The vultures are back,” she said. “I am always glad to see them come -again.” - -“Yes,” said the man. “They are bully scavengers, and we don’t have to -pay ’em wages.” - -The girl smiled up at him. - -“I’m afraid my thoughts were more poetic than practical,” she said. “I -was only thinking that the sky looked less lonely now that they have -come. Why suggest their diet?” - -“I know what you mean,” he said. “I like them, too. Maligned as they -are, they are really wonderful birds, and sort of mysterious. Did -you ever stop to think that you never see a very young one or a dead -one? Where do they die? Where do they grow to maturity? I wonder what -they’ve found up there! Let’s ride up. Martin said he saw a new calf up -beyond Jackknife Cañon yesterday. That would be just about under where -they’re circling now.” - -They guided their horses around a large, flat slab of rock that some -camper had contrived into a table beneath the sycamore, and started -across the trail toward the opposite side of the cañon. They were in -the middle of the trail when the man drew in and listened. - -“Some one is coming,” he said. “Let’s wait and see who it is. I haven’t -sent any one back into the hills to-day.” - -“I have an idea,” remarked the girl, “that there is more going on up -there”--she nodded toward the mountains stretching to the south of -them--“than you know about.” - -“How is that?” he asked. - -“So often recently we have heard horsemen passing the ranch late at -night. If they weren’t going to stop at your place, those who rode up -the trail must have been headed into the high hills; but I’m sure that -those whom we heard coming down weren’t coming from the Rancho del -Ganado.” - -“No,” he said, “not late at night--or not often, at any rate.” - -The footsteps of a cantering horse drew rapidly closer, and presently -the animal and its rider came into view around a turn in the trail. - -“It’s only Allen,” said the girl. - -The newcomer reined in at sight of the man and the girl. He was -evidently surprised, and the girl thought that he seemed ill at ease. - -“Just givin’ Baldy a work-out,” he explained. “He ain’t been out for -three or four days, an’ you told me to work ’em out if I had time.” - -Custer Pennington nodded. - -“See any stock back there?” - -“No. How’s the Apache to-day--forgin’ as bad as usual?” - -Pennington shook his head negatively. - -“That fellow shod him yesterday just the way I want him shod. I wish -you’d take a good look at his shoes, Slick, so you can see that he’s -always shod this same way.” His eyes had been traveling over Slick’s -mount, whose heaving sides were covered with lather. “Baldy’s pretty -soft, Slick; I wouldn’t work him too hard all at once. Get him up to it -gradually.” - -He turned and rode off with the girl at his side. Slick Allen looked -after them for a moment, and then moved his horse off at a slow walk -toward the ranch. He was a lean, sinewy man, of medium height. He might -have been a cavalryman once. He sat his horse, even at a walk, like -one who has sweated and bled under a drill sergeant in the days of his -youth. - -“How do you like him?” the girl asked of Pennington. - -“He’s a good horseman, and good horsemen are getting rare these days,” -replied Pennington; “but I don’t know that I’d choose him for a -playmate. Don’t you like him?” - -“I’m afraid I don’t. His eyes give me the creeps--they’re like a -fish’s.” - -“To tell the truth, Grace, I don’t like him,” said Custer. “He’s one of -those rare birds--a good horseman who doesn’t love horses. I imagine he -won’t last long on the Rancho del Ganado; but we’ve got to give him a -fair shake--he’s only been with us a few weeks.” - -They were picking their way toward the summit of a steep hogback. The -man, who led, was seeking carefully for the safest footing, shamed out -of his recent recklessness by the thought of how close the girl had -come to a serious accident through his thoughtlessness. They rode along -the hogback until they could look down into a tiny basin where a small -bunch of cattle was grazing, and then, turning and dipping over the -edge, they dropped slowly toward the animals. - -Near the bottom of the slope they came upon a white-faced bull standing -beneath the spreading shade of a live oak. He turned his woolly face -toward them, his red-rimmed eyes observing them dispassionately for -a moment. Then he turned away again and resumed his cud, disdaining -further notice of them. - -“That’s the King of Ganado, isn’t it?” asked the girl. - -“Looks like him, doesn’t he? But he isn’t. He’s the King’s likeliest -son, and unless I’m mistaken he’s going to give the old fellow a -mighty tough time of it this fall, if the old boy wants to hang on to -the grand championship. We’ve never shown him yet. It’s an idea of -father’s. He’s always wanted to spring a new champion at a great show -and surprise the world. He’s kept this fellow hidden away ever since he -gave the first indication that he was going to be a fine bull. At least -a hundred breeders have visited the herd in the past year, and not one -of them has seen him. Father says he’s the greatest bull that ever -lived, and that his first show is going to be the International.” - -“I just know he’ll win,” exclaimed the girl. “Why look at him! Isn’t he -a beauty?” - -“Got a back like a billiard table,” commented Custer proudly. - -They rode down among the heifers. There were a dozen -beauties--three-year-olds. Hidden to one side, behind a small bush, the -man’s quick eyes discerned a little bundle of red and white. - -“There it is, Grace,” he called, and the two rode toward it. - -One of the heifers looked fearfully toward them, then at the bush, and -finally walked toward it, lowing plaintively. - -“We’re not going to hurt it, little girl,” the man assured her. - -As they came closer, there arose a thing of long, wabbly legs, big -joints, and great, dark eyes, its spotless coat of red and white -shining with health and life. - -“The cunning thing!” cried the girl. “How I’d like to squeeze it! I -just love ’em, Custer!” - -She had slipped from her saddle, and, dropping her reins on the ground, -was approaching the calf. - -“Look out for the cow!” cried the man, as he dismounted and moved -forward to the girl’s side, with his arm through the Apache’s reins. -“She hasn’t been up much, and she may be a little wild.” - -The calf stood its ground for a moment, and then, with tail erect, -cavorted madly for its mother, behind whom it took refuge. - -“I just love ’em! I just love ’em!” repeated the girl. - -“You say the same thing about the colts and the little pigs,” the man -reminded her. - -“I love ’em all!” she cried, shaking her head, her eyes twinkling. - -“You love them because they’re little and helpless, just like babies,” -he said. “Oh, Grace, how you’d love a baby!” - -The girl flushed prettily. Quite suddenly he seized her in his arms and -crushed her to him, smothering her with a long kiss. Breathless, she -wriggled partially away, but he still held her in his arms. - -“Why won’t you, Grace?” he begged. “There’ll never be anybody else for -me or for you. Father and mother and Eva love you almost as much as I -do, and on your side your mother and Guy have always seemed to take it -as a matter of course that we’d marry. It isn’t the drinking, is it, -dear?” - -“No, it’s not that, Custer. Of course I’ll marry you--some day; but not -yet. Why, I haven’t lived yet, Custer! I want to live. I want to do -something outside of the humdrum life that I have always led and the -humdrum life that I shall live as a wife and mother. I want to live a -little, Custer, and then I’ll be ready to settle down. You all tell me -that I am beautiful, and down, away down in the depth of my soul, I -feel that I have talent. If I have, I ought to use the gifts God has -given me.” - -She was speaking very seriously, and the man listened patiently and -with respect, for he realized that she was revealing for the first time -a secret yearning that she must have long held locked in her bosom. - -“Just what do you want to do, dear?” he asked gently. - -“I--oh, it seems silly when I try to put it in words, but in dreams it -is very beautiful and very real.” - -“The stage?” he asked. - -“It is just like you to understand!” Her smile rewarded him. “Will you -help me? I know mother will object.” - -“You want me to help you take all the happiness out of my life?” he -asked. - -“It would only be for a little while--just a few years, and then I -would come back to you--after I had made good.” - -“You would never come back, Grace, unless you failed,” he said. “If -you succeeded, you would never be contented in any other life or -atmosphere. If you came back a failure, you couldn’t help but carry -a little bitterness always in your heart. It would never be the same -dear, care-free heart that went away so gayly. Here you have a real -part to play in a real drama--not make-believe upon a narrow stage -with painted drops.” He flung out a hand in broad gesture. “Look at -the setting that God has painted here for us to play our parts in--the -parts that He has chosen for us! Your mother played upon the same -stage, and mine. Do you think them failures? And both were beautiful -girls--as beautiful as you.” - -“Oh, but you don’t understand, after all, Custer!” she cried. “I -thought you did.” - -“I do understand that for your sake I must do my best to persuade you -that you have as full a life before you here as upon the stage. I am -fighting first for your happiness, Grace, and then for mine. If I fail, -then I shall do all that I can to help you realize your ambition. If -you cannot stay because you are convinced that you will be happier -here, then I do not want you to stay.” - -“Kiss me,” she demanded suddenly. “I am only thinking of it, anyway, so -let’s not worry until there is something to worry about.” - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The man bent his lips to hers again, and her arms stole about his neck. -The calf, in the meantime, perhaps disgusted by such absurdities, had -scampered off to try his brand-new legs again, with the result that he -ran into a low bush, turned a somersault, and landed on his back. The -mother, still doubtful of the intentions of the newcomers, to whose -malevolent presence she may have attributed the accident, voiced a -perturbed low; whereupon there broke from the vicinity of the live oak -a deep note, not unlike the rumbling of distant thunder. - -The man looked up. - -“I think we’ll be going,” he said. “The Emperor has issued an -ultimatum.” - -“Or a bull, perhaps,” Grace suggested, as they walked quickly toward -her horse. - -“Awful!” he commented, as he assisted her into the saddle. - -Then he swung to his own. - -The Emperor moved majestically toward them, his nose close to the -ground. Occasionally he stopped, pawing the earth and throwing dust -upon his broad back. - -“Doesn’t he look wicked?” cried the girl. “Just look at those eyes!” - -“He’s just an old bluffer,” replied the man. “However, I’d rather have -you in the saddle, for you can’t always be sure just what they’ll -do. We must call his bluff, though; it would never do to run from -him--might give him bad habits.” - -He rode toward the advancing animal, breaking into a canter as he drew -near the bull, and striking his booted leg with a quirt. - -“Hi, there, you old reprobate! Beat it!” he cried. - -The bull stood his ground with lowered head and rumbled threats until -the horseman was almost upon him; then he turned quickly aside as the -rider went past. - -“That’s better,” remarked Custer, as the girl joined him. - -“You’re not a bit afraid of him, are you, Custer? You’re not afraid of -anything.” - -“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he demurred. “I learned a long time ago that -most encounters consist principally of bluff. Maybe I’ve just grown to -be a good bluffer. Anyhow, I’m a better bluffer than the Emperor. If -the rascal had only known it, he could have run me ragged.” - -As they rode up the side of the basin, the man’s eyes moved constantly -from point to point, now noting the condition of the pasture grasses, -or again searching the more distant hills. Presently they alighted upon -a thin, wavering line of brown, which zigzagged down the opposite side -of the basin from a clump of heavy brush that partially hid a small -ravine, and crossed the meadow ahead of them. - -“There’s a new trail, Grace, and it don’t belong there. Let’s go and -take a look at it.” - -They rode ahead until they reached the trail, at a point where it -crossed the bottom of the basin and started up the side they had been -ascending. The man leaned above his horse’s shoulder and examined the -trampled turf. - -“Horses,” he said. “I thought so, and it’s been used a lot this winter. -You can see even now where the animals slipped and floundered after the -heavy rains.” - -“But you don’t run horses in this pasture, do you?” asked the girl. - -“No; and we haven’t run anything in it since last summer. This is -the only bunch in it, and they were just turned in about a week ago. -Anyway, the horses that made this trail were mostly shod. Now what in -the world is anybody going up there for?” His eyes wandered to the -heavy brush into which the trail disappeared upon the opposite rim of -the basin. “I’ll have to follow that up to-morrow--it’s too late to do -it to-day.” - -“We can follow it the other way, toward the ranch,” she suggested. - -They found the trail wound up the hillside and crossed the hogback in -heavy brush, which, in many places, had been cut away to allow the -easier passage of a horseman. - -“Do you see,” asked Custer, as they drew rein at the summit of the -ridge, “that although the trail crosses here in plain sight of the -ranch house, the brush would absolutely conceal a horseman from the -view of any one at the house? It must run right down into Jackknife -Cañon. Funny none of us have noticed it, for there’s scarcely a week -that that trail isn’t ridden by some of us!” - -As they descended into the cañon, they discovered why that end of the -new trail had not been noticed. It ran deep and well marked through the -heavy brush of a gully to a place where the brush commenced to thin, -and there it branched into a dozen dim trails that joined and blended -with the old, well worn cattle paths of the hillside. - -“Somebody’s mighty foxy,” observed the man; “but I don’t see what it’s -all about. The days of cattle runners and bandits are over.” - -“Just imagine!” exclaimed the girl. “A real mystery in our lazy, old -hills!” - -The man rode in silence and in thought. A herd of pure-bred Herefords, -whose value would have ransomed half the crowned heads remaining in -Europe, grazed in the several pastures that ran far back into those -hills; and back there somewhere that trail led, but for what purpose? -No good purpose, he was sure, or it had not been so cleverly hidden. - -As they came to the trail which they called the Camino Corto, where it -commenced at the gate leading from the old goat corral, the man jerked -his thumb toward the west along it. - -“They must come and go this way,” he said. - -“Perhaps they’re the ones mother and I have heard passing at night,” -suggested the girl. “If they are, they come right through your -property, below the house--not this way.” - -He opened the gate from the saddle and they passed through, crossing -the _barranco_, and stopping for a moment to look at the pigs and talk -with the herdsman. Then they rode on toward the ranch house, a half -mile farther down the widening cañon. It stood upon the summit of a low -hill, the declining sun transforming its plastered walls, its cupolas, -the sturdy arches of its arcades, into the semblance of a Moorish -castle. - -At the foot of the hill they dismounted at the saddle horse stable, -tied their horses, and ascended the long flight of rough concrete steps -toward the house. As they rounded the wild sumac bush at the summit, -they were espied by those sitting in the patio, around three sides of -which the house was built. - -“Oh, here they are now!” exclaimed Mrs. Pennington. “We were so afraid -that Grace would ride right on home, Custer. We had just persuaded Mrs. -Evans to stay for dinner. Guy is coming, too.” - -“Mother, you here, too?” cried the girl. “How nice and cool it is in -here! It would save a lot of trouble if we brought our things, mother.” - -“We are hoping that at least one of you will, very soon,” said Colonel -Pennington, who had risen, and now put an arm affectionately about the -girl’s shoulders. - -“That’s what I’ve been telling her again this afternoon,” said Custer; -“but instead she wants to----” - -The girl turned toward him with a little frown and shake of her head. - -“You’d better run down and tell Allen that we won’t use the horses -until after dinner,” she said. - -He grimaced good-naturedly and turned away. - -“I’ll have him take Senator home,” he said. “I can drive you and your -mother down in the car, when you leave.” - -As he descended the steps that wound among the umbrella trees, taking -on their new foliage, he saw Allen examining the Apache’s shoes. As he -neared them, the horse pulled away from the man, his suddenly lowered -hoof striking Allen’s instep. With an oath the fellow stepped back -and swung a vicious kick to the animal’s belly. Almost simultaneously -a hand fell heavily upon his shoulder. He was jerked roughly back, -whirled about, and sent spinning a dozen feet away, where he stumbled -and fell. As he scrambled to his feet, white with rage, he saw the -younger Pennington before him. - -“Go to the office and get your time,” ordered Pennington. - -“I’ll get you first, you son of a----” - -A hard fist connecting suddenly with his chin put a painful period to -his sentence before it was completed, and stopped his mad rush. - -“I’d be more careful of my conversation, Allen, if I were you,” said -Pennington quietly. “Just because you’ve been drinking is no excuse for -_that_. Now go on up to the office, as I told you to.” - -He had caught the odor of whisky as he jerked the man past him. - -“You goin’ to can me for drinkin’--_you?_” demanded Allen. - -“You know what I’m canning you for. You know that’s the one thing that -don’t go on Ganado. You ought to get what you gave the Apache, and -you’d better beat it before I lose my temper and give it to you!” - -The man rose slowly to his feet. In his mind he was revolving his -chances of successfully renewing his attack; but presently his judgment -got the better of his desire and his rage. He moved off slowly up the -hill toward the house. A few yards, and he turned. - -“I ain’t a goin’ to ferget this, you--you----” - -“Be careful!” Pennington admonished. - -“Nor you ain’t goin’ to ferget it, neither, you fox-trottin’ dude!” - -Allen turned again to the ascent of the steps. Pennington walked to the -Apache and stroked his muzzle. - -“Old boy,” he crooned, “there don’t anybody kick you and get away with -it, does there?” - -Halfway up, Allen stopped and turned again. - -“You think you’re the whole cheese, you Penningtons, don’t you?” he -called back. “With all your money an’ your fine friends! Fine friends, -yah! I can put one of ’em where he belongs any time I want--the darn -bootlegger! That’s what he is. You wait--you’ll see!” - -“A-ah, beat it!” sighed Pennington wearily. - -Mounting the Apache, he led Grace’s horse along the foot of the hill -toward the smaller ranch house of their neighbor, some half mile -away. Humming a little tune, he unsaddled Senator, turned him into -his corral, saw that there was water in his trough, and emptied a -measure of oats into his manger, for the horse had cooled off since -the afternoon ride. As neither of the Evans ranch hands appeared, he -found a piece of rag and wiped off the Senator’s bit, turned the saddle -blankets wet side up to dry, and then, leaving the stable, crossed the -yard to mount the Apache. - -A young man in riding clothes appeared simultaneously from the interior -of the bungalow, which stood a hundred feet away. Crossing the wide -porch, he called to Pennington. - -“Hello there, Penn! What you doing?” he demanded. - -“Just brought Senator in--Grace is up at the house. You’re coming up -there, too, Guy.” - -“Sure, but come in here a second. I’ve got something to show you.” - -Pennington crossed the yard and entered the house behind Grace’s -brother, who conducted him to his bedroom. Here young Evans unlocked -a closet, and, after rummaging behind some clothing, emerged with a -bottle, the shape and dimensions of which were once as familiar in the -land of the free as the benign countenance of Lydia E. Pinkham. - -“It’s the genuine stuff, Penn, too!” he declared. - -Pennington smiled. - -“Thanks, old fellow, but I’ve quit,” he said. - -“Quit!” exclaimed Evans. - -“Yep.” - -“But think of it, man--aged eight years in the wood, and bottled -in bond before July 1, 1919. The real thing, and as cheap as -moonshine--only six beans a quart. Can you believe it?” - -“I cannot,” admitted Pennington. “Your conversation listens phony.” - -“But it’s the truth. You may have quit, but one little snifter of this -won’t hurt you. Here’s this bottle already open--just try it”; and he -proffered the bottle and a glass to the other. - -“Well, it’s pretty hard to resist anything that sounds as good as this -does,” remarked Pennington. “I guess one won’t hurt me any.” He poured -himself a drink and took it. “Wonderful!” he ejaculated. - -“Here,” said Evans, diving into the closet once more. “I got you a -bottle, too, and we can get more.” - -Pennington took the bottle and examined it, almost caressingly. - -“Eight years in the wood!” he murmured. “I’ve got to take it, Guy. Must -have something to hand down to posterity.” He drew a bill fold from his -pocket and counted out six dollars. - -“Thanks,” said Guy. “You’ll never regret it.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -As the two young men climbed the hill to the big house, a few minutes -later, they found the elder Pennington standing at the edge of the -driveway that circled the hill top, looking out toward the wide cañon -and the distant mountains. In the nearer foreground lay the stable -and corrals of the saddle horses, the hen house with its two long -alfalfa runways, and the small dairy barn accommodating the little herd -of Guernseys that supplied milk, cream, and butter for the ranch. A -quarter of a mile beyond, among the trees, was the red-roofed “cabin” -where the unmarried ranch hands ate and slept, near the main corrals -with their barns, outhouses, and sheds. - -In a hilly pasture farther up the cañon the black and iron gray of -Percheron brood mares contrasted with the greening hillsides of spring. -Still farther away, the white and red of the lordly figure of the -Emperor stood out boldly upon the summit of the ridge behind Jackknife -Cañon. - -The two young men joined the older, and Custer put an arm -affectionately about his father’s shoulders. - -“You never tire of it,” said the young man. - -“I have been looking at it for twenty-two years, my son,” replied the -elder Pennington, “and each year it has become more wonderful to me. -It never changes, and yet it is never twice alike. See the purple -sage away off there, and the lighter spaces of wild buckwheat, and -here and there among the scrub oak the beautiful pale green of the -manzanita--scintillant jewels in the diadem of the hills! And the -faint haze of the mountains that seem to throw them just a little out -of focus, to make them a perfect background for the beautiful hills -which the Supreme Artist is placing on his canvas to-day. An hour -from now He will paint another masterpiece, and to-night another, and -forever others, with never two alike, nor ever one that mortal man can -duplicate; and all for us, boy, all for us, if we have the hearts and -the souls to see!” - -“How you love it!” said the boy. - -“Yes, and your mother loves it; and it is our great happiness that you -and Eva love it, too.” - -The boy made no reply. He did love it; but his was the heart of youth, -and it yearned for change and for adventure and for what lay beyond the -circling hills and the broad, untroubled valley that spread its level -fields below “the castle on the hill.” - -“The girls are dressing for a swim,” said the older man, after a moment -of silence. “Aren’t you boys going in?” - -“The girls” included his wife and Mrs. Evans, as well as Grace, for the -colonel insisted that youth was purely a physical and mental attribute, -independent of time. If one could feel and act in accord with the -spirit of youth, one could not be old. - -“Are you going in?” asked his son. - -“Yes, I was waiting for you two.” - -“I think I’ll be excused, sir,” said Guy. “The water is too cold yet. I -tried it yesterday, and nearly froze to death. I’ll come and watch.” - -The two Penningtons moved off toward the house, to get into swimming -things, while young Evans wandered down into the water gardens. As he -stood there, idly content in the quiet beauty of the spot, Allen came -down the steps, his check in his hand. At sight of the boy he halted -behind him, an unpleasant expression upon his face. - -Evans, suddenly aware that he was not alone, turned and recognized the -man. - -“Oh, hello, Allen!” he said. - -“Young Pennington just canned me,” said Allen, with no other return of -Evans’s greeting. - -“I’m sorry,” said Evans. - -“You may be sorrier!” growled Allen, continuing on his way toward the -cabin to get his blankets and clothes. - -For a moment Guy stared after the man, a puzzled expression knitting -his brows. Then he slowly flushed, glancing quickly about to see if -any one had overheard the brief conversation between Slick Allen and -himself. - -A few minutes later he entered the inclosure west of the house, where -the swimming pool lay. Mrs. Pennington and her guests were already in -the pool, swimming vigorously to keep warm, and a moment later the -colonel and Custer ran from the house and dived in simultaneously. -Though there was twenty-six years’ difference in their ages, it was not -evidenced by any lesser vitality or agility on the part of the older -man. - -Colonel Custer Pennington had been born in Virginia fifty years before. -Graduated from the Virginia Military Institute and West Point, he had -taken a commission in the cavalry branch of the service. Campaigning in -Cuba, he had been shot through one lung, and shortly after the close of -the war he was retired for disability, with rank of lieutenant colonel. -In 1900 he had come to California, on the advice of his physician in -the forlorn hope that he might prolong his sufferings a few years more. - -For two hundred years the Penningtons had bred fine men, women, and -horses upon the same soil in the State whose very existence was -inextricably interwoven with their own. A Pennington leave Virginia? -Horrors! Perish the thought! But Colonel Custer Pennington had had -to leave it or die, and with a young wife and a two-year-old boy he -couldn’t afford to die. Deep in his heart he meant to recover his -health in distant California and then return to the land of his love; -but his physician had told a mutual friend, who was also Pennington’s -attorney, that “poor old Cus” would almost undoubtedly be dead inside -of a year. - -And so Pennington had come West with Mrs. Pennington and little Custer, -Jr., and had found the Rancho del Ganado run down, untenanted, and -for sale. A month of loafing had left him almost ready to die of -stagnation, without any assistance from his poor lungs; and when, in -the course of a drive to another ranch, he had happened to see the -place, and had learned that it was for sale, the germ had been sown. - -He judged from the soil and the water that Ganado was not well suited -to raise the type of horse that he knew best, and that he and his -father and his grandfathers before them had bred in Virginia; but he -saw other possibilities. Moreover, he loved the hills and the cañons -from the first; and so he had purchased the ranch, more to have -something that would temporarily occupy his mind until his period of -exile was ended by a return to his native State, or by death, than with -any idea that it would prove a permanent home. - -The old Spanish American house had been remodeled and rebuilt. In four -years he had found that Herefords, Berkshires, and Percherons may win -a place in a man’s heart almost equal to that which a thoroughbred -occupies. Then a little daughter had come, and the final seal that -stamps a man’s house as his home was placed upon “the castle on the -hill.” - -His lung had healed--he could not tell by any sign it gave that it was -not as good as ever--and still he stayed on in the land of sunshine, -which he had grown to love without realizing its hold upon him. -Gradually he had forgotten to say “when we go back home”; and when at -last a letter came from a younger brother, saying that he wished to buy -the old place in Virginia if the Custer Penningtons did not expect to -return to it, the colonel was compelled to face the issue squarely. - -They had held a little family council--the colonel and Julia, his wife, -with seven-year-old Custer and little one-year-old Eva. Eva, sitting in -her mother’s lap, agreed with every one. Custer, Jr., burst into tears -at the very suggestion of leaving dear old Ganado. - -“And what do you think about it, Julia?” asked the colonel. - -“I love Virginia, dear,” she had replied; “but I think I love -California even more, and I say it without disloyalty to my own State. -It’s a different kind of love.” - -“I know what you mean,” said her husband. “Virginia is a mother to us, -California a sweetheart.” - -And so they stayed upon the Rancho del Ganado. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Work and play were inextricably entangled upon Ganado, the play being -of a nature that fitted them better for their work, while the work, -always in the open and usually from the saddle, they enjoyed fully -as much as the play. While the tired business man of the city was -expending a day’s vitality and nervous energy in an effort to escape -from the turmoil of the mad rush-hour and find a strap from which to -dangle homeward amid the toxic effluvia of the melting pot, Colonel -Pennington plunged and swam in the cold, invigorating waters of his -pool, after a day of labor fully as constructive and profitable as -theirs. - -“One more dive!” he called, balancing upon the end of the springboard, -“and then I’m going out. Eva ought to be here by the time we’re -dressed, hadn’t she? I’m about famished.” - -“I haven’t heard the train whistle yet, though it must be due,” replied -Mrs. Pennington. “You and Boy make so much noise swimming that we’ll -miss Gabriel’s trump if we happen to be in the pool at the time!” - -The colonel, Custer, and Grace Evans dived simultaneously, and, coming -up together, raced for the shallow end, where Mrs. Evans and her -hostess were preparing to leave the pool. The girl, reaching the hand -rail first, arose laughing and triumphant. - -“My foot slipped as I dived,” cried the younger Pennington, wiping the -water from his eyes, “or I’d have caught you!” - -“No alibis, Boy!” laughed the colonel. “Grace beat you fair and -square.” - -“Race you back for a dollar, Grace!” challenged the young man. - -“You’re on,” she cried. “One, two, three--go!” - -They were off. The colonel, who had preceded them leisurely into the -deep water, swam close to his son as the latter was passing, a yard -in the lead. Simultaneously the young man’s progress ceased. With a -Comanche-like yell he turned upon his father, and the two men grappled -and went down. When they came up, spluttering and laughing, the girl -was climbing out of the pool. - -“You win, Grace!” shouted the colonel. - -“It’s a frame-up!” cried Custer. “He grabbed me by the ankle!” - -“Well, who had a better right?” demanded the girl. “He’s referee.” - -“He’s a fine mess for a referee!” grumbled Custer good-naturedly. - -“Run along and get your dollar, and pay up like a gentleman,” -admonished his father. - -“What do you get out of it? What do you pay him, Grace?” - -They were still bantering as they entered the house and sought their -several rooms to dress. - -Guy Evans strolled from the walled garden of the swimming pool to the -open arch that broke the long pergola beneath which the driveway ran -along the north side of the house. Here he had an unobstructed view of -the broad valley stretching away to the mountains in the distance. - -Down the center of the valley a toy train moved noiselessly. As he -watched it, he saw a puff of white rise from the tiny engine. It rose -and melted in the evening air before the thin, clear sound of the -whistle reached his ears. The train crawled behind the green of trees -and disappeared. - -He knew that it had stopped at the station, and that a slender, -girlish figure was alighting, with a smile for the porter and a gay -word for the conductor who had carried her back and forth for years -upon her occasional visits to the city a hundred miles away. Now the -chauffeur was taking her bag and carrying it to the roadster that she -would drive home along the wide, straight boulevard that crossed the -valley--utterly ruining a number of perfectly good speed laws. - -Two minutes elapsed, and the train crawled out from behind the trees -and continued its way up the valley--a little black caterpillar with -spots of yellow twinkling along its sides. As twilight deepened, the -lights from ranch houses and villages sprinkled the floor of the -valley. Like jewels scattered from a careless hand, they fell singly -and in little clusters; and then the stars, serenely superior, came -forth to assure the glory of a perfect California night. - -The headlights of a motor car turned in at the driveway. Guy went to -the east porch and looked in at the living room door, where some of the -family had already collected. - -“Eva’s coming!” he announced. - -She had been gone since the day before, but she might have been -returning from a long trip abroad, if every one’s eagerness to greet -her was any criterion. Unlike city dwellers, these people had never -learned to conceal the lovelier emotions of their hearts behind a mask -of assumed indifference. Perhaps the fact that they were not forever -crowded shoulder to shoulder with strangers permitted them an enjoyable -naturalness which the dweller in the wholesale districts of humanity -can never know; for what a man may reveal of his heart among friends -he hides from the unsympathetic eyes of others, though it may be the -noblest of his possessions. - -With a rush the car topped the hill, swung up the driveway, and stopped -at the corner of the house. A door flew open, and the girl leaped from -the driver’s seat. - -“Hello, everybody!” she cried. - -Snatching a kiss from her brother as she passed him, she fairly leaped -upon her mother, hugging, kissing, laughing, dancing, and talking all -at once. Espying her father, she relinquished a disheveled and laughing -mother and dived for him. - -“Most adorable pops!” she cried, as he caught her in his arms. “Are you -glad to have your little nuisance back? I’ll bet you’re not. Do you -love me? You won’t when you know how much I’ve spent, but oh, popsy, -I had _such_ a good time! That’s all there was to it, and oh, momsie, -who, who, _who_ do you suppose I met? Oh, you’d never guess--never, -never!” - -“Whom did you meet?” asked her mother. - -“Yes, little one, _whom_ did you meet?” inquired her brother. - -“And he’s perfectly _gorgeous_,” continued the girl, as if there -had been no interruption; “and I danced with him--oh, such _divine_ -dancing! Oh, Guy Evans! Why how do you do? I never saw you.” - -The young man nodded glumly. - -“How are you, Eva?” he said. - -“Mrs. Evans is here, too, dear,” her mother reminded her. - -The girl curtsied before her mother’s guest, and then threw her arm -about the older woman’s neck. - -“Oh, Aunt Mae!” she cried. “I’m _so_ excited; but you should have -_seen_ him, and, momsie, I got the _cutest_ riding hat!” They were -moving toward the living room door, which Guy was holding open. “Guy, I -got you the splendiferousest Christmas present!” - -“Help!” cried her brother, collapsing into a porch chair. “Don’t you -know that I have a weak heart? Do your Christmas shopping early--do it -in April! Oh, Lord, can you beat it?” he demanded of the others. “Can -you beat it?” - -“I think it was mighty nice of Eva to remember me at all,” said Guy, -thawing perceptibly. - -“What is it?” asked Custer. “I’ll bet you got him a pipe.” - -“How ever in the world did you guess?” demanded Eva. - -Custer rocked from side to side in his chair, laughing. - -“What are you laughing at? Idiot!” cried the girl. “How did you guess I -got him a pipe?” - -“Because he never smokes anything but cigarettes.” - -“You’re horrid!” - -He pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her. - -“Dear little one!” he cried. Taking her head between his hands, he -shook it. “Hear ’em rattle!” - -“But I love a pipe,” stated Guy emphatically. “The trouble is, I never -had a really nice one before.” - -“There!” exclaimed the girl triumphantly. “And you know _Sherlock -Holmes_ always smoked a pipe.” - -Her brother knitted his brows. - -“I don’t quite connect,” he announced. - -“Well, if you need a diagram, isn’t Guy an author?” she demanded. - -“Not so that any one could notice it--yet,” demurred Evans. - -“Well, you’re going to be!” said the girl proudly. - -“The light is commencing to dawn,” announced her brother. “_Sherlock -Holmes_, the famous author, who wrote Conan Doyle!” - -A blank expression overspread the girl’s face, to be presently expunged -by a slow smile. - -“You are perfectly horrid!” she cried. “I’m going in to dapper up a bit -for dinner--don’t wait.” - -She danced through the living room and out into the patio toward her -own rooms. - -“Rattle, rattle, little brain; rattle, rattle round again,” her brother -called after her. “Can you beat her?” he added, to the others. - -“She can’t even be approximated,” laughed the colonel. “In all the -world there is only one of her.” - -“And she’s ours, bless her!” said the brother. - -The colonel was glancing over the headlines of an afternoon paper that -Eva had brought from the city. - -“What’s new?” asked Custer. - -“Same old rot,” replied his father. “Murders, divorces, kidnapers, -bootleggers, and they haven’t even the originality to make them -interesting by evolving new methods. Oh, hold on--this isn’t so bad! -‘Two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of stolen whisky landed on coast,’ -he read. ‘Prohibition enforcement agents, together with special agents -from the Treasury Department, are working on a unique theory that may -reveal the whereabouts of the fortune in bonded whisky stolen from -a government warehouse in New York a year ago. All that was known -until recently was that the whisky was removed from the warehouse in -trucks in broad daylight, compassing one of the boldest robberies ever -committed in New York. Now, from a source which they refuse to divulge, -the government sleuths have received information which leads them to -believe that the liquid loot was loaded aboard a sailing vessel, and -after a long trip around the Horn, is lying somewhere off the coast of -southern California. That it is being lightered ashore in launches and -transported to some hiding place in the mountains is one theory upon -which the government is working. The whisky is eleven years old, was -bottled in bond three years ago, just before the Eighteenth Amendment -became a harrowing reality. It will go hard with the traffickers in -this particular parcel of wet goods if they are apprehended, since -the theft was directly from a government bonded warehouse, and all -government officials concerned in the search are anxious to make an -example of the guilty parties.’ - -“Eleven years old!” sighed the colonel. “It makes my mouth water! I’ve -been subsisting on home-made grape wine for over a year. Think of -it--a Pennington! Why, my ancestors must be writhing in their Virginia -graves!” - -“On the contrary, they’re probably laughing in their sleeves. They died -before July 1, 1919,” interposed Custer. “Eleven years old--eight years -in the wood,” he mused aloud, shooting a quick glance in the direction -of Guy Evans, who suddenly became deeply interested in a novel lying on -a table beside his chair, notwithstanding the fact that he had read it -six months before and hadn’t liked it. “And it will go hard with the -traffickers, too,” continued young Pennington. “Well, I should hope it -would. They’ll probably hang ’em, the vile miscreants!” - -Guy had risen and walked to the doorway opening upon the patio. - -“I wonder what is keeping Eva,” he remarked. - -“Getting hungry?” asked Mrs. Pennington. “Well, I guess we all are. -Suppose we don’t wait any longer? Eva won’t mind.” - -“If I wait much longer,” observed the colonel, “some one will have to -carry me into the dining room.” - -As they crossed the library toward the dining room the two young men -walked behind their elders. - -“Is your appetite still good?” inquired Custer. - -“Shut up!” retorted Evans. “You give me a pain.” - -They had finished their soup before Eva joined them, and after the -men were reseated they took up the conversation where it had been -interrupted. As usual, if not always brilliant, it was at least -diversified, for it included many subjects from grand opera to -the budding of English walnuts on the native wild stock, and from -the latest novel to the most practical method of earmarking pigs. -Paintings, poems, plays, pictures, people, horses, and home-brew--each -came in for a share of the discussion, argument, and raillery that ran -round the table. - -During a brief moment when she was not engaged in conversation, Guy -seized the opportunity to whisper to Eva, who sat next to him. - -“Who was that bird you met in L.A.?” he asked. - -“Which one?” - -“Which one! How many did you meet?” - -“Oodles of them.” - -“I mean the one you were ranting about.” - -“Which one was I ranting about? I don’t remember.” - -“You’re enough to drive anybody to drink, Eva Pennington!” cried the -young man disgustedly. - -“Radiant man!” she cooed. “What’s the dapper little idea in that -talented brain--jealous?” - -“I want to know who he is,” demanded Guy. - -“Who who is?” - -“You know perfectly well who I mean--the poor fish you were raving -about before dinner. You said you danced with him. Who is he? That’s -what I want to know.” - -“I don’t like the way you talk to me; but if you must know, he was the -most dazzling thing you ever saw. He----” - -“I never saw him, and I don’t want to, and I don’t care how dazzling he -is. I only want to know his name.” - -“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? His name’s Wilson -Crumb.” Her tone was as of one who says: “Behold Alexander the Great!” - -“Wilson Crumb! Who’s he?” - -“Do you mean to sit there and tell me that you don’t know who Wilson -Crumb is, Guy Evans?” she demanded. - -“Never heard of him,” he insisted. - -“Never heard of Wilson Crumb, the famous actor-director? Such -ignorance!” - -“Did you ever hear of him before this trip to L.A.?” inquired her -brother from across the table. “I never heard you mention him before.” - -“Well, maybe I didn’t,” admitted the girl; “but he’s the most dazzling -dancer you ever saw--and such eyes! And maybe he’ll come out to the -ranch and bring his company. He said they were often looking for just -such locations.” - -“And I suppose you invited him?” demanded Custer accusingly. - -“And why not? I had to be polite, didn’t I?” - -“You know perfectly well that father has never permitted such a -thing,” insisted her brother, looking toward the colonel for support. - -“He didn’t ask father--he asked me,” returned the girl. - -“You see,” said the colonel, “how simply Eva solves every little -problem.” - -“But you know, popsy, how perfectly superb it would be to have them -take some pictures right here on our very own ranch, where we could -watch them all day long.” - -“Yes,” growled Custer; “watch them wreck the furniture and demolish -the lawns! Why, one bird of a director ran a troop of cavalry over one -of the finest lawns in Hollywood. Then they’ll go up in the hills and -chase the cattle over the top into the ocean. I’ve heard all about -them. I’d never allow one of ’em on the place.” - -“Maybe they’re not all inconsiderate and careless,” suggested Mrs. -Pennington. - -“You remember there was a company took a few scenes at my place a year -or so ago,” interjected Mrs. Evans. “They were very nice indeed.” - -“They were just wonderful,” said Grace Evans. “I hope the colonel lets -them come. It would be piles of fun!” - -“You can’t tell anything about them,” volunteered Guy. “I understand -they pick up all sorts of riffraff for extra people--I.W.W.’s and all -sorts of people like that. I’d be afraid.” - -He shook his head dubiously. - -“The trouble with you two is,” asserted Eva, “that you’re afraid to let -us girls see any nice-looking actors from the city. That’s what’s the -matter with you!” - -“Yes, they’re jealous,” agreed Mrs. Pennington, laughing. - -“Well,” said Custer, “if there are leading men there are leading -ladies, and from what I’ve seen of them the leading ladies are -better-looking than the leading men. By all means, now that I consider -the matter, let them come. Invite them at once, for a month--wire -them!” - -“Silly!” cried his sister. “He may not come here at all. He just -mentioned it casually.” - -“And all this tempest in a teapot for nothing,” said the colonel. - -Wilson Crumb was forthwith dropped from the conversation and forgotten -by all, even by impressionable little Eva. - -As the young people gathered around Mrs. Pennington at the piano in the -living room, Mrs. Evans and Colonel Pennington sat apart, carrying on a -desultory conversation while they listened to the singing. - -“We have a new neighbor,” remarked Mrs. Evans, “on the ten-acre orchard -adjoining us on the west.” - -“Yes--Mrs. Burke. She has moved in, has she?” inquired the colonel. - -“Yesterday. She is a widow from the East--has a daughter in Los -Angeles, I believe.” - -“She came to see me about a month ago,” said the colonel, “to ask my -advice about the purchase of the property. She seemed rather a refined, -quiet little body. I must tell Julia--she will want to call on her.” - -“I insisted on her taking dinner with us last night,” said Mrs. Evans. -“She seems very frail, and was all worn out. Unpacking and settling is -trying enough for a robust person, and she seems so delicate that I -really don’t see how she stood it all.” - -Then the conversation drifted to other topics until the party at the -piano broke up and Eva came dancing over to her father. - -“Gorgeous popsy!” she cried, seizing him by an arm. “Just one dance -before bedtime--if you love me, just one!” - -Colonel Pennington rose from his chair, laughing. - -“I know your one dance, you little fraud--five fox-trots, three -one-steps, and a waltz.” - -With his arms about each other they started for the ballroom--really -a big play room, which adjoined the garage. Behind them, laughing and -talking, came the two older women, the two sons, and Grace Evans. They -would dance for an hour and then go to bed, for they rose early and -were in the saddle before sunrise, living their happy, care-free life -far from the strife and squalor of the big cities, and yet with more of -the comforts and luxuries than most city dwellers ever achieve. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -The bungalow at 1421 Vista del Paso was of the new school of Hollywood -architecture, which appears to be a hysterical effort to combine Queen -Anne, Italian, Swiss chalet, Moorish, Mission, and Martian. Its plaster -walls were of a yellowish rose, the outside woodwork being done in -light blue, while the windows were shaded with striped awnings of -olive and pink. On one side of the entrance rose a green pergola--the -ambitious atrocity that marks the meeting place of landscape gardening -and architecture, and that outrages them both. Culture has found -a virus for the cast iron dogs, deer, and rabbits that ramped in -immobility upon the lawns of yesteryear, but the green pergola is an -incurable disease. - -Connecting with the front of the house, a plaster wall continued across -the narrow lot to the property line at one side and from there back -to the alley, partially inclosing a patio--which is Hollywood for -back-yard. An arched gateway opened into the patio from the front. The -gate was of rough redwood boards, and near the top there were three -auger holes arranged in the form of a triangle--this was art. Upon -the yellow-rose plaster above the arch a design of three monkeys was -stenciled in purple--this also was art. - -As you wait in the three-foot-square vestibule you notice that the -floor is paved with red brick set in black mortar, and that the Oregon -pine door, with its mahogany stain, would have been beautiful in its -severe simplicity but for the little square of plate glass set in -the upper right hand corner, demonstrating conclusively the daring -originality of the artist architect. - -Presently your ring is answered, and the door is opened by a Japanese -“schoolboy” of thirty-five in a white coat. You are ushered directly -into a living room, whereupon you forget all about architects and -art, for the room is really beautiful, even though a trifle heavy in -an Oriental way, with its Chinese rugs, dark hangings, and ponderous, -overstuffed furniture. The Japanese schoolboy, who knows you, closes -the door behind you and then tiptoes silently from the room. - -Across from you, on a divan, a woman is lying, her face buried among -pillows. When you cough, she raises her face toward you, and you see -that it is very beautiful, even though the eyes are a bit wide and -staring and the expression somewhat haggard. You see a mass of black -hair surrounding a face of perfect contour. Even the plucked and -penciled brows, the rouged cheeks, and carmined lips cannot hide a -certain dignity and sweetness. - -At sight of you she rises, a bit unsteadily, and, smiling with her -lips, extends a slender hand in greeting. The fingers of the hand -tremble and are stained with nicotine. Her eyes do not smile--ever. - -“The same as usual?” she asks in a weary voice. - -Your throat is very dry. You swallow before you assure her eagerly, -almost feverishly, that her surmise is correct. She leaves the room. -Probably you have not noticed that she is wild-eyed and haggard, or -that her fingers are stained and trembling, for you, too, are wild-eyed -and haggard, and you are trembling worse than she. - -Presently she returns. In her left hand is a small glass phial, -containing many little tablets. As she crosses to you, she extends her -right hand with the palm up. It is a slender, delicate hand, yet there -is a look of strength to it, for all its whiteness. You lay a bill in -it, and she hands you the phial. That is all. You leave, and she closes -the Oregon pine door quietly behind you. - -As she turns about toward the divan again, she hesitates. Her eyes -wander to a closed door at one side of the room. She takes a half step -toward it, and then draws back, her shoulders against the door. Her -fingers are clenched tightly, the nails sinking into the soft flesh -of her palms; but still her eyes are upon the closed door. They are -staring and wild, like those of a beast at bay. She is trembling from -head to foot. - -For a minute she stands there, fighting her grim battle, alone and -without help. Then, as with a last mighty effort, she drags her eyes -from the closed door and glances toward the divan. With unsteady step -she returns to it and throws herself down among the pillows. - -Her shoulders move to dry sobs, she clutches the pillows frantically in -her strong fingers, she rolls from side to side, as people do who are -suffering physical torture; but at last she relaxes and lies quiet. - -A clock ticks monotonously from the mantel. Its sound fills the whole -room, growing with fiendish intensity to a horrid din that pounds upon -taut, raw nerves. She covers her ears with her palms to shut it out, -but it bores insistently through. She clutches her thick hair with both -hands; her fingers are entangled in it. For a long minute she lies -thus, prone, and then her slippered feet commence to fly up and down as -she kicks her toes in rapid succession into the unresisting divan. - -Suddenly she leaps to her feet and rushes toward the mantel. - -“Damn you!” she screams, and, seizing the clock, dashes it to pieces -upon the tiled hearth. - -Then her eyes leap to the closed door; and now, without any hesitation, -almost defiantly, she crosses the room, opens the door, and disappears -within the bathroom beyond. - -Five minutes later the door opens again, and the woman comes back into -the living room. She is humming a gay little tune. Stopping at a table, -she takes a cigarette from a carved wooden box and lights it. Then she -crosses to the baby grand piano in one corner, and commences to play. -Her voice, rich and melodious, rises in a sweet old song of love and -youth and happiness. - -Something has mended her shattered nerves. Upon the hearth lies the -shattered clock. It can never be mended. - -If you should return now and look at her, you would see that she was -even more beautiful than you had at first suspected. She has put her -hair in order once more, and has arranged her dress. You see now that -her figure is as perfect as her face, and when she crossed to the piano -you could not but note the easy grace of her carriage. - -Her name--her professional name--is Gaza de Lure. You may have seen her -in small parts on the screen, and may have wondered why some one did -not star her. Of recent months you have seen her less and less often, -and you have been sorry, for you had learned to admire the sweetness -and purity that were reflected in her every expression and mannerism. -You liked her, too, because she was as beautiful as she was good--for -you knew that she was good just by looking at her in the pictures; but -above all you liked her for her acting, for it was unusually natural -and unaffected, and something told you that here was a born actress who -would some day be famous. - -Two years ago she came to Hollywood from a little town in the Middle -West--that is, two years before you looked in upon her at the bungalow -on the Vista del Paso. She was fired by high purpose then. Her child’s -heart, burning with lofty ambition, had set its desire upon a noble -goal. The broken bodies of a thousand other children dotted the road to -the same goal, but she did not see them, or seeing, did not understand. - -Stronger, perhaps, than her desire for fame was an unselfish ambition -that centered about the mother whom she had left behind. To that mother -the girl’s success would mean greater comfort and happiness than she -had known since a worthless husband had deserted her shortly after the -baby came--the baby who was now known as Gaza de Lure. - -There had been the usual rounds of the studios, the usual -disappointments, followed by more or less regular work as an extra -girl. During this period she had learned many things--of some of which -she had never thought as having any possible bearing upon her chances -for success. - -For example, a director had asked her to go with him to Vernon one -evening, for dinner and dancing, and she had refused, for several -reasons--one being her certainty that her mother would disapprove, and -another the fact that the director was a married man. The following day -the girl who had accompanied him was cast for a part which had been -promised to Gaza, and for which Gaza was peculiarly suited. As she was -leaving the lot that day, greatly disappointed, the assistant director -had stopped her. - -“Too bad, kid,” he said. “I’m mighty sorry; for I always liked you. If -I can ever help you, I sure will.” - -The kindly words brought the tears to her eyes. Here, at least, was one -good man; but he was not in much of a position to help her. - -“You’re very kind,” she said; “but I’m afraid there’s nothing you can -do.” - -“Don’t be too sure of that,” he answered. “I’ve got enough on that big -stiff so’s he has to do about as I say. The trouble with you is you -ain’t enough of a good fellow. You got to be a good fellow to get on in -pictures. Just step out with me some night, an’ I promise you you’ll -get a job!” - -The suddenly widening childish eyes meant nothing to the shallow mind -of the callow little shrimp, whose brain pan would doubtless have burst -under the pressure of a single noble thought. As she turned quickly and -walked away, he laughed aloud. She had not gone back to that studio. - -In the months that followed she had had many similar experiences, until -she had become hardened enough to feel the sense of shame and insult -less strongly than at first. She could talk back to them now, and -tell them what she thought of them; but she found that she got fewer -and fewer engagements. There was always enough to feed and clothe her, -and to pay for the little room she rented; but there seemed to be no -future, and that had been all that she cared about. - -She would not have minded hard work--she had expected that. Nor did she -fear disappointments and a slow, tedious road; for though she was but -a young girl, she was not without character, and she had a good head -on those trim shoulders of hers. She was unsophisticated, yet mature, -too, for her years; for she had always helped her mother to plan the -conservation of their meager resources. - -Many times she had wanted to go back to her mother, but she had stayed -on, because she still had hopes, and because she shrank from the fact -of defeat admitted. How often she cried herself to sleep in those -lonely nights, after days of bitter disillusionment! The great ambition -that had been her joy was now her sorrow. The vain little conceit that -she had woven about her screen name was but a pathetic memory. - -She had never told her mother that she had taken the name of Gaza -de Lure, for she had dreamed of the time when it would leap into -national prominence overnight in some wonderful picture, and her -mother, unknowing, would see the film and recognize her. How often -she had pictured the scene in their little theater at home--her -sudden recognition by her mother and their friends--the surprise, the -incredulity, and then the pride and happiness in her mother’s face! How -they would whisper! And after the show they would gather around her -mother, all excitedly talking at the same time. - -And then she had met Wilson Crumb. She had had a small part in a -picture in which he played lead, and which he also directed. He had -been very kind to her, very courteous. She had thought him handsome, -notwithstanding a certain weakness in his face; but what had attracted -her most was the uniform courtesy of his attitude toward all the -women of the company. Here at last, she thought, she had found a real -gentleman whom she could trust implicitly; and once again her ambition -lifted its drooping head. - -She thought of what another girl had once told her--an older girl, who -had been in pictures for several years. - -“They are not all bad, dear,” her friend had said. “There are good and -bad in the picture game, just as there are in any sort of business. -It’s been your rotten luck to run up against a lot of the bad ones.” - -The first picture finished, Crumb had cast her for a more important -part in another, and she had made good in both. Before the second -picture was completed, the company that employed Crumb offered her -a five-year contract. It was only for fifty dollars a week; but it -included a clause which automatically increased the salary to one -hundred a week, two hundred and fifty, and then five hundred dollars in -the event that they starred her. She knew that it was to Crumb that she -owed the contract--Crumb had seen to that. - -Very gradually, then--so gradually and insidiously that the girl could -never recall just when it had started--Crumb commenced to make love -to her. At first it took only the form of minor attentions--little -courtesies and thoughtful acts; but after a while he spoke of -love--very gently and very tenderly, as any man might have done. - -She had never thought of loving him or any other man; so she was -puzzled at first, but she was not offended. He had given her no cause -for offense. When he had first broached the subject, she had asked him -not to speak of it, as she did not think that she loved him, and he had -said that he would wait; but the seed was planted in her mind, and it -came to occupy much of her thoughts. - -She realized that she owed to him what little success she had achieved. -She had an assured income that was sufficient for her simple wants, -while permitting her to send something home to her mother every week, -and it was all due to the kindness of Wilson Crumb. He was a successful -director, he was more than a fair actor, he was good-looking, he was -kind, he was a gentleman, and he loved her. What more could any girl -ask? - -She thought the matter out very carefully, finally deciding that though -she did not exactly love Wilson Crumb she probably would learn to love -him, and that if he loved her it was in a way her duty to make him -happy, when he had done so much for her happiness. She made up her -mind, therefore, to marry him whenever he asked her; but Crumb did not -ask her to marry him. He continued to make love to her; but the matter -of marriage never seemed to enter the conversation. - -Once, when they were out on location, and had had a hard day, ending by -getting thoroughly soaked in a sudden rain, he had followed her to her -room in the little mountain inn where they were stopping. - -“You’re cold and wet and tired,” he said. “I want to give you something -that will brace you up.” - -He entered the room and closed the door behind him. Then he took -from his pocket a small piece of paper folded into a package about -an inch and three-quarters long by half an inch wide, with one end -tucked ingeniously inside the fold to form a fastening. Opening it, he -revealed a white powder, the minute crystals of which glistened beneath -the light from the electric bulbs. - -“It looks just like snow,” she said. - -“Sure!” he replied, with a faint smile. “It is snow. Look, I’ll show -you how to take it.” - -He divided the powder into halves, took one in the palm of his hand, -and snuffed it into his nostrils. - -“There!” he exclaimed. “That’s the way--it will make you feel like a -new woman.” - -“But what is it?” she asked. “Won’t it hurt me?” - -“It’ll make you feel bully. Try it.” - -So she tried it, and it made her “feel bully.” She was no longer tired, -but deliciously exhilarated. - -“Whenever you want any, let me know,” he said, as he was leaving the -room. “I usually have some handy.” - -“But I’d like to know what it is,” she insisted. - -“Aspirin,” he replied. “It makes you feel that way when you snuff it up -your nose.” - -After he left, she recovered the little piece of paper from the waste -basket where he had thrown it, her curiosity aroused. She found it a -rather soiled bit of writing paper with a “C” written in lead pencil -upon it. - -“‘C,’” she mused. “Why aspirin with a C?” - -She thought she would question Wilson about it. - -The next day she felt out of sorts and tired, and at noon she asked him -if he had any aspirin with him. He had, and again she felt fine and -full of life. That evening she wanted some more, and Crumb gave it to -her. The next day she wanted it oftener, and by the time they returned -to Hollywood from location she was taking it five or six times a day. -It was then that Crumb asked her to come and live with him at his Vista -del Paso bungalow; but he did not mention marriage. - -He was standing with a little paper of the white powder in his hand, -separating half of it for her, and she was waiting impatiently for it. - -“Well?” he asked. - -“Well, what?” - -“Are you coming over to live with me?” he demanded. - -“Without being married?” she asked. - -She was surprised that the idea no longer seemed horrible. Her eyes and -her mind were on the little white powder that the man held in his hand. - -Crumb laughed. - -“Quit your kidding,” he said. “You know perfectly well that I can’t -marry you yet. I have a wife in San Francisco.” - -She did not know it perfectly well--she did not know it at all; yet -it did not seem to matter so very much. A month ago she would have -caressed a rattlesnake as willingly as she would have permitted a -married man to make love to her; but now she could listen to a plea -from one who wished her to come and live with him, without experiencing -any numbing sense of outraged decency. - -Of course, she had no intention of doing what he asked; but really -the matter was of negligible import--the thing in which she was most -concerned was the little white powder. She held out her hand for it, -but he drew it away. - -“Answer me first,” he said. “Are you going to be sensible or not?” - -“You mean that you won’t give it to me if I won’t come?” she asked. - -“That’s precisely what I mean,” he replied. “What do you think I am, -anyway? Do you know what this bundle of ‘C’ stands me? Two fifty, and -you’ve been snuffing about three of ’em a day. What kind of a sucker do -you think I am?” - -Her eyes, still upon the white powder, narrowed. - -“I’ll come,” she whispered. “Give it to me!” - -She went to the bungalow with him that day, and she learned where he -kept the little white powders, hidden in the bathroom. After dinner she -put on her hat and her fur, and took up her vanity case, while Crumb -was busy in another room. Then, opening the front door, she called: - -“Good-by!” - -Crumb rushed into the living room. - -“Where are you going?” he demanded. - -“Home,” she replied. - -“No, you’re not!” he cried. “You promised to stay here.” - -“I promised to come,” she corrected him. “I never promised to stay, and -I never shall until you are divorced and we are married.” - -“You’ll come back,” he sneered, “when you want another shot of snow!” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. “I guess I can buy aspirin at any drug -store as well as you.” - -Crumb laughed aloud. - -“You little fool, you!” he cried derisively. “Aspirin! Why, it’s -cocaine you’re snuffing, and you’re snuffing about three grains of it a -day!” - -For an instant a look of horror filled her widened eyes. - -“You beast!” she cried. “You unspeakable beast!” - -Slamming the door behind her, she almost ran down the narrow walk -and disappeared in the shadows of the palm trees that bordered the -ill-lighted street. - -The man did not follow her. He only stood there laughing, for he knew -that she would come back. Craftily he had enmeshed her. It had taken -months, and never had quarry been more wary or difficult to trap. A -single false step earlier in the game would have frightened her away -forever; but he had made no false step. He was very proud of himself, -was Wilson Crumb, for he was convinced that he had done a very clever -bit of work. - -Rubbing his hands together, he walked toward the bathroom--he would -take a shot of snow; but when he opened the receptacle, he found it -empty. - -“The little devil!” he ejaculated. - -Frantically he rummaged through the medicine cabinet, but in vain. Then -he hastened into the living room, seized his hat, and bolted for the -street. - -Almost immediately he realized the futility of search. He did not know -where the girl lived. She had never told him. He did not know it, but -she had never told any one. The studio had a post-office box number -to which it could address communications to Gaza de Lure; the mother -addressed the girl by her own name at the house where she had roomed -since coming to Hollywood. The woman who rented her the room did not -know her screen name. All she knew about her was that she seemed a -quiet, refined girl who paid her room rent promptly in advance every -week, and who was always home at night, except when on location. - -Crumb returned to the bungalow, searched the bathroom twice more, and -went to bed. For hours he lay awake, tossing restlessly. - -“The little devil!” he muttered, over and over. “Fifty dollars’ worth -of cocaine--the little devil!” - -The next day Gaza was at the studio, ready for work, when Crumb put -in his belated appearance. He was nervous and irritable. Almost -immediately he called her aside and demanded an accounting; but when -they were face to face, and she told him that she was through with him, -he realized that her hold upon him was stronger than he had supposed. -He could not give her up. He was ready to promise anything, and he -would demand nothing in return, only that she would be with him as much -as possible. Her nights should be her own--she could go home then. And -so the arrangement was consummated, and Gaza de Lure spent the days -when she was not working at the bungalow on the Vista del Paso. - -Crumb saw that she was cast for small parts that required but little -of her time at the studio, yet raised no question at the office as to -her salary of fifty dollars a week. Twice the girl asked why he did not -star her, and both times he told her that he would--for a price; but -the price was one that she would not pay. After a time the drugs which -she now used habitually deadened her ambition, so that she no longer -cared. She still managed to send a little money home, but not so much -as formerly. - -As the months passed, Crumb’s relations with the source of the supply -of their narcotic became so familiar that he could obtain considerable -quantities at a reduced rate, and the plan of peddling the drug -occurred to him. Gaza was induced to do her share, and so it came about -that the better class “hypes” of Hollywood found it both safe and easy -to obtain their supplies from the bungalow on the Vista del Paso. -Cocaine, heroin, and morphine passed continually through the girl’s -hands, and she came to know many of the addicts, though she seldom had -further intercourse with them than was necessary to the transaction of -the business that brought them to the bungalow. - -From one, a woman, she learned how to use morphine, dissolving the -white powder in the bowl of a spoon by passing a lighted match beneath, -and then drawing the liquid through a tiny piece of cotton into a -hypodermic syringe and injecting it beneath the skin. Once she had -experienced the sensation of well-being it induced, she fell an easy -victim to this more potent drug. - -One evening Crumb brought home with him a stranger whom he had known -in San Francisco--a man whom he introduced as Allen. From that evening -the fortunes of Gaza de Lure improved. Allen had just returned from the -Orient as a member of the crew of a freighter, and he had succeeded -in smuggling in a considerable quantity of opium. In his efforts to -dispose of it he had made the acquaintance of others in the same line -of business, and had joined forces with them. His partners could -command a more or less steady supply of morphine, and cocaine from -Mexico, while Allen undertook to keep up their stock of opium, and to -arrange a market for their drugs in Los Angeles. - -If Crumb could handle it all, Allen agreed to furnish morphine at fifty -dollars an ounce--Gaza to do the actual peddling. The girl agreed on -one condition--that half the profits should be hers. After that she had -been able to send home more money than ever before, and at the same -time to have all the morphine she wanted at a low price. She began to -put money in the bank, made a first payment on a small orchard about a -hundred miles from Los Angeles, and sent for her mother. - -The day before you called on her in the “art” bungalow at 1421 Vista -del Paso she had put her mother on a train bound for her new home, with -the promise that the daughter would visit her “as soon as we finish -this picture.” It had required all the girl’s remaining will power to -hide her shame from those eager mother eyes; but she had managed to do -it, though it had left her almost a wreck by the time the train pulled -out of the station. - -To Crumb she had said nothing about her mother. This was a part of her -life that was too sacred to be revealed to the man whom she now loathed -even as she loathed the filthy habit he had tricked her into; but she -could no more give up the one than the other. - -There had been a time when she had fought against the domination of -these twin curses that had been visited upon her, but that time was -over. She knew now that she would never give up morphine--that she -could not if she wanted to, and that she did not want to. The little -bindles of cocaine, morphine, and heroin that she wrapped so deftly -with those slender fingers and marked “C,” “M,” or “H,” according to -their contents, were parts of her life now. The sallow, trembling -creatures who came for them, or to whom she sometimes delivered them, -and who paid her two dollars and a half a bindle, were also parts of -her life. Crumb, too, was a part of her life. She hated the bindles, -she hated the sallow, trembling people, she hated Crumb; but still she -clung to them, for how else was she to get the drug without which she -could not live? - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -It was May. The rainy season was definitely over. A few April showers -had concluded it. The Ganado hills showed their most brilliant greens. -The March pigs were almost ready to wean. White-faced calves and black -colts and gray colts surveyed this beautiful world through soft, dark -eyes, and were filled with the joy of living as they ran beside their -gentle mothers. A stallion neighed from the stable corral, and from the -ridge behind Jackknife Cañon the Emperor of Ganado answered him. - -A girl and a man sat in the soft grass beneath the shade of a live -oak upon the edge of a low bluff in the pasture where the brood mares -grazed with their colts. Their horses were tied to another tree near -by. The girl held a bunch of yellow violets in her hand, and gazed -dreamily down the broad cañon toward the valley. The man sat a little -behind her and gazed at the girl. For a long time neither spoke. - -“You cannot be persuaded to give it up, Grace?” he asked at last. - -She shook her head. - -“I should never be happy until I had tried it,” she replied. - -“Of course,” he said, “I know how you feel about it. I feel the same -way. I want to get away--away from the deadly stagnation and sameness -of this life; but I am going to try to stick it out for father’s sake, -and I wish that you loved me enough to stick it out for mine. I believe -that together we could get enough happiness out of life here to make -up for what we are denied of real living, such as only a big city can -offer. Then, when father is gone, we could go and live in the city--in -any city that we wanted to live in--Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, -London, Paris--anywhere.” - -“It isn’t that I don’t love you enough, Custer,” said the girl. “I love -you too much to want you to marry just a little farmer girl. When I -come to you, I want you to be proud of me. Don’t talk about the time -when your father will have gone. It seems wicked. He would not want you -to stay if he knew how you felt about it.” - -“You do not know,” he replied. “Ever since I was a little boy he has -counted on this--on my staying on and working with him. He wants us all -to be together always. When Eva marries, he will build her a home on -Ganado. You have already helped with the plan for ours. You know it is -his dream, but you cannot know how much it means to him. It would not -kill him if his dream was spoiled, but it would take so much happiness -out of his life that I cannot bring myself to do it. It is not a matter -of money, but of sentiment and love. If Ganado were wiped off the face -of the earth to-morrow, we would still have all the money that we need; -but he would never be happy again, for his whole life is bound up in -the ranch and the dream that he has built around it. It is peculiar, -too, that such a man as he should be so ruled by sentiment. You know -how practical he is, and sometimes hard--yet I have seen the tears come -to his eyes when he spoke of his love for Ganado.” - -“I know,” she said, and they were silent again for a time. “You are -a good son, Custer,” she said presently. “I wouldn’t have you any -different. I am not so good a daughter. Mother does not want me to go. -It is going to make her very unhappy, and yet I am going. The man who -loves me does not want me to go. It is going to make him very unhappy, -and yet I am going. It seems very selfish; but, oh, Custer, I cannot -help but feel that I am right! It seems to me that I have a duty to -perform, and that this is the only way I can perform it. Perhaps I am -not only silly, but sometimes I feel that I am called by a higher power -to give myself for a little time to the world, that the world may be -happier and, I hope, a little better. You know I have always felt that -the stage was one of the greatest powers for good in all the world, and -now I believe that some day the screen will be an even greater power -for good. It is with the conviction that I may help toward this end -that I am so eager to go. You will be very glad and very happy when I -come back, that I did not listen to your arguments.” - -“I hope you are right, Grace,” Custer Pennington said. - - * * * * * - -On a rustic seat beneath the new leaves of an umbrella tree a girl -and a boy sat beside the upper lily pond on the south side of the -hill below the ranch house. The girl held a spray of Japanese quince -blossoms in her hand, and gazed dreamily at the water splashing lazily -over the rocks into the pond. The boy sat beside her and gazed at the -girl. For a long time neither spoke. - -“Won’t you please say yes?” whispered the boy presently. - -“How perfectly, terribly silly you are!” she replied. - -“I am not silly,” he said. “I am twenty, and you are almost eighteen. -It’s time that we were marrying and settling down.” - -“On what?” she demanded. - -“Well, we won’t need much at first. We can live at home with mother,” -he explained, “until I sell a few stories.” - -“How perfectly gorgeristic!” she cried. - -“Don’t make fun of me! You wouldn’t if you loved me,” he pouted. - -“I _do_ love you, silly! But whatever in the world put the dapper -little idea into your head that I wanted to be supported by my -mother-in-law?” - -“Mother-in-law!” protested the boy. “You ought to be ashamed to speak -disrespectfully of my mother.” - -“You quaint child!” exclaimed the girl, laughing gayly. “Just as -if I would speak disrespectfully of Aunt Mae, when I love her so -splendiferously! Isn’t she going to be my mother-in-law?” - -The boy’s gloom vanished magically. - -“There!” he cried. “We’re engaged! You’ve said it yourself. You’ve -proposed, and I accept you. Yes, sure--she’s going to be your -mother-in-law!” - -Eva flushed. - -“I never said anything of the kind. How perfectly idiotical!” - -“But you did say it. You proposed to me. I’m going to announce the -engagement--‘Mrs. Mae Evans announces the engagement of her son, Guy -Thackeray, to Miss Eva Pennington.’” - -“Funeral notice later,” snapped the girl, glaring at him. - -“Aw, come, now, you needn’t get mad at me. I was only fooling; but -wouldn’t it be great, Ev? We could always be together then, and I could -write and you could--could----” - -“Wash dishes,” she suggested. - -The light died from his eyes, and he dropped them sadly to the ground. - -“I’m sorry I’m poor,” he said. “I didn’t think you cared about that, -though.” - -She laid a brown hand gently over his. - -“You know I don’t care,” she said. “I am a catty old thing. I’d just -love it if we had a little place all our very own--just a teeny, weeny -bungalow. I’d help you with your work, and keep hens, and have a little -garden with onions and radishes and everything, and we wouldn’t have -to buy anything from the grocery store, and a bank account, and one -sow; and when we drove into the city people would say, ‘There goes Guy -Thackeray Evans, the famous author, but I wonder where his wife got -that hat!’” - -“Oh, Ev!” he cried laughing. “You never can be serious more than two -seconds, can you?” - -“Why should I be?” she inquired. “And anyway, I was. It really would -be elegantiferous if we had a little place of our own; but my husband -has got to be able to support me, Guy. He’d lose his self-respect if he -didn’t; and then, if he lost his, how could I respect him? You’ve got -to have respect on both sides, or you can’t have love and happiness.” - -His face grew stern with determination. - -“I’ll get the money,” he said; but he did not look at her. “But now -that Grace is going away, mother will be all alone if I leave, too. -Couldn’t we live with her for a while?” - -“Papa and mama have always said that it was the worst thing a young -married couple could do,” she replied. “We could live near her, and see -her every day; but I don’t think we should all live together. Really, -though, do you think Grace is going? It seems just too awful.” - -“I am afraid she is,” he replied sadly. “Mother is all broken up about -it; but she tries not to let Grace know.” - -“I can’t understand it,” said the girl. “It seems to me a selfish thing -to do, and yet Grace has always been so sweet and generous. No matter -how much I wanted to go, I don’t believe I could bring myself to do it, -knowing how terribly it would hurt papa. Just think, Guy--it is the -first break, except for the short time we were away at school, since we -have been born. We have all lived here always, it seems, your family -and mine, like one big family; but after Grace goes it will be the -beginning of the end. It will never be the same again.” - -There was a note of seriousness and sadness in her voice that sounded -not at all like Eva Pennington. The boy shook his head. - -“It is too bad,” he said; “but Grace is so sure she is right--so -positive that she has a great future before her, and that we shall all -be so proud of her--that sometimes I am convinced myself.” - -“I hope she is right,” said the girl, and then, with a return to her -joyous self: “Oh, wouldn’t it be spiffy if she really does become -famous! I can see just how puffed up we shall all be when we read the -reviews of her pictures, like this--‘Miss Grace Evans, the famous star, -has quite outdone her past successes in the latest picture, in which -she is ably supported by such well known actors as Thomas Meighan, -Wallace Reid, Gloria Swanson, and Mary Pickford.’” - -“Why slight Douglas Fairbanks and Charlie Chaplin?” suggested Guy. - -The girl rose. - -“Come on!” she said. “Let’s have a look at the pools--it isn’t a -perfect day unless I’ve seen fish in every pool. Do you remember how we -used to watch and watch and watch for the fish in the lower pools, and -run as fast as we could to be the first up to the house to tell if we -saw them, and how many?” - -“And do you remember the little turtles, and how wild they got?” he put -in. “Sometimes we wouldn’t see them for weeks, and then we’d get just -a glimpse, so that we knew they were still there. Then, after a while, -we never saw them again, and how we used to wonder and speculate as to -what had become of them!” - -“And do you remember the big water snake we found in the upper pool, -and how Cus used to lie in wait for him with his little twenty-two?” - -“Cus was always the hunter. How we used to trudge after him up and down -those steep hills there in the cow pasture, while he hunted ground -squirrels, and how mad he’d get if we made any noise! Gee, Ev, those -were the good old days!” - -“And how we used to fight, and what a nuisance Cus thought me; but he -always asked me to go along, just the same. He’s a wonderful brother, -Guy!” - -“He’s a wonderful man, Ev,” replied the boy. “You don’t half know how -wonderful he is. He’s always thinking of some one else. Right now I’ll -bet he’s eating his heart out because Grace is going away; and he can’t -go, just because he’s thinking more of some one’s else happiness than -his own.” - -“What do you mean?” she asked. - -“He wants to go to the city. He wants to get into some business there; -but he won’t go, because he knows your father wants him here.” - -“Do you really think that?” - -“I know it,” he said. - -They walked on in silence along the winding pathways among the -flower-bordered pools, to stop at last beside the lower one. This -had originally been a shallow wading pool for the children when they -were small, but it was now given over to water hyacinth and brilliant -fantails. - -“There!” said the girl, presently. “I have seen fish in each pool.” - -“And you can go to bed with a clear conscience to-night,” he laughed. - -To the west of the lower pool there were no trees to obstruct their -view of the hills that rolled down from the mountains to form the -western wall of the cañon in which the ranch buildings and cultivated -fields lay. As the two stood there, hand in hand, the boy’s eyes -wandered lovingly over the soft, undulating lines of these lower hills, -with their parklike beauty of greensward dotted with wild walnut -trees. As he looked he saw, for a brief moment, the figure of a man on -horseback passing over the hollow of a saddle before disappearing upon -the southern side. - -Small though the distant figure was, and visible but for a moment, the -boy recognized the military carriage of the rider. He glanced quickly -at the girl to note if she had seen, but it was evident that she had -not. - -“Well, Ev,” he said, “I guess I’ll be toddling.” - -“So early?” she demanded. - -“You see I’ve got to get busy, if I’m going to get the price of that -teeny, weeny bungalow,” he explained. “Now that we’re engaged, you -might kiss me good-by--eh?” - -“We’re not engaged, and I’ll not kiss you good-by or good anything -else. I don’t believe in people kissing until they’re married.” - -“Then why are you always raving about the wonderful kisses Antonio -Moreno, or Milton Sills, or some other poor prune, gives the heroine at -the end of the last reel?” he demanded. - -“Oh, that’s different,” she explained. “Anyway, they’re just going to -get married. When we are just going to get married I’ll let you kiss -me--once a week, _maybe_.” - -“Thanks!” he cried. - -A moment later he swung into the saddle, and with a wave of his hand -cantered off up the cañon. - -“Now what,” said the girl to herself, “is he going up there for? He -can’t make any money back there in the hills. He ought to be headed -straight for home and his typewriter!” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Across the rustic bridge, and once behind the sycamores at the lower -end of the cow pasture, Guy Evans let his horse out into a rapid -gallop. A few minutes later he overtook a horseman who was moving at a -slow walk farther up the cañon. At the sound of the pounding hoofbeats -behind him, the latter turned in his saddle, reined about and stopped. -The boy rode up and drew in his blowing mount beside the other. - -“Hello, Allen!” he said. - -The man nodded. - -“What’s eatin’ you?” he inquired. - -“I’ve been thinking over that proposition of yours,” explained Evans. - -“Yes?” - -“Yes, I’ve been thinking maybe I might swing it; but are you sure it’s -safe. How do I know you won’t double-cross me?” - -“You don’t know,” replied the other. “All you know is that I got enough -on you to send you to San Quentin. You wouldn’t get nothin’ worse if -you handled the rest of it, an’ you stand to clean up between twelve -and fifteen thousand bucks on the deal. You needn’t worry about me -double-crossin’ you. What good would it do me? I ain’t got nothin’ -against you, kid. If you don’t double-cross me I won’t double-cross -you; but look out for that cracker-fed dude your sister’s goin’ to -hitch to. If he ever butts in on this I’ll croak him an’ send you to -San Quentin, if I swing for it. Do you get me?” - -Evans nodded. - -“I’ll go in on it,” he said, “because I need the money; but don’t you -bother Custer Pennington--get that straight. I’d go to San Quentin and -I’d swing myself before I’d stand for that. Another thing, and then -we’ll drop that line of chatter--you couldn’t send me to San Quentin -or anywhere else. I bought a few bottles of hootch from you, and there -isn’t any judge or jury going to send me to San Quentin for that.” - -“You don’t know what you done,” said Allen, with a grin. “There’s a -thousand cases of bonded whisky hid back there in the hills, an’ you -engineered the whole deal at this end. Maybe you didn’t have nothin’ to -do with stealin’ it from a government bonded warehouse in New York; but -you must’a’ knowed all about it, an’ it was you that hired me and the -other three to smuggle it off the ship and into the hills.” - -Evans was staring at the man in wide-eyed incredulity. - -“How do you get that way?” he asked derisively. - -“They’s four of us to swear to it,” said Allen; “an’ how many you got -to swear you didn’t do it?” - -“Why, it’s a rotten frame-up!” exclaimed Evans. - -“Sure it’s a frame-up,” agreed Allen; “but we won’t use it if you -behave yourself properly.” - -Evans looked at the man for a long minute--dislike and contempt -unconcealed upon his face. - -“I guess,” he said presently, “that I don’t need any twelve thousand -dollars that bad, Allen. We’ll call this thing off, as far as I am -concerned. I’m through, right now. Good-by!” - -He wheeled his horse to ride away. - -“Hold on there, young feller!” said Allen. “Not so quick! You may think -you’re through, but you’re not. We need you, and, anyway, you know too -damned much for your health. You’re goin’ through with this. We got -some other junk up there that there’s more profit in than what there is -in booze, and it’s easier to handle. We know where to get rid of it; -but the booze we can’t handle as easy as you can, and so you’re goin’ -to handle it.” - -“Who says I am?” - -“_I_ do,” returned Allen, with an ugly snarl. “You’ll handle it, or -I’ll do just what I said I’d do, and I’ll do it _pronto_. How’d you -like your mother and that Pennington girl to hear all I’d have to say?” - -The boy sat with scowling, thoughtful brows for a long minute. From -beneath a live oak, on the summit of a low bluff, a man discovered -them. He had been sitting there talking with a girl. Suddenly he looked -up. - -“Why, there’s Guy,” he said. “Who’s that with--why, it’s that fellow -Allen! What’s he doing up here?” He rose to his feet. “You stay here a -minute, Grace. I’m going down to see what that fellow wants. I can’t -understand Guy.” - -He untied the Apache and mounted, while below, just beyond the pasture -fence, the boy turned sullenly toward Allen. - -“I’ll go through with it this once,” he said. “You’ll bring it down on -burros at night?” - -The other nodded affirmatively. - -“Where do you want it?” he asked. - -“Bring it to the west side of the old hay barn--the one that stands on -our west line. When will you come?” - -“To-day’s Tuesday. We’ll bring the first lot Friday night, about twelve -o’clock; and after that every Friday the same time. You be ready to -settle every Friday for what you’ve sold during the week--_sabe?_” - -“Yes,” replied Evans. “That’s all, then”; and he turned and rode back -toward the rancho. - -Allen was continuing on his way toward the hills when his attention -was again attracted by the sound of hoofbeats. Looking to his left, he -saw a horseman approaching from inside the pasture. He recognized both -horse and rider at once, but kept sullenly on his way. - -Pennington rode up to the opposite side of the fence along which ran -the trail that Allen followed. - -“What are you doing here, Allen?” he asked in a not unkindly tone. - -“Mindin’ my own business, like you better,” retorted the ex-stableman. - -“You have no business back here on Ganado,” said Pennington. “You’ll -have to get off the property.” - -“The hell I will!” exclaimed Allen. - -At the same time he made a quick movement with his right hand; but -Pennington made a quicker. - -“That kind of stuff don’t go here, Allen,” said the younger man, -covering the other with a forty-five. “Now turn around and get off the -place, and don’t come on it again. I don’t want any trouble with you.” - -Without a word, Allen reined his horse about and rode down the cañon; -but there was murder in his heart. Pennington watched him until he was -out of revolver range, and then turned and rode back to Grace Evans. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Beneath the cool shadows of the north porch the master of Ganado, -booted and spurred, rested after a long ride in the hot sun, sipping -a long, cool glass of peach brandy and orange juice, and talking with -his wife. A broad barley field lay below them, stretching to the State -highway half a mile to the north. The yellowing heads of the grain -stood motionless beneath the blazing sun. Inside the myriad kernels the -milk was changing into dough. It would not be long now, barring fogs, -before that gorgeous pageant of prosperity would be falling in serried -columns into the maw of the binder. - -“We’re going to have a bully crop of barley this year, Julia,” remarked -the colonel, fishing a small piece of ice from his glass. “Do you know, -I’m beginning to believe this is better than a mint julep!” - -“Heavens, Custer--whisper it!” admonished his wife. “Just suppose -the shades of some of your ancestors, or mine, should overhear such -sacrilege!” - -The colonel chuckled. - -“Is it old age, or has this sunny land made me effeminate?” he queried. -“It’s quite a far cry from an old-fashioned mint julep to this -home-made wine and orange juice. You can’t call it brandy--it hasn’t -enough of what the boys call ‘kick’ to be entitled to that honor; but I -like it. Yes, sir, that’s bully barley--there isn’t any better in the -foothills!” - -“The oats look good, too,” said Mrs. Pennington. “I haven’t noticed the -slightest sign of rust.” - -“That’s the result of the boy’s trip to Texas last summer,” said -the colonel proudly. “Went down there himself and selected all the -seed--didn’t take anybody’s word for it. Genuine Texas rustproof oats -was what he went for and what he got. I don’t know what I’d do without -him, Julia. It’s wonderful to see one’s dreams come true! I’ve been -dreaming for years of the time when my boy and I would work together -and make Ganado even more wonderful than it ever was before; and now my -dream’s a reality. It’s great, I tell you--it’s great! Is there another -glass of this Ganado elixir in that pitcher, Julia?” - -They were silent then for a few minutes, the colonel sipping his -“elixir,” and Mrs. Pennington, with her book face down upon her lap, -gazing out across the barley and the broad valley and the distant -hills--into the future, perhaps, or back into the past. - -It had been an ideal life that they had led here--a life of love and -sunshine and happiness. There had been nothing to vex her soul as she -reveled in the delight of her babies, watching them grow into sturdy -children and then develop into clean young manhood and womanhood. But -growing with the passing years had been the dread of that day when the -first break would come, as come she knew it must. - -She knew the dream that her husband had built, and that with it he had -purposely blinded his eyes and dulled his ears to the truth which the -mother heart would have been glad to deny, but could not. Some day one -of the children would go away, and then the other. It was only right -and just that it should be so, for as they two had built their own home -and their own lives and their little family circle, so their children -must do even as they. - -It was going to be hard on them both, much harder on the father, -because of that dream that had become an obsession. Mrs. Pennington -feared that it might break his spirit, for it would leave him nothing -to plan for and hope for as he had planned and hoped for this during -the twenty-two years that they had spent upon Ganado. - -Now that Grace was going to the city, how could they hope to keep -their boy content upon the ranch? She knew he loved the old place, but -he was entitled to see the world and to make his own place in it--not -merely to slide spinelessly into the niche that another had prepared -for him. - -“I am worried about the boy,” she said presently. - -“How? In what way?” he asked. - -“He will be very blue and lonely after Grace goes,” she said. - -“Don’t talk to me about it!” cried the colonel, banging his glass down -upon the table and rising to his feet. “It makes me mad just to think -of it. I can’t understand how Grace can want to leave this beautiful -world to live in a damned city! She’s crazy! What’s her mother thinking -about, to let her go?” - -“You must remember, dear,” said his wife soothingly, “that every one -is not so much in love with the country as you, and that these young -people have their own careers to carve in the way they think best. It -would not be right to try to force them to live the way we like to -live.” - -“Damned foolishness, that’s what it is!” he blustered. “An actress! -What does she know about acting?” - -“She is beautiful, cultured, and intelligent. There is no reason why -she should not succeed and make a great name for herself. Why shouldn’t -she be ambitious, dear? We should encourage her, now that she has -determined to go. It would help her, for she loves us all--she loves -you as a daughter might, for you have been like a father to her ever -since Mr. Evans died.” - -“Oh, pshaw, Julia!” the colonel exclaimed. “I love Grace--you know I -do. I suppose it’s because I love her that I feel so about this. Maybe -I’m jealous of the city, to think that it has weaned her away from us. -I don’t mean all I say, sometimes; but really I am broken up at the -thought of her going. It seems to me that it may be just the beginning -of the end of the beautiful life that we have all led here for so many -years.” - -“Have you ever thought that some day our own children may want to go?” -she asked. - -“I won’t think about it!” he exploded. - -“I hope you won’t have to,” she said; “but it’s going to be pretty hard -on the boy after Grace goes.” - -“Do you think he’ll want to go?” the colonel asked. His voice sounded -suddenly strange and pleading, and there was a suggestion of pain and -fear in his eyes that she had never seen there before in all the years -that she had known him. “Do you think he’ll want to go?” he repeated in -a voice that no longer sounded like his own. - -“Stranger things have happened,” she replied, forcing a smile, “than a -young man wanting to go out into the world and win his spurs!” - -“Let’s not talk about it, Julia,” the colonel said presently. “You are -right, but I don’t want to think about it. When it comes will be time -enough to meet it. If my boy wants to go, he shall go--and he shall -never know how deeply his father is hurt!” - -“There they are now,” said Mrs. Pennington. “I hear them in the patio. -Children!” she called. “Here we are on the north porch!” - -They came through the house together, brother and sister, their arms -about each other. - -“Cus says I am too young to get married,” exclaimed the girl. - -“Married!” ejaculated the colonel. “You and Guy talking of getting -married? What are you going to live on, child?” - -“On that hill back there.” - -She jerked her thumb in a direction that was broadly south by west. - -“That will give them two things to live on,” suggested the boy, -grinning. - -“What do you mean--two things?” demanded the girl. - -“The hill and father,” her brother replied, dodging. - -She pursued him, and he ran behind his mother’s chair; but at last she -caught him, and, seizing his collar, pretended to chastise him, until -he picked her up bodily from the floor and kissed her. - -“Pity the poor goof she ensnares!” pleaded Custer, addressing his -parents. “He will have three avenues of escape--being beaten to death, -starved to death, or talked to death.” - -Eva clapped a hand over his mouth. - -“Now listen to me,” she cried. “Guy and I are going to build a teeny, -weeny bungalow on that hill, all by ourselves, with a white tile splash -board in the kitchen, and one of those broom closets that turn into an -ironing board, and a very low, overhanging roof, almost flat, and a -shower, and a great big living room where we can take the rugs up and -dance, and a spiffy little garden in the back yard, and chickens, and -Chinese rugs, and he is going to have a study all to himself where he -writes his stories, an----” - -At last she had to stop and join in the laughter. - -“I think you are all mean,” she added. “You always laugh at me!” - -“With you, little jabberer,” corrected the colonel; “for you were made -to be laughed with and kissed.” - -“Then kiss me,” she exclaimed, and sprang into his lap, at the imminent -risk of deluging them both with “elixir”--a risk which the colonel, -through long experience of this little daughter of his, was able to -minimize by holding the glass at arm’s length as she dived for him. - -“And when are you going to be married?” he asked. - -“Oh, not for ages and ages!” she cried. - -“But are you and Guy engaged?” - -“Of course not!” - -“Then why in the world all this talk about getting married?” he -inquired, his eyes twinkling. - -“Well, can’t I talk?” she demanded. - -“Talk? I’ll say she can!” exclaimed her brother. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -Two weeks later Grace Evans left for Hollywood and fame. She would -permit no one to accompany her, saying that she wanted to feel that -from the moment she left home she had made her own way, unassisted, -toward her goal. - -Hers was the selfish egotism that is often to be found in otherwise -generous natures. She had never learned the sweetness and beauty of -sharing--of sharing her ambitions, her successes, and her failures, -too, with those who loved her. If she won to fame, the glory would be -hers; nor did it once occur to her that she might have shared that -pride and pleasure with others by accepting their help and advice. If -she failed, they would not have even the sad sweetness of sharing her -disappointment. - -Over two homes there hovered that evening a pall of gloom that no -effort seemed able to dispel. In the ranch house on Ganado they made -a brave effort at cheerfulness on Custer Pennington’s account. They -did not dance that evening, as was their custom, nor could they find -pleasure in the printed page when they tried to read. Bridge proved -equally impossible. - -Finally Custer rose, announcing that he was going to bed. Kissing them -all good night, as had been the custom since childhood, he went to his -room, and tears came to the mother’s eyes as she noted the droop in the -broad shoulders as he walked from the room. - -The girl came then and knelt beside her, taking the older woman’s hand -in hers and caressing it. - -“I feel so sorry for Cus,” she said. “I believe that none of us realize -how hard he is taking this. He told me yesterday that it was going to -be just the same as if Grace was dead, for he knew she would never be -satisfied here again, whether she succeeded or failed. I think he has -definitely given up all hope of their being married.” - -“Oh, no, dear, I am sure he is wrong,” said her mother. “The engagement -has not been broken. In fact Grace told me only a few days ago that -she hoped her success would come quickly, so that she and Custer might -be married the sooner. The dear girl wants us to be proud of our new -daughter.” - -“My God!” ejaculated the colonel, throwing his book down and rising to -pace the floor. “Proud of her! Weren’t we already proud of her? Will -being an actress make her any dearer to us? Of all the damn fool ideas!” - -“Custer! Custer! You mustn’t swear so before Eva,” reproved Mrs. -Pennington. - -“Swear?” he demanded. “Who in hell is swearing?” - -A merry peal of laughter broke from the girl, nor could her mother -refrain from smiling. - -“It isn’t swearing when popsy says it,” cried the girl. “My gracious, -I’ve heard it all my life, and you always say the same thing to him, -as if I’d never heard a single little cuss word. Anyway, I’m going to -bed now, popsy, so that you won’t contaminate me. According to momsy’s -theory she should curse like a pirate by this time, after twenty-five -years of it!” - -She kissed them, leaving them alone in the little family sitting room. - -“I hope the boy won’t take it too hard,” said the colonel after a -silence. - -“I am afraid he has been drinking a little too much lately,” said the -mother. “I only hope his loneliness for Grace won’t encourage it.” - -“I hadn’t noticed it,” said the colonel. - -“He never shows it much,” she replied. “An outsider would not know that -he had been drinking at all when I can see that he has had more than he -should.” - -“Don’t worry about that, dear,” said the colonel. “A Pennington never -drinks more than a gentleman should. His father and his grandsires, on -both sides, always drank, but there has never been a drunkard in either -family. I wouldn’t give two cents for him if he couldn’t take a man’s -drink like a man; but he’ll never go too far. My boy couldn’t!” - -The pride and affection in the words brought the tears to the mother’s -eyes. She wondered if there had ever been father and son like these -before--each with such implicit confidence in the honor, the integrity, -and the manly strength of the other. _His boy_ couldn’t go wrong! - -Custer Pennington entered his room, lighted a reading lamp beside -a deep, wide-armed chair, selected a book from a rack, and settled -himself comfortably for an hour of pleasure and inspiration. But he did -not open the book. Instead, he sat staring blindly at the opposite wall. - -Directly in front of him hung a water color of the Apache, done by -Eva, and given to him the previous Christmas; a framed enlargement of -a photograph of a prize Hereford bull; a pair of rusty Spanish spurs; -and a frame of ribbons won by the Apache at various horse shows. -Custer saw none of these, but only a gloomy vista of dreary years -stretching through the dead monotony of endless ranch days that were -all alike--years that he must travel alone. - -She would never come back, and why should she? In the city, in that new -life, she would meet men of the world--men of broader culture than his, -men of wealth--and she would be sought after. They would have more to -offer her than he, and sooner or later she would realize it. He could -not expect to hold her. - -Custer laid aside his book. - -“What’s the use?” he asked himself. - -Rising, he went to the closet and brought out a bottle. He had not -intended drinking. On the contrary, he had determined very definitely -not to drink that night; but again he asked himself the old question -which, under certain circumstances of life and certain conditions of -seeming hopelessness, appears unanswerable: - -“What is the use?” - -It is a foolish question, a meaningless question, a dangerous question. -What is the use of what? Of combating fate--of declining to do the -thing we ought not to do--of doing the thing we should do? It is not -even a satisfactory means of self-justification; but amid the ruins of -his dreams it was sufficient excuse for Custer Pennington’s surrender -to the craving of an appetite which was daily becoming stronger. - -The next morning he did not ride before breakfast with the other -members of the family, nor, in fact, did he breakfast until long after -they. - - * * * * * - -On the evening of the day of Grace’s departure Mrs. Evans retired -early, complaining of a headache. Guy Evans sought to interest himself -in various magazines, but he was restless and too ill at ease to remain -long absorbed. At frequent intervals he consulted his watch, and as -the evening wore on he made numerous trips to his room, where he had -recourse to a bottle like the one with which Custer Pennington was -similarly engaged. - -It was Friday--the second Friday since Guy had entered into an -agreement with Allen; and as midnight approached his nervousness -increased. - -Young Evans, while scarcely to be classed as a strong character, was -more impulsive than weak, nor was he in any sense of the word vicious. -While he knew that he was breaking the law, he would have been terribly -shocked at the merest suggestion that his acts placed upon him the -brand of criminality. Like many another, he considered the Volstead -Act the work of an organized and meddlesome minority, rather than the -real will of the people. There was, in his opinion, no immorality in -circumventing the Eighteenth Amendment whenever and wherever possible. - -The only fly in the ointment was the fact that the liquor in which he -was at present trafficking had been stolen; but he attempted to square -this with his conscience by the oft reiterated thought that he did -not know it to be stolen goods--they couldn’t prove that he knew it. -However, the fly remained. It must have been one of those extremely -obnoxious, buzzy flies, if one might judge by the boy’s increasing -nervousness. - -Time and again, during that long evening, he mentally reiterated his -determination that once this venture was concluded, he would never -embark upon another of a similar nature. The several thousand dollars -which it would net him would make it possible for him to marry Eva and -settle down to a serious and uninterrupted effort at writing--the one -vocation for which he believed himself best fitted by inclination and -preparation; but never again, he assured himself repeatedly, would he -allow himself to be cajoled or threatened into such an agreement. - -He disliked and feared Allen, whom he now knew to be a totally -unscrupulous man, and his introduction, the preceding Friday, to the -confederates who had brought down the first consignment of whisky -from the mountains had left him fairly frozen with apprehension as he -considered the type of ruffians with whom he was associated. During the -intervening week he had been unable to concentrate his mind upon his -story writing even to the extent of a single word of new material. He -had worried and brooded, and he had drunk more than usual. - -As he sat waiting for the arrival of the second consignment, he -pictured the little cavalcade winding downward along hidden trails -through the chaparral of dark, mountain ravines. His nervousness -increased as he realized the risk of discovery some time during the -six months that it would take to move the contraband to the edge of -the valley in this way--thirty-six cases at a time, packed out on six -burros. - -He had little fear of the failure of his plan for hiding the liquor in -the old hay barn and moving it out again the following day. For three -years there had been stored in one end of the barn some fifty tons of -baled melilotus. It had been sown as a cover crop by a former foreman, -and allowed to grow to such proportions as to render the plowing of it -under a practical impossibility. As hay it was in little or no demand, -but there was a possibility of a hay shortage that year. It was against -this possibility that Evans had had it baled and stored away in the -barn, where it had lain ever since, awaiting an offer that would at -least cover the cost of growing, harvesting, and baling. A hard day’s -work had so rearranged the bales as to form a hidden chamber in the -center of the pile, ingress to which could readily be had by removing a -couple of bales near the floor. - -A little after eleven o’clock Guy left the house and made his way to -the barn, where he paced nervously to and fro in the dark interior. He -hoped that the men would come early and get the thing over, for it was -this part of the operation that seemed most fraught with danger. - -The disposal of the liquor was effected by daylight, and the very -boldness and simplicity of the scheme seemed to assure its safety. A -large motor truck--such trucks are constantly seen upon the roads of -southern California, loaded with farm and orchard products and bound -cityward--drove up to the hay barn on the morning after the receipt of -the contraband. It backed into the interior, and half an hour later -it emerged with a small load of baled melilotus. That there were -thirty-six cases of bonded whisky concealed by the innocent-looking -bales of melilotus Mr. Volstead himself could not have guessed; but -such was the case. - -Where it went to after it left his hands Guy Evans did not know or want -to know. The man who bought it from him owned and drove the truck. He -paid Evans six dollars a quart in currency, and drove away, taking, -besides the load on the floor of the truck, a much heavier burden from -the mind of the young man. - -The whisky was in Guy’s possession for less than twelve hours a week; -but during those twelve hours he earned the commission of a dollar -a bottle that Allen allowed him, for his great fear was that sooner -or later some one would discover and follow the six burros as they -came down to the barn. There were often campers in the hills. During -the deer season, if they did not have it all removed by that time, -they would be almost certain of discovery, since every courageous -ribbon-counter clerk in Los Angeles hied valiantly to the mountains -with a high-powered rifle, to track the ferocious deer to its lair. - -At a quarter past twelve Evans heard the sounds for which he had been -so expectantly waiting. He opened a small door in the end of the hay -barn, through which there filed in silence six burdened burros, led by -one swarthy Mexican and followed by another. Quietly the men unpacked -the burros and stored the thirty-six cases in the chamber beneath the -hay. Inside this same chamber, by the light of a flash lamp, Evans -counted out to one of them the proceeds from the sale of the previous -week. The whole transaction consumed less than half an hour, and was -carried on with the exchange of less than a dozen words. As silently as -they had come the men departed, with their burros, into the darkness -toward the hills, and young Evans made his way to his room and to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -As the weeks passed, the routine of ranch life weighed more and more -heavily on Custer Pennington. The dull monotony of it took the zest -from the things that he had formerly regarded as the pleasures of -existence. The buoyant Apache no longer had power to thrill. The long -rides were but obnoxious duties to be performed. The hills had lost -their beauty. - -Custer attributed his despondency to an unkind face that had thwarted -his ambitions. He thought that he hated Ganado; and he thought, too--he -honestly thought--that freedom to battle for success in the heart of -some great city would bring happiness and content. For all that, he -performed his duties and bore himself as cheerfully as ever before the -other members of his family, though his mother and sister saw that -when he thought he was alone and unobserved he often sat with drooping -shoulders, staring at the ground, in an attitude of dejection which -their love could scarce misinterpret. - -The frequent letters that came from Grace during her first days in -Hollywood had breathed a spirit of hopefulness and enthusiasm that -might have proven contagious, but for the fact that he saw in her -success a longer and probably a permanent separation. If she should be -speedily discouraged, she might return to the foothills and put the -idea of a career forever from her mind; but if she received even the -slightest encouragement, Custer was confident that nothing could wean -her from her ambition. He was the more sure of this because in his own -mind he could picture no inducement sufficiently powerful to attract -any one to return to the humdrum existence of the ranch. Better be a -failure in the midst of life, he put it to himself, than a success in -the unpeopled spaces of its outer edge. - -Ensuing weeks brought fewer letters, and there was less of enthusiasm, -though hope was still unquenched. She had not yet met the right people, -Grace said, and there was a general depression in the entire picture -industry. Universal had a new manager, and there was no guessing -what his policy would be; Goldwyn had laid off half their force; -Robertson-Cole had shut down. She was sure, though, that things would -brighten up later, and that she would have her chance. Would they -please tell her how Senator was, and give him her love, and kiss the -Apache for her? There was just a note, perhaps, of homesickness in some -of her letters; and gradually they became fewer and shorter. - -The little gatherings of the neighbors at Ganado continued. Other young -people of the valley and the foothills came and danced, or swam, or -played tennis. Their elders came, too, equally enjoying the hospitality -of the Penningtons; and among these was the new owner of the little -orchard beyond the Evans ranch. - -The Penningtons had found Mrs. Burke a quiet woman of refined tastes, -and the possessor a quiet humor that made her always a welcome -addition to the family circle. That she had known more of sorrow -than of happiness was evidenced in many ways, but that she had risen -above the petty selfishness of grief was strikingly apparent in her -thoughtfulness for others, her quick sympathy, and the kindliness of -her humor. Whatever ills fate had brought her, they had not left her -soured. - -As she came oftener, and came to know the Penningtons better, she -depended more and more on the colonel for advice in matters pertaining -to her orchard and her finances. Of personal matters she never spoke. -They knew that she had a daughter living in Los Angeles; but of the -girl they knew nothing, for deep in the heart of Mrs. George Burke, who -had been born Charity Cooper, was a strain of Puritanism that could -not look with aught but horror upon the stage and its naughty little -sister, the screen--though in her letters to that loved daughter there -was no suggestion of the pain that the fond heart held because of the -career the girl had chosen. - -Charity Cooper’s youth had been so surrounded by restrictions that at -eighteen she was as unsophisticated as a child of twelve. As a result, -she had easily succumbed to the blandishments of an unscrupulous young -Irish adventurer, who had thought that her fine family connections -indicated wealth. When he learned the contrary, shortly after their -marriage, he promptly deserted her, nor had she seen or heard aught of -him since. Of him she never spoke, and of course the Penningtons never -questioned her. - -At thirty-nine Mrs. George Burke still retained much of the frail -and delicate beauty that had been hers in girlhood. The effort of -moving from her old home and settling the new, followed by the -responsibilities of the unfamiliar and highly technical activities of -orange culture, had drawn heavily upon her always inadequate vitality. -As the Penningtons became better acquainted with her, they began to -feel real concern as to her physical condition; and this concern was -not lessened by the knowledge that she had been giving the matter -serious thought, as was evidenced by her request that the colonel would -permit her to name him as executor of her estate in a will that she was -making. - -While life upon Ganado took its peaceful way, outwardly unruffled, the -girl whose image was in the hearts of them all strove valiantly in the -face of recurring disappointment toward the high goal upon which her -eyes were set. - -If she could only have a chance! How often that half prayer, half cry -of anguish, was in the silent voicing of her thoughts! If she could -only have a chance! - -In the weeks of tramping from studio to studio she had learned much. -For one thing, she had come to know the ruthlessness of a certain type -of man that must and will some day be driven from the industry--that -is, in fact, even now being driven out, though slowly, by the stress of -public opinion and by the example of the men of finer character who are -gradually making a higher code of ethics for the studios. - -She had learned even more from the scores of chance acquaintances who, -through repeated meetings in the outer offices of casting directors, -had become almost friends. Indeed, when she found herself facing the -actuality of one of the more repulsive phases of studio procedure, it -appeared more in the guise of habitude through the many references to -it that she had heard from the lips of her more experienced fellows. - -She was interviewing, for the dozenth time, the casting director of the -K. K. S. Studio, who had come to know her by sight, and perhaps to feel -a little compassion for her--though there are those who will tell you -that casting directors, having no hearts, can never experience so human -an emotion as compassion. - -“I’m sorry, Miss Evans,” he said; “but I haven’t a thing for you -to-day.” As she turned away, he raised his hand. “Wait!” he said. “Mr. -Crumb is casting his new picture himself. He’s out on the lot now. Go -out and see him--he might be able to use you.” - -The girl thanked him and made her way from the office building in -search of Crumb. She stepped over light cables and picked her way -across stages that were littered with the heterogeneous jumble of -countless interior sets. She dodged the assistants of a frantic -technical director who was attempting to transform an African water -hole into a Roman bath in an hour and forty-five minutes. She bumped -against a heavy shipping crate, through the iron-barred end of which -a savage lioness growled and struck at her. Finally she discovered a -single individual who seemed to have nothing to do and who therefore -might be approached with a query as to where Mr. Crumb might be found. -This resplendent idler directed her to an Algerian street set behind -the stages, and as he spoke she recognized him as the leading male -star of the organization, the highest salaried person on the lot. - -A few minutes later she found the man she sought. She had never seen -Wilson Crumb before, and her first impression was a pleasant one, for -he was courteous and affable. She told him that she had been to the -casting director, and that he had said that Mr. Crumb might be able to -use her. As she spoke, the man watched her intently, his eyes running -quickly over her figure without suggestion of offense. - -“What experience have you had?” he asked. - -“Just a few times as an extra,” she replied. - -He shook his head. - -“I am afraid I can’t use you,” he said; “unless”--he hesitated--“unless -you would care to work in the semi-nude, which would necessitate making -a test--in the nude.” - -He waited for her reply. Grace Evans gulped. She could feel a scarlet -flush mounting rapidly until it suffused her entire face. She could not -understand why it was necessary to try her out in any less garmenture -than would pass the censors; but then that is something which no one -can understand. - -Here, possibly, was her opportunity. She had read in the papers that -Wilson Crumb was preparing to make the greatest picture of his career. -She thought of her constant prayer for a chance. Here was a chance, -and yet she hesitated. The brutal, useless condition he had imposed -outraged every instinct of decency and refinement inherent in her, -just as it has outraged the same characteristics in countless other -girls--just as it is doing in other studios in all parts of the country -every day. - -“Is that absolutely essential?” she asked. - -“Quite so,” he replied. - -Still she hesitated. Her chance! If she let it pass, she might as well -pack up and return home. What a little thing to do, after all, when -one really considered it! It was purely professional. There would be -nothing personal in it, if she could only succeed in overcoming her -self-consciousness; but _could_ she do it? - -Again she thought of home. A hundred times, of late, she had wished -that she was back there; but she did not want to go back a failure. It -was that which decided her. - -“Very well,” she said; “but there will not be many there will there?” - -“Only a camera man and myself,” he replied. “If it is convenient, I can -arrange it immediately.” - -Two hours later Grace Evans left the K. K. S. lot. She was to start -work on the morrow at fifty dollars a week for the full period of the -picture. Wilson Crumb had told her that she had a wonderful future, and -that she was fortunate to have fallen in with a director who could make -a great star of her. As she went, she left behind all her self-respect -and part of her natural modesty. - -Wilson Crumb, watching her go, rubbed the ball of his right thumb to -and fro across the back of his left hand, and smiled. - - * * * * * - -The Apache danced along the wagon trail that led back into the hills. -He tugged at the bit and tossed his head impatiently, flecking his -rider’s shirt with foam. He lifted his feet high and twisted and -wriggled like an eel. He wanted to be off, and he wondered what had -come over his old pal that there were no more swift, gay gallops, and -that washes were crossed sedately by way of their gravelly bottoms, -instead of being taken with a flying leap. - -Presently he cocked an eye ahead, as if in search of something. A -moment later he leaped suddenly sidewise, snorting in apparent terror. - -“You old fool!” said Pennington affectionately. - -The horse had shied at a large white bowlder lying beside the wagon -trail. For nearly three years he had shied at it religiously every -time he had passed it. Long before they reached it he always looked -ahead to see if it was still there, and he would have been terribly -disappointed had it been missing. The man always knew that the horse -was going to shy--he would have been disappointed if the Apache had -not played this little game of make-believe. To carry the game to -its conclusion, the rider should gather him and force him snorting -and trembling, right up to the bowlder, talking to him coaxingly and -stroking his arched neck, but at the same time not neglecting to press -the spurs against his glossy sides if he hesitated. - -The Apache loved it. He loved the power that was his as exemplified by -the quick, wide leap aside, and he loved the power of the man to force -his nose to the bowlder--the power that gave him such confidence in his -rider that he would go wherever he was asked to go; but to-day he was -disappointed. His pal did not force him to the bowlder. Instead, Custer -Pennington merely reined him into the trail again beyond it and rode on -up Jackknife Cañon. - -Custer was looking over the pasture. It was late July. The hills were -no longer green, except where their sides and summits were clothed with -chaparral. The lower hills were browning beneath the hot summer sun, -but they were still beautiful, dotted as they were with walnut and live -oak. - -As Pennington rode, he recalled the last time he had ridden through -Jackknife with Grace. She had been gone two months now--it seemed as -many years. She no longer wrote often, and when she did write her -letters were short and unsatisfying. He recalled all the incidents of -that last ride, and they reminded him again of the new-made trail they -had discovered, and of his oft repeated intention of following it to -see where it led. He had never had the time--he did not have the time -to-day. The heifers with their calves were still in this pasture. He -counted them, examined the condition of the feed, and rode back to the -house. - -It was Friday. From the hill beyond Jackknife a man had watched -through binoculars his every move. Three other men had been waiting -below the watcher along the new-made trail. It was well for Pennington -that he had not chosen that day to investigate. - -After he had turned back toward the ranch, the man with the binoculars -descended to the others. - -“It was young Pennington,” he said. The speaker was Allen. “I was -thinking that it would be a fool trick to kill him, unless we have to. -I have a better scheme. Listen--if he ever learns anything that he -shouldn’t know, this is what you are to do, if I am away.” - -Very carefully and in great detail he elaborated his plan. - -“Do you understand?” he asked. - -They did, and they grinned. - -The following night, after the Penningtons had dined, a ranch hand came -up from Mrs. Burke’s to tell them that their new neighbor was quite -ill, and that the woman who did her housework wanted Mrs. Pennington to -come down at once as she was worried about her mistress. - -“We will be right down,” said Colonel Pennington. - -They found Mrs. Burke breathing with difficulty, and the colonel -immediately telephoned for a local doctor. After the physician had -examined her, he came to them in the living room. - -“You had better send for Jones, of Los Angeles,” he said. “It is her -heart. I can do nothing. I doubt if he can; but he is a specialist. -And,” he added, “if she has any near relatives, I think I should notify -them--at once.” - -The housekeeper had joined them, and was wiping tears from her face -with her apron. - -“She has a daughter in Los Angeles,” said the colonel; “but we do not -know her address.” - -“She wrote her to-day, just before this spell,” said the housekeeper. -“The letter hasn’t been mailed yet--here it is.” - -She picked it up from the center table and handed it to the colonel. - -“Miss Shannon Burke, 1580 Panizo Circle, Hollywood,” he read. “I will -take the responsibility of wiring both Miss Burke and Dr. Jones. Can -you get a good nurse locally?” - -The doctor could, and so it was arranged. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Gaza de Lure was sitting at the piano when Crumb arrived at the -bungalow at 1421 Vista del Paso at a little after six in the evening -of the last Saturday in July. The smoke from a half burned cigarette -lying on the ebony case was rising in a thin, indolent column above the -masses of her black hair. Her fingers idled through a dreamy waltz. - -Crumb gave her a surly nod as he closed the door behind him. He was -tired and cross after a hard day at the studio. The girl, knowing that -he would be all right presently, merely returned his nod and continued -playing. He went immediately to his room, and a moment later she heard -him enter the bathroom through another doorway. - -Half an hour later he emerged, shaved, spruce, and smiling. A tiny -powder had effected a transformation, just as she had known that it -would. He came and leaned across the piano, close to her. She was very -beautiful. It seemed to the man that she grew more beautiful and more -desirable each day. The fact that she had been unattainable had fed the -fires of his desire, transforming infatuation into as near a thing to -love as a man of his type can ever feel. - -“Well, little girl!” he cried gayly. “I have good news for you.” - -She smiled a crooked little smile and shook her head. - -“The only good news that I can think of would be that the government -had established a comfortable home for superannuated hop-heads, where -they would be furnished, without cost, with all the snow they could -use.” - -The effects of her last shot were wearing off. He laughed -good-naturedly. - -“Really,” he insisted; “on the level, I’ve got the best news you’ve -heard in moons.” - -“Well?” she asked wearily. - -“Old Battle-Ax has got her divorce,” he announced, referring thus -affectionately to his wife. - -“Well,” said the girl, “that’s good news--for her--if it’s true.” - -Crumb frowned. - -“It’s good news for you,” he said. “It means that I can marry you now.” - -The girl leaned back on the piano bench and laughed aloud. It was not a -pleasant laugh. She laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks. - -“What is there funny about that?” growled the man. “It would mean a lot -to you--respectability, for one thing, and success, for another. The -day you become Mrs. Wilson Crumb I’ll star you in the greatest picture -that was ever made.” - -“Respectability!” she sneered. “Your name would make me respectable, -would it? It would be the insult added to all the injury you have done -me. And as for starring--poof!” She snapped her fingers. “I have but -one ambition, thanks to you, you dirty hound, and that is snow!” She -leaned toward him, her two clenched fists almost shaking in his face. -“Give me all the snow I need,” she cried, “and the rest of them may -have their fame and their laurels!” - -He thought he saw his chance then. Turning away with a shrug, he walked -to the fireplace and lighted a cigarette. - -“Oh, very well!” he said. “If you feel that way about it, all right; -but”--he turned suddenly upon her--“you’ll have to get out of here and -stay out--do you understand? From this day on you can only enter this -house as Mrs. Wilson Crumb, and you can rustle your own dope if you -don’t come back--understand?” - -She looked at him through narrowed lids. She reminded him of a tigress -about to spring, and he backed away. - -“Listen to me,” she commanded in slow, level tones. “In the first -place, you’re lying to me about your wife getting her divorce. I’d have -guessed as much if I hadn’t known, for a hop-head can’t tell the truth; -but I do know. You got a letter from your attorney to-day telling you -that your wife still insists not only that she never will divorce you, -but that she will never allow you a divorce.” - -“You mean to say that you opened one of my letters?” he demanded -angrily. - -“Sure I opened it! I open ’em all--I steam ’em open. What do you -expect,” she almost screamed, “from the thing you have made of me? Do -you expect honor and self-respect, or any other virtue, in a hype?” - -“You get out of here!” he cried. “You get out now--this minute!” - -She rose from the bench and came and stood quite close to him. - -“You’ll see that I get all the snow I want, if I go?” she asked. - -He laughed nastily. - -“You don’t ever get another bindle,” he replied. - -“Wait!” she admonished. “I wasn’t through with what I started to say a -minute ago. You’ve been hitting it long enough, Wilson, to know what -one of our kind will do to get it. You know that either you or I would -sacrifice soul and body if there was no other way. We would lie, or -steal, or--murder! Do you get that, Wilson--_murder_? There is just -one thing that I won’t do, but that one thing is not murder, Wilson. -Listen!” She lifted her face close to his and looked him straight in -the eyes. “If you ever try to take it away from me, or keep it from me, -Wilson, I shall kill you.” - -Her tone was cold and unemotional, and because of that, perhaps, the -threat seemed very real. The man paled. - -“Aw, come!” he cried. “What’s the use of our scrapping? I was only -kidding, anyway. Run along and take a shot--it’ll make you feel better.” - -“Yes,” she said, “I need one; but don’t get it into your head that -_I_ was kidding. I wasn’t. I’d just as lief kill you as not--the only -trouble is that killing’s too damned good for you, Wilson!” - -She walked toward the bathroom door. - -“Oh, by the way,” she said, pausing, “Allen called up this afternoon. -He’s in town, and will be up after dinner. He wants his money.” - -She entered the bathroom and closed the door. Crumb lighted another -cigarette and threw himself into an easy chair, where he sat scowling -at a temple dog on a Chinese rug. - -The Japanese “schoolboy” opened a door and announced dinner, and a -moment later Gaza joined Crumb in the little dining room. They both -smoked throughout the meal, which they scarcely tasted. The girl was -vivacious and apparently happy. She seemed to have forgotten the recent -scene in the living room. She asked questions about the new picture. - -“We’re going to commence shooting Monday,” he told her. Momentarily he -waxed almost enthusiastic. “I’m going to have trouble with that boob -author, though,” he said. “If they’d kick him off the lot, and give me -a little more money, I’d make ’em the greatest picture ever screened!” - -Then he relapsed into brooding silence. - -“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Worrying about Allen?” - -“Not exactly,” he said. “I’ll stall him off again.” - -“He isn’t going to be easy to stall this time,” she observed, “if I -gathered the correct idea from his line of talk over the phone to-day. -I can’t see what you’ve done with all the coin, Wilson.” - -“You got yours, didn’t you?” he growled. - -“Sure, I got mine,” she answered, “and it’s nothing to me what you did -with Allen’s share; but I’m here to tell you that you’ve pulled a boner -if you’ve double-crossed him. I’m not much of a character reader, as -proved by my erstwhile belief that you were a high-minded gentleman; -but it strikes me the veriest boob could see that that man Allen is a -bad actor. You’d better look out for him.” - -“I ain’t afraid of him,” blustered Crumb. - -“No, of course you’re not,” she agreed sarcastically. “You’re a regular -little lion-hearted Reginald, Wilson--that’s what you are!” - -The doorbell rang. - -“There he is now,” said the girl. - -Crumb paled. - -“What makes you think he’s a bad man?” he asked. - -“Look at his face--look at his eyes,” she admonished. “Hard? He’s got a -face like a brick-bat.” - -They rose from the table and entered the living room as the Japanese -opened the front door. The caller was Slick Allen. Crumb rushed forward -and greeted him effusively. - -“Hello, old man!” he cried. “I’m mighty glad to see you. Miss de Lure -told me that you had phoned. Can’t tell you how delighted I am!” - -Allen nodded to the girl, tossed his cap upon a bench near the door, -and crossed to the center of the room. - -“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Allen?” she suggested. - -“I ain’t got much time,” he said, lowering himself into a chair. “I -come up here, Crumb, to get some money.” His cold, fishy eyes looked -straight into Crumb’s. “I come to get all the money there is comin’ to -me. It’s a trifle over ten thousand dollars, as I figure it.” - -“Yes,” said Crumb; “that’s about it.” - -“An’ I don’t want no stallin’ this time, either,” concluded Allen. - -“Stalling!” exclaimed Crumb in a hurt tone. “Who’s been stalling?” - -“You have.” - -“Oh, my dear man!” cried Crumb deprecatingly. “You know that in matters -of this kind one must be circumspect. There were reasons in the past -why it would have been unsafe to transfer so large an amount to you. -It might easily have been traced. I was being watched--a fellow even -shadowed me to the teller’s window in my bank one day. You see how it -is? Neither of us can take chances.” - -“That’s all right, too,” said Allen; “but I’ve been taking chances -right along, and I ain’t been taking them for my health. I been taking -them for the coin, and I want that coin--I want it _pronto_!” - -“You can most certainly have it,” said Crumb. - -“All right!” replied Allen, extending a palm. “Fork it over.” - -“My dear fellow, you don’t think that I have it here, do you?” demanded -Crumb. “You don’t think I keep such an amount as that in my home, I -hope!” - -“Where is it?” - -“In the bank, of course.” - -“Gimme a check.” - -“You must be crazy! Suppose either of us was suspected; that check -would link us up fine. It would be as bad for you as for me. Nothing -doing! I’ll get the cash when the bank opens on Monday. That’s the very -best I can do. If you’d written and let me know you were coming, I -could have had it for you.” - -Allen eyed him for a long minute. - -“Very well,” he said, at last. “I’ll wait till noon Monday.” - -Crumb breathed an inward sigh of profound relief. - -“If you’re at the bank Monday morning, at half past ten, you’ll get the -money,” he said. “How’s the other stuff going? Sorry I couldn’t handle -that, but it’s too bulky.” - -“The hootch? It’s goin’ fine,” replied Allen. “Got a young high-blood -at the edge of the valley handlin’ it--fellow by the name of Evans. He -moves thirty-six cases a week. The kid’s got a good head on him--worked -the whole scheme out himself. Sells the whole batch every week, for -cash, to a guy with a big truck. They cover it with hay, and this -guy hauls it right into the city in broad daylight, unloads it in a -warehouse he’s rented, slips each case into a carton labeled somebody -or other’s soap, and delivers it a case at a time to a bunch of drug -stores. This second guy used to be a drug salesman, and he’s personally -acquainted with every grafter in the business.” - -As he talked, Allen had been studying the girl’s face. She had noticed -it before; but she was used to having men stare at her, and thought -little of it. Finally he addressed her. - -“Do you know, Miss de Lure,” he said, “there’s something mighty -familiar about your face? I noticed it the first time I came here, and -I been studyin’ over it since. It seems like I’d known you somewhere -else, or some one you look a lot like; but I can’t quite get it -straight in my head. I can’t make out where it was, or when, or if it -was you or some one else. I’ll get it some day, though.” - -“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’m sure I never saw you before you came -here with Mr. Crumb the first time.” - -“Well, I don’t know, either,” replied Allen, scratching his head; “but -it’s mighty funny.” He rose. “I’ll be goin’,” he said. “See you Monday -at the bank--ten thirty sharp, Crumb!” - -“Sure, ten thirty sharp,” repeated Crumb, rising. “Oh, say, Allen, -will you do me a favor? I promised a fellow I’d bring him a bindle of -M to-night, and if you’ll hand it to him it’ll save me the trip. It’s -right on your way to the car line. You’ll find him in the alley back of -the Hollywood Drug Store, just west of Cuyhenga on the south side of -Hollywood Boulevard.” - -“Sure, glad to accommodate,” said Allen; “but how’ll I know him?” - -“He’ll be standin’ there, and you walk up and ask him the time. If he -tells you, and then asks if you can change a five, you’ll know he’s -the guy all right. Then you hand him these two ones and a fifty-cent -piece, and he hands you a five-dollar bill. That’s all there is to it. -Inside these two ones I’ll wrap a bindle of M. You can give me the five -Monday morning when I see you.” - -“Slip me the junk,” said Allen. - -The girl had risen, and was putting on her coat and hat. - -“Where are you going--home so early?” asked Crumb. - -“Yes,” she replied. “I’m tired, and I want to write a letter.” - -“I thought you lived here,” said Allen. - -“I’m here nearly all day, but I go home nights,” replied the girl. - -Slick Allen looked puzzled as he left the bungalow. - -“Goin’ my way?” he asked of the girl, as they reached the sidewalk. - -“No,” she replied. “I go in the opposite direction. Good night!” - -“Good night!” said Allen, and turned toward Hollywood Boulevard. - -Inside the bungalow Crumb was signaling central for a connection. - -“Give me the police station on Cuyhenga, near Hollywood,” he said. “I -haven’t time to look up the number. Quick--it’s important!” - -There was a moment’s silence and then: - -“Hello! What is this? Listen! If you want to get a hop-head with the -goods on him--right in the act of peddling--send a dick to the back of -the Hollywood Drug Store, and have him wait there until a guy comes up -and asks what time it is. Then have the dick tell him and say, ‘Can -you change a five?’ That’s the cue for the guy to slip him a bindle of -morphine rolled up in a couple of one-dollar bills. If you don’t send a -dummy, he’ll know what to do next--and you’d better get him there in a -hurry. What? No--oh, just a friend--just a friend.” - -Wilson Crumb hung up the receiver. There was a grin on his face as he -turned away from the instrument. - -“It’s too bad, Allen, but I’m afraid you won’t be at the bank at half -past ten on Monday morning!” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -As Gaza de Lure entered the house in which she roomed, her landlady -came hastily from the living room. - -“Is that you, Miss Burke?” she asked. “Here is a telegram that came for -you just a few minutes ago. I do hope it’s not bad news!” - -The girl took the yellow envelope and tore it open. She read the -message through very quickly and then again slowly, her brows puckered -into a little frown, as if she could not quite understand the meaning -of the words she read. - -“Your mother ill,” the telegram said. “Possibly not serious--doctor -thinks best you come--will meet you morning train.” It was signed -“Custer Pennington.” - -“I do hope it’s not bad news,” repeated the landlady. - -“My mother is ill. They have sent for me,” said the girl. “I wonder if -you would be good enough to call up the S. P. and ask the first train I -can get that stops at Ganado, while I run upstairs and pack my bag?” - -“You poor little dear!” exclaimed the landlady. “I’m so sorry! I’ll -call right away, and then I’ll come up and help you.” - -A few minutes later she came up to say that the first train left at -nine o’clock in the morning. She offered to help pack; but the girl -said there was nothing that she could not do herself. - -“I must go out first for a few minutes,” Gaza told her. “Then I will -come back and finish packing the few things that it will be necessary -to take.” - -When the landlady had left, the girl stood staring dully at the black -traveling bag that she had brought from the closet and placed on her -bed; but she did not see the bag or the few pieces of lingerie that she -had taken from her dresser drawers. She saw only the sweet face of her -mother, and the dear smile that had always shone there to soothe each -childish trouble--the smile that had lighted the girl’s dark days, even -after she had left home. - -For a long time she stood there thinking--trying to realize what -it would mean to her if the worst should come. It could make no -difference, she realized, except that it might perhaps save her mother -from a still greater sorrow. It was the girl who was dead, though -the mother did not guess it; she had been dead for many months. This -hollow, shaking husk was not Shannon Burke--it was not the thing that -the mother had loved. It was almost a sacrilege to take it up there -into the clean country and flaunt it in the face of so sacred a thing -as mother love. - -The girl stepped quickly to a writing desk, and, drawing a key from -her vanity case, unlocked it. She took from it a case containing a -hypodermic syringe and a few small phials; then she crossed the hall to -the bathroom. When she came back, she looked rested and less nervous. -She returned the things to the desk, locked it, and ran downstairs. - -“I will be back in a few minutes,” she called to the landlady. “I shall -have to arrange a few things to-night with a friend.” - -She went directly to the Vista del Paso bungalow. Crumb was surprised -and not a little startled as he heard her key in the door. He had a -sudden vision of Allen returning, and he went white; but when he saw -who it was he was no less surprised, for the girl had never before -returned after leaving for the night. - -“My gracious!” he exclaimed. “Look who’s here!” - -She did not return his smile. - -“I found a telegram at home,” she said, “that necessitates my going -away for a few days. I came over to tell you, and to get a little snow -to last me until I come back. Where I am going they don’t have it, I -imagine.” - -He looked at her through narrowed, suspicious lids. - -“You’re going to quit me!” he cried accusingly. “That’s why you went -out with Allen! You can’t get away with it. I’ll never let you go. Do -you hear me? I’ll never let you go!” - -“Don’t be a fool, Wilson,” she replied. “My mother is ill, and I have -been sent for.” - -“Your mother? You never told me you had a mother.” - -“But I have, though I don’t care to talk about her to you. She needs -me, and I am going.” - -He was still suspicious. - -“Are you telling me the truth? Will you come back?” - -“You know I’ll come back,” she said. “I shall have to,” she added with -a weary sigh. - -“Yes, you’ll have to. You can’t get along without it. You’ll come back -all right--I’ll see to that!” - -“What do you mean?” she asked. - -“How much snow you got home?” he demanded. - -“You know I keep scarcely any there. I forgot my case to-day--left it -in my desk, so I had a little there--a couple of shots, maybe.” - -“Very well,” he said. “I’ll give you enough to last a week--then you’ll -have to come home.” - -“You say you’ll give me enough to last a week?” the girl repeated -questioningly. “I’ll take what I want--it’s as much mine as yours!” - -“But you don’t get any more than I’m going to give you. I won’t -have you gone more than a week. I can’t live without you--don’t you -understand? I believe you have a wooden heart, or none at all!” - -“Oh,” she said, yawning, “you can get some other poor fool to peddle it -for you if I don’t come back; but I’m coming, never fear. You’re as bad -as the snow--I hate you both, but I can’t live without either of you. I -don’t feel like quarreling, Wilson. Give me the stuff--enough to last a -week, for I’ll be home before that.” - -He went to the bathroom and made a little package up for her. - -“Here!” he said, returning to the living room. “That ought to last you -a week.” - -She took it and slipped it into her case. - -“Well, good-by,” she said, turning toward the door. - -“Aren’t you going to kiss me good-by?” he asked. - -“Have I ever kissed you, since I learned that you had a wife?” she -asked. - -“No,” he admitted; “but you might kiss me good-by now, when you’re -going away for a whole week.”. - -“Nothing doing, Wilson!” she said with a negative shake of the head. -“I’d as lief kiss a Gila monster!” - -He made a wry face. - -“You’re sure candid,” he said. - -She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of indifference and moved -toward the door. - -“I can’t make you out, Gaza,” he said. “I used to think you loved me, -and the Lord knows I certainly love you! You are the only woman I ever -really loved. A year ago I believe you would have married me, but now -you won’t even let me kiss you. Sometimes I think there is some one -else. If I thought you loved another man, I’d--I’d----” - -“No, you wouldn’t. You were going to say that you’d kill me, but you -wouldn’t. You haven’t the nerve of a rabbit. You needn’t worry--there -isn’t any other man, and there never will be. After knowing you I -could never respect any man, much less love one of ’em. You’re all -alike--rotten! And let me tell you something--I never did love you. I -liked you at first, before I knew the hideous thing that you had done -to me. I would have married you, and I would have made you a good wife, -too--you know that. I wish I could believe that you do love me. I know -of nothing, Wilson, that would give me more pleasure than to _know_ -that you loved me madly; but of course you’re not capable of loving -anything madly, except yourself.” - -“I do love you, Gaza,” he said seriously. “I love you so that I would -rather die than live without you.” - -She cocked her head on one side and eyed him quizzically. - -“I hope you do,” she told him; “for if it’s the truth, I can repay you -some measure of the suffering you have caused me. I can be around where -you can never get a chance to forget me, or to forget the fact that you -want me, but can never have me. You’ll see me every day, and every day -you will suffer vain regrets for the happiness that might have been -yours, if you had been a decent, honorable man; but you are not decent, -you are not honorable, you are not even a man!” - -He tried to laugh derisively, but she saw the slow red creep to his -face and knew that she had scored. - -“I hope you’ll feel better when you come back from your mother’s,” he -said. “You haven’t been very good company lately. Oh, by the way, where -did you say you are going?” - -“I didn’t say,” she replied. - -“Won’t you give me your address?” he demanded. - -“No.” - -“But suppose something happens? Suppose I want to get word to you?” -Crumb insisted. - -“You’ll have to wait until I get back,” she told him. - -“I don’t see why you can’t tell me where you’re going,” he grumbled. - -“Because there is a part of my life that you and your sort have never -entered,” she replied. “I would as lief take a physical leper to my -mother as a moral one. I cannot even discuss her with you without a -feeling that I have besmirched her.” - -On her face was an expression of unspeakable disgust as she passed -through the doorway of the bungalow and closed the door behind her. -Wilson Crumb simulated a shudder. - -“I sure was a damn fool,” he mused. “Gaza would have made the greatest -emotional actress the screen has ever known, if I’d given her a -chance. I guessed her wrong and played her wrong. She’s not like any -woman I ever saw before. I should have made her a great success and won -her gratitude--that’s the way I ought to have played her. Oh, well, -what’s the difference? She’ll come back!” - -He rose and went to the bathroom, snuffed half a grain of cocaine, -and then collected all the narcotics hidden there and every vestige -of contributary evidence of their use by the inmates of the bungalow. -Dragging a small table into his bedroom closet, he mounted and opened a -trap leading into the air space between the ceiling and the roof. Into -this he clambered, carrying the drugs with him. - -They were wrapped in a long, thin package, to which a light, strong -cord was attached. With this cord he lowered the package into the space -between the sheathing and the inner wall, fastening the end of the cord -to a nail driven into one of the studs at arm’s length below the wall -plate. - -“There!” he thought, as he clambered back into the closet. “It’ll take -some dick to uncover that junk!” - -Hidden between plaster and sheathing of the little bungalow was a -fortune in narcotics. Only a small fraction of their stock had the -two peddlers kept in the bathroom, and Crumb had now removed that, in -case Allen should guess that he had been betrayed by his confederate -and direct the police to the bungalow, or the police themselves should -trace his call and make an investigation on their own account. He -realized that he had taken a great risk; but his stratagem had saved -him from the deadly menace of Allen’s vengeance, at least for the -present. The fact that there must ultimately be an accounting with -the man he put out of his mind. It would be time enough to meet that -contingency when it arose. - -As a matter of fact, the police came to the bungalow that very evening; -but through no clew obtained from Allen, who, while he had suspicions -that were tantamount to conviction, chose to await the time when he -might wreak his revenge in his own way. The desk sergeant had traced -the call to Crumb, and after the arrest had been made a couple of -detective sergeants called upon him. They were quiet, pleasant-spoken -men, with an ingratiating way that might have deceived the possessor of -a less suspicious brain than Crumb’s. - -“The lieutenant sent us over to thank you for that tip,” said the -spokesman. “We got him all right, with the junk on him.” - -Not for nothing was Wilson Crumb a talented actor. None there was who -could better have registered polite and uninterested incomprehension. - -“I am afraid,” he said, “that I don’t quite get you. What tip? What are -you talking about?” - -“You called up the station, Mr. Crumb. We had central trace the call. -There is no use----” - -Crumb interrupted him with a gesture. He didn’t want the officer to go -so far that it might embarrass him to retract. - -“Ah!” he exclaimed, a light of understanding illuminating his face. “I -believe I have it. What was the message? I think I can explain it.” - -“We think you can, too,” agreed the sergeant, “seein’ you phoned the -message.” - -“No, but I didn’t,” said Crumb, “although I guess it may have come over -my phone all right. I’ll tell you what I know about it. A car drove -up a little while after dinner, and a man came to the door. He was a -stranger. He asked if I had a phone, and if he could use it. He said -he wanted to phone an important and confidential message to his wife. -He emphasized the ‘confidential,’ and there was nothing for me to do -but go in the other room until he was through. He was only a minute or -two talking, and then he called me. He wanted to pay for the use of -the phone. I didn’t hear what he said over the phone, but I guess that -explains the matter. I’ll be careful next time a stranger wants to use -my phone.” - -“I would,” said the sergeant dryly. “Would you know him if you saw him -again?” - -“I sure would,” said Crumb. - -They rose to go. - -“Nice little place you have here,” remarked one of them, looking around. - -“Yes,” said Crumb, “it is very comfortable. Wouldn’t you like to look -it over?” - -“No,” replied the officer. “Not now--maybe some other time.” - -Crumb grinned after he had closed the door behind them. - -“I wonder,” he mused, “if that was a threat or a prophecy!” - -A week later Slick Allen was sentenced to a year in the county jail for -having morphine in his possession. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -As Shannon Burke alighted from the Southern Pacific train at Ganado, -the following morning, a large, middle-aged man in riding clothes -approached her. - -“Is this Miss Burke?” he asked. “I am Colonel Pennington.” - -She noted that his face was grave, and it frightened her. - -“Tell me about my mother,” she said. “How is she?” - -He put an arm about the girl’s shoulders. - -“Come,” he said. “Mrs. Pennington is waiting over at the car.” - -Her question was answered. Numb with dread and suffering, she crossed -the station platform with him, the kindly, protecting arm still about -her. Beside a closed car a woman was standing. As they approached, she -came forward, put her arms about the girl, and kissed her. - -Seated in the tonneau between the colonel and Mrs. Pennington, the girl -sought to steady herself. She had taken no morphine since the night -before, for she had wanted to come to her mother “clean,” as she would -have expressed it. She realized now that it was a mistake, for she had -the sensation of shattered nerves on the verge of collapse. Mastering -all her resources, she fought for self-control with an effort that was -almost physically noticeable. - -“Tell me about it,” she said at length in a low voice. - -“It was very sudden,” said the colonel. “It was a heart attack. -Everything that possibly could be done in so short a time was done. -Nothing would have changed the outcome, however. We had Dr. Jones of -Los Angeles down--he motored down and arrived here about half an hour -before the end. He told us that he could have done nothing.” - -They were silent for a while as the fast car rolled over the smooth -road toward the hills ahead. Presently it slowed down, turned in -between orange trees, and stopped before a tiny bungalow a hundred -yards from the highway. - -“We thought you would want to come here first of all, dear,” said Mrs. -Pennington. “Afterward we are going to take you home with us.” - -They accompanied her to the tiny living room, where they introduced -her to the housekeeper, and to the nurse, who had remained at Colonel -Pennington’s request. Then they opened the door of a sunny bedroom, -and, closing it after her as she entered left her alone with her dead. - -Beyond the thin panels they could hear her sobbing; but when she -emerged fifteen minutes later, though her eyes were red, she was not -crying. They thought then that she had marvelous self-control; but -could they have known the hideous battle that she was fighting against -grief and the insistent craving for morphine, and the raw, taut nerves -that would give her no peace, and the shattered will that begged only -to be allowed to sleep--could they have known all this, they would have -realized that they were witnessing a miracle. - -They led her back to the car, where she sat with wide eyes staring -straight ahead. She wanted to scream, to tear her clothing, to do -anything but sit there quiet and rigid. The short drive to Ganado -seemed to the half mad girl to occupy hours. She saw nothing, not even -the quiet, restful ranch house as the car swung up the hill and stopped -at the north entrance. In her mind’s eye was nothing but the face of -her dead mother and the little black case in her traveling bag. - -The colonel helped her from the car and a sweet-faced young girl came -and put her arms about her and kissed her, as Mrs. Pennington had -done at the station. In a dazed sort of way Shannon understood that -they were telling her the girl’s name--that she was a daughter of the -Penningtons. The girl accompanied the visitor to the rooms she was to -occupy. - -Shannon wished to be alone--she wanted to get at the black case in the -traveling bag. Why didn’t the girl go away? She wanted to take her by -the shoulders and throw her out of the room; yet outwardly she was calm -and self-possessed. - -Very carefully she turned toward the girl. It required a supreme effort -not to tremble, and to keep her voice from rising to a scream. - -“Please,” she said, “I should like to be alone.” - -“I understand,” said the girl, and left the room, closing the door -behind her. - -Shannon crept stealthily to the door and turned the key in the lock. -Then she wheeled and almost fell upon the traveling bag in her -eagerness to get the small black case within it. She was trembling -from head to foot, her eyes were wide and staring, and she mumbled to -herself as she prepared the white powder and drew the liquid into the -syringe. - -Momentarily, however, she gathered herself together. For a few -seconds she stood looking at the glass and metal instrument in her -fingers--beyond it she saw her mother’s face. - -“I don’t want to do it,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to do it, mother!” -Her lower lip quivered, and tears came. “My God, I can’t help it!” -Almost viciously she plunged the needle beneath her skin. “I didn’t -want to do it to-day, of all days, with you lying over there all -alone--dead!” - -She threw herself across the bed and broke into uncontrolled sobbing; -but her nerves were relaxed, and the expression of her grief was -normal. Finally she sobbed herself to sleep, for she had not slept at -all the night before. - -It was afternoon when she awoke, and again she felt the craving for a -narcotic. This time she did not fight it. She had lost the battle--why -renew it? She bathed and dressed and took another shot before leaving -her rooms--a guest suite on the second floor. She descended the stairs, -which opened directly into the patio, and almost ran against a tall, -broad-shouldered young man in flannel shirt and riding breeches, with -boots and spurs. He stepped quickly back. - -“Miss Burke, I believe?” he inquired. “I am Custer Pennington.” - -“Oh, it was you who wired me,” she said. - -“No--that was my father.” - -“I am afraid I did not thank him for all his kindness. I must have -seemed very ungrateful.” - -“Oh, no, indeed, Miss Burke,” he said, with a quick smile of sympathy. -“We all understand, perfectly--you have suffered a severe nervous -shock. We just want to help you all we can, and we are sorry that there -is so little we can do.” - -“I think you have done a great deal, already, for a stranger.” - -“Not a stranger exactly,” he hastened to assure her. “We were all so -fond of your mother that we feel that her daughter can scarcely be -considered a stranger. She was a very lovable woman, Miss Burke--a very -fine woman.” - -Shannon felt tears in her eyes, and turned them away quickly. Very -gently he touched her arm. - -“Mother heard you moving about in your rooms, and she has gone over to -the kitchen to make some tea for you. If you will come with me, I’ll -show you to the breakfast room. She’ll have it ready in a jiffy.” - -She followed him through the living room and the library to the dining -room, beyond which a small breakfast room looked out toward the -peaceful hills. Young Pennington opened a door leading from the dining -room to the butler’s pantry, and called to his mother. - -“Miss Burke is down,” he said. - -The girl turned immediately from the breakfast room and entered the -butler’s pantry. - -“Can’t I help, Mrs. Pennington? I don’t want you to go to any trouble -for me. You have all been so good already!” - -Mrs. Pennington laughed. - -“Bless your heart, dear, it’s no trouble. The water is boiling, and -Hannah has made some toast. We were just waiting to ask if you prefer -green tea or black.” - -“Green, if you please,” said Shannon, coming into the kitchen. - -Custer had followed her, and was leaning against the door frame. - -“This is Hannah, Miss Burke,” said Mrs. Pennington. - -“I am so glad to know you, Hannah,” said the girl. “I hope you won’t -think me a terrible nuisance.” - -“Hannah’s a brick,” interposed the young man. “You can muss around her -kitchen all you want, and she never gets mad.” - -“I’m sure she doesn’t,” agreed Shannon; “but people who are late to -meals _are_ a nuisance, and I promise that I shan’t be again. I fell -asleep.” - -“You may change your mind about being late to meals when you learn the -hour we breakfast,” laughed Custer. - -“No--I shall be on time.” - -“You shall stay in bed just as late as you please,” said Mrs. -Pennington. “You mustn’t think of getting up when we do. You need all -the rest you can get.” - -They seemed to take it for granted that Shannon was going to stay -with them, instead of going to the little bungalow that had been her -mother’s--the truest type of hospitality, because, requiring no oral -acceptance, it suggested no obligation. - -“But I cannot impose on you so much,” she said. “After dinner I must go -down to--to----” - -Mrs. Pennington did not permit her to finish. - -“No, dear,” she said, quietly but definitely. “You are to stay here -with us until you return to the city. Colonel Pennington has arranged -with the nurse to remain with your mother’s housekeeper until after the -funeral. Please let us have our way. It will be so much easier for you, -and it will let us feel that we have been able to do something for you.” - -Shannon could not have refused if she had wished to, but she did not -wish to. In the quiet ranch house, surrounded by these strong, kindly -people, she found a restfulness and a feeling of security that she had -not believed she was ever to experience again. She had these thoughts -when, under the influence of morphine, her nerves were quieted and her -brain clear. After the effects had worn off, she became restless and -irritable. She thought of Crumb then, and of the bungalow on the Vista -del Paso, with its purple monkeys stenciled over the patio gate. She -wanted to be back where she could be free to do as she pleased--free to -sink again into the most degrading and abject slavery that human vice -has ever devised. - -On the first night, after she had gone to her rooms, the Penningtons, -gathered in the little family living room, discussed her, as people are -wont to discuss a stranger beneath their roof. - -“Isn’t she radiant?” demanded Eva. “She’s the most beautifulest -creature I ever saw!” - -“She looks much as her mother must have looked at the same age,” -commented the colonel. “There is a marked family resemblance.” - -“She _is_ beautiful,” agreed Mrs. Pennington; “but I venture to say -that she is looking her worst right now. She doesn’t appear at all -well, to me. Her complexion is very sallow, and sometimes there is -the strangest expression in her eyes--almost wild. The nervous shock -of her mother’s death must have been very severe; but she bears up -wonderfully, at that, and she is so sweet and appreciative!” - -“I sized her up over there in the kitchen to-day,” said Custer. “She’s -the real article. I can always tell by the way people treat a servant -whether they are real people or only counterfeit. She was as sweet and -natural to Hannah as she is to mother.” - -“I noticed that,” said his mother. “It is one of the hall marks of good -breeding; but we could scarcely expect anything else of Mrs. Burke’s -daughter. I know she must be a fine character.” - -In the room above them Shannon Burke, with trembling hands and staring -eyes, was inserting a slender needle beneath the skin above her hip. In -the movies one does not disfigure one’s arms or legs. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -The day of the funeral had come and gone. It had been a very hard one -for Shannon. She had determined that on this day, at least, she would -not touch the little hypodermic syringe. She owed that much respect -to the memory of her mother. And she had fought--God, how she had -fought!--with screaming nerves that would not be quiet, with trembling -muscles, and with a brain that held but a single thought--morphine, -morphine, morphine! - -She tried to shut the idea from her mind. She tried to concentrate her -thoughts upon the real anguish of her heart. She tried to keep before -her a vision of her mother; but her hideous, resistless vice crowded -all else from her brain, and the result was that on the way back from -the cemetery she collapsed into screaming, incoherent hysteria. - -They carried her to her room--Custer Pennington carried her, his father -and mother following. When the men had left, Mrs. Pennington and Eva -undressed her and comforted her and put her to bed; but she still -screamed and sobbed--frightful, racking sobs, without tears. She was -trying to tell them to go away. How she hated them! If they would only -go away and leave her! But she could not voice the words she sought to -scream at them, and so they stayed and ministered to her as best they -could. After a while she lost consciousness, and they thought that she -was asleep and left her. - -Perhaps she did sleep, for later, when she opened her eyes, she lay -very quiet, and felt rested and almost normal. She knew, though, that -she was not entirely awake--that when full wakefulness came the terror -would return unless she quickly had recourse to the little needle. - -In that brief moment of restfulness she thought quickly and clearly -and very fully of what had just happened. She had never had such -an experience before. Perhaps she had never fully realized the -frightful hold the drug had upon her. She had known that she could -not stop--or, at least, she had said that she knew; but whether she -had any conception of the pitiful state to which enforced abstinence -would reduce her is to be doubted. Now she knew, and she was terribly -frightened. - -“I must cut it down,” she said to herself. “I must have been hitting it -up a little too strong. When I get home, I’ll let up gradually until I -can manage with three or four shots a day.” - -When she came down to dinner that night, they were all surprised to -see her, for they had thought her still asleep. Particularly were they -surprised to see no indications of her recent breakdown. How could they -know that she had just taken enough morphine to have killed any one of -them? She seemed normal and composed, and she tried to infuse a little -gayety into her conversation, for she realized that her grief was not -theirs. She knew that their kind hearts shared something of her sorrow, -but it was selfish to impose her own sadness upon them. - -She had been thinking very seriously, had Shannon Burke. The attack of -hysteria had jarred her loose, temporarily at least, from the selfish -rut that her habit and her hateful life with Crumb had worn for her. -She recalled every emotion of the ordeal through which she had passed, -even to the thoughts of hate that she had held for those two sweet -women at the table with her. How could she have hated them? She hated -herself for the thought. - -She compared herself with them, and a dull flush mounted to her cheek. -She was not fit to remain under the same roof with them, and here she -was sitting at their table, a respected guest! What if they should -learn of the thing she was? The thought terrified her; and yet she -talked on, oftentimes gayly, joining with them in the laughter that was -a part of every meal. - -She really saw them, that night, as they were. It was the first time -that her grief and her selfish vice had permitted her to study them. -It was her first understanding glimpse of a family life that was as -beautiful as her own life was ugly. - -As she compared herself with the women, she compared Crumb with these -two men. They might have vices--they were strong men, and few strong -men are without vices, she knew--but she was sure they were the vices -of strong men, which, by comparison with those of Wilson Crumb, would -become virtues. What a pitiful creature Crumb seemed beside these two, -with his insignificant mentality and his petty egotism! - -Suddenly it came to her, almost as a shock, that she had to leave this -beautiful place and go back to the sordid life that she shared with -Crumb. Her spirit revolted, but she knew that it must be. She did not -belong here--her vice must ever bar her from such men and women as -these. The memory of them would haunt her always, making her punishment -the more poignant to the day of her death. - -That evening she and Colonel Pennington discussed her plans for the -future. She had asked him about disposing of the orchard--how she -should proceed, and what she might ask for it. - -“I should advise you to hold it,” he said. “It is going to increase in -value tremendously in the next few years. You can easily get some one -to work it for you on shares. If you don’t want to live on it, Custer -and I will be glad to keep an eye on it and see that it is properly -cared for; but why don’t you stay here? You could really make a very -excellent living from it. Besides, Miss Burke, here in the country you -can really _live_. You city people don’t know what life is.” - -“There!” said Eva. “Popsy has started. If he had his way, we’d all -have to move to the city to escape the maddening crowd. He’d move the -maddening crowd into the country!” - -“It may be that Shannon doesn’t care for the country,” suggested Mrs. -Pennington. “There _are_ such foolish people,” she added, laughing. - -“Oh, I would love the country!” exclaimed Shannon. - -“Then why don’t you stay?” urged the colonel. - -“I had never thought of it,” she said hesitatingly. - -It was indeed a new idea. Of course it was an absolute impossibility, -but it was a very pleasant thing to contemplate. - -“Possibly Miss Burke has ties in the city that she would not care to -break,” suggested Custer, noting her hesitation. - -Ties in the city! Shackles of iron, rather, she thought bitterly; but, -oh, it was such a nice thought! To live here, to see these people -daily, perhaps be one of them, to be like them--ah, that would be -heaven! - -“Yes,” she said, “I have ties in the city. I could not remain here, I -am afraid, much as I should like to. I--I think I had better sell.” - -“Rubbish!” exclaimed the colonel. “You’ll not sell. You are going to -stay here with us until you are thoroughly rested, and then you won’t -want to sell.” - -“I wish that I might,” she said; “but----” - -“But nothing!” interrupted the colonel. “You are not well, and I shan’t -permit you to leave until those cheeks are the color of Eva’s.” - -He spoke to her as he might have spoken to one of his children. She -had never known a father, and it was the first time that any man had -talked to her in just that way. It brought the tears to her eyes--tears -of happiness, for every woman wants to feel that she belongs to some -man--a father, a brother, or a husband--who loves her well enough to -order her about for her own good. - -“I shall have to think it over,” she said. “It means so much to me to -have you all want me to stay! Please don’t think that I don’t want to; -but--but--there are so many things to consider, and I want to stay so -very, very much!” - -“All right,” said the colonel. “It’s decided--you stay. Now run off to -bed, for you’re going to ride with us in the morning, and that means -that you’ll have to be up at half past five.” - -“But I can’t ride,” she said. “I don’t know how, and I have nothing to -wear.” - -“Eva’ll fit you out, and as for not knowing how to ride, you can’t -learn any younger. Why, I’ve taught half the children in the foothills -to ride a horse, and a lot of the grown-ups. What I can’t teach you Cus -and Eva can. You’re going to start in to-morrow, my little girl, and -learn how to live. Nobody who has simply survived the counterfeit life -of the city knows anything about living. You wait--we’ll show you!” - -She smiled up into his face. - -“I suppose I shall have to mind you,” she said. “I imagine every one -does.” - -Seated in an easy chair in her bedroom, she stared at the opposite -wall. The craving that she was seldom without was growing in intensity, -for she had been without morphine since before dinner. She got up, -unlocked her bag, and took out the little black case. She opened it, -and counted the powders remaining. She had used half her supply--she -could stay but three or four days longer at the outside; and the -colonel wanted her to stay until her cheeks were like Eva’s! - -She rose and looked in the mirror. How sallow she was! Something--she -did not know what--had kept her from using rouge here. During the first -days of her grief she had not even thought of it, and then, after that -evening at dinner, she knew that she could not use it here. It was a -make-believe, a sham, which didn’t harmonize with these people or the -life they led--a clean, real life, in which any form of insincerity -had no place. She knew that they were broad people, both cultured and -traveled, and so she could not understand why it was that she felt that -the harmless vanity of rouge might be distasteful to them. Indeed, -she guessed that it would not. It was something fine in herself, long -suppressed, seeking expression. - -It was this same thing, perhaps, that had caused her to refuse a -cigarette that Custer had offered her after dinner. The act indicated -that they were accustomed to having women smoke there, as women nearly -everywhere smoke to-day; but she had refused, and she was glad she -had, for she noticed that neither Mrs. Pennington nor Eva smoked. Such -women didn’t have to smoke to be attractive to men. She had smoked in -her room several times, for that habit, too, had a strong hold on her; -but she had worked assiduously to remove the telltale stains from her -fingers. - -“I wonder,” she mused, looking at the black case, “if I could get -through the night without you! It would give me a few more hours here -if I could--a few more hours of life before I go back to _that_!” - -Until midnight she fought her battle--a losing battle--tossing and -turning in her bed; but she did her best before she gave up in -defeat--no, not quite defeat; let us call it compromise, for the dose -she took was only half as much as she ordinarily allowed herself. The -three-hour fight and the half dose meant a partial victory, for it -gained for her, she estimated, an additional six hours. - -At a quarter before six she was awakened by a knock on her door. It was -already light, and she awoke with mingled surprise that she had slept -so well and vague forebodings of the next hour or two, for she was -unaccustomed to horses and a little afraid of them. - -“Who is it?” she asked, as the knock was repeated. - -“Eva. I’ve brought your riding things.” - -Shannon rose and opened the door. She was going to take the things from -the girl, but the latter bounced into the room, fresh and laughing. - -“Come on!” she cried. “I’ll help you. Just pile your hair up anyhow--it -doesn’t matter--this hat’ll cover it. I think these breeches will -fit you--we are just about the same size; but I don’t know about the -boots--they may be a little large. I didn’t bring any spurs--papa won’t -let any one wear spurs until they ride fairly well. You’ll have to win -your spurs, you see! It’s a beautiful morning--just spiffy! Run in -and wash up a bit. I’ll arrange everything, and you’ll be in ’em in a -jiffy.” - -She seized Shannon around the waist and danced off toward the bathroom. - -“Don’t be long,” she admonished, as she returned to the dressing room, -from where she laid down a barrage of conversation before the bathroom. - -Shannon washed quickly. She was excited at the prospect of the ride. -That and the laughing, talking girl in the adjoining room gave her -no time to think. Her mind was fully occupied and her nerves were -stimulated. For the moment she forgot about morphine, and then it was -too late, for Eva had her by the hand and she was being led, almost at -a run, down the stairs, through the patio, and out over the edge of the -hill down toward the stable. - -At first the full-foliaged umbrella trees through which the walk wound -concealed the stable and corrals at the foot of the hill, but presently -they broke upon her view, and she saw the horses saddled and waiting, -and the other members of the family. The colonel and Mrs. Pennington -were already mounted. Custer and a stableman held two horses, while -the fifth was tied to a ring in the stable wall. It was a pretty -picture--the pawing horses, with arched necks, eager to be away; the -happy, laughing people in their picturesque and unconventional riding -clothes; the new day upon the nearer hills; the haze upon the farther -mountains. - -“Fine!” cried the colonel, as he saw her coming. “Really never thought -you’d do it! I’ll wager this is the earliest you have been up in -many a day. ‘Barbarous hour’--that’s what you’re saying. Why, when -my cousin was on here from New York, he was really shocked--said -it wasn’t decent. Come along--we’re late this morning. You’ll ride -Baldy--Custer’ll help you up.” - -She stepped to the mounting block as the young man led the dancing -Baldy close beside it. - -“Ever ridden much?” he asked. - -“Never in my life.” - -“Take the reins in your left hand--so. Like this--left-hand rein coming -in under your little finger, the other between your first and second -fingers, and the bight out between your first finger and thumb-- there, -that’s it. Face your horse, put your left hand on the horn, and your -right hand on the cantle--this is the cantle back here. That’s the -ticket. Now put your left foot in the stirrup and stand erect--no, -don’t lean forward over the saddle--good! swing your right leg, knee -bent, over the cantle, at the same time lifting your right hand. When -you come down, ease yourself into the saddle by closing on the horse -with your knees--that takes the jar off both of you. Ride with a light -rein. If you want him to slow down or stop, pull him in--don’t jerk.” - -He was holding Baldy close to the bit as he helped her and explained. -He saw that her right foot found the stirrup, and that she had the -reins properly gathered, and then he released the animal. Immediately -Baldy began to curvet, raising both fore feet simultaneously, and, as -they were coming down, raising his hind feet together, so that all four -were off the ground at once. - -Shannon was terrified. Why had they put her on a bucking horse? They -knew she couldn’t ride. It was cruel! - -But she sat there with tight-pressed lips and uttered no sound. She -recalled every word that Custer had said to her, and she did not jerk, -though some almost irresistible power urged her to. She just pulled, -and as she pulled she glanced about to see if they were rushing to her -rescue. Great was her surprise when she discovered that no one was -paying much attention to her or to the mad actions of her terrifying -mount. - -Suddenly it dawned upon her that she had neither fallen off nor come -near falling off. She had not even lost a stirrup. As a matter of fact, -the motion was not even uncomfortable. It was enjoyable, and she was -in about as much danger of being thrown as she would have been from a -rocking chair as violently self-agitated. She laughed then, and in the -instant all fear left her. - -She saw Eva mount from the ground, and noted that the stableman was -not even permitted to hold her restive horse, much less to assist her -in any other way. Custer swung to the saddle with the ease of long -habitude. The colonel reined to her side. - -“We’ll let them go ahead,” he said, “and I’ll give you your first -lesson. Then I’ll turn you over to Custer--he and Eva can put on the -finishing touches.” - -“He wants to see that you’re started right,” called the younger man, -laughing. - -“Popsy just wants to add another feather to his cap,” said Eva. “Some -day he’ll ‘point with pride’ and say, ‘Look at her ride! I gave her her -first lesson.’” - -“Here come Mrs. Evans and Guy!” - -As Mrs. Pennington spoke, they saw two horses rounding the foot of the -hill at a brisk canter, their riders waving a cheery long-distance -greeting. - -That first morning ride with the Penningtons and their friends was an -event in the life of Shannon Burke that assumed the proportions of -adventure. The novelty, the thrill, the excitement, filled her every -moment. The dancing horse beneath her seemed to impart to her a full -measure of its buoyant life. The gay laughter of her companions, the -easy fellowship of young and old, the generous sympathy that made her -one of them, gave her but another glimpse of the possibilities for -happiness that requires no artificial stimulus. - -She loved the hills. She loved the little trail winding through the -leafy tunnel of a cool barranco. She loved the thrill of the shelving -hillside where the trail clung precariously in its ascent toward some -low summit. She tingled with the new life and a new joy as they broke -into a gallop along a grassy ridge. - -Custer, in the lead, reined in, raising his hand in signal for them all -to stop. - -“Look, Miss Burke,” he said, pointing toward a near hillside. “There’s -a coyote. Thought maybe you’d never seen one on his native heath.” - -“Shoot it! Shoot it!” cried Eva. “You poor boob, why don’t you shoot -it?” - -“Baldy’s gun shy,” he explained. - -“Oh!” said Eva. “Yes, of course--I forgot.” - -“One of the things you do best,” returned Custer loftily. - -“I was just going to say that you were not a boob at all, but now I -won’t!” - -Shannon watched the gray, wolfish animal turn and trot off dejectedly -until it disappeared among the brush; but she was not thinking of the -coyote. She was considering the thoughtfulness of a man who could -remember to forego a fair shot at a wild animal because one of the -horses in his party was gun shy, and was ridden by a woman unaccustomed -to riding. She wondered if this was an index to young Pennington’s -character--so different from the men she had known. It bespoke a -general attitude toward women with which she was unfamiliar--a -protective instinct that was chiefly noticeable in the average city man -by its absence. - -Interspersed with snatches of conversation and intervening silences -were occasional admonitions directed at her by the colonel, instructing -her to keep her feet parallel to the horse’s sides, not to lean -forward, to keep her elbows down and her left forearm horizontal. - -“I never knew there was so much to riding!” she exclaimed, laughingly. -“I thought you just got on a horse and rode, and that was all there was -to it.” - -“That _is_ all there is to it to most of the people you see riding -rented horses around Los Angeles,” Colonel Pennington told her. “It -is all there can ever be to the great majority of people anywhere. -Horsemanship is inherent in some; by others it can never be acquired. -It is an art.” - -“Like dancing,” suggested Eva. - -“And thinking,” said Custer. “Lots of people can go through the motions -of riding, or dancing, or thinking, without ever achieving any one of -them.” - -“I can’t even go through the motions of riding,” said Shannon ruefully. - -“All you need is practice,” said the colonel. “I can tell a born rider -in half an hour, even if he’s never been on a horse before in his life. -You’re one.” - -“I’m afraid you’re making fun of me. The saddle keeps coming up and -hitting me, and I never see any of you move from yours.” - -Guy Evans was riding close to her. - -“No, he’s not making fun of you,” he whispered, leaning closer to -Shannon. “The colonel has paid you one of the greatest compliments in -his power to bestow. He always judges people first by their morals and -then by their horsemanship; but if they are good horsemen, he can make -generous allowance for minor lapses in their morals.” - -They both laughed. - -“He’s a dear, isn’t he?” said the girl. - -“He and Custer are the finest men I ever knew,” replied the boy eagerly. - -That ride ended in a rushing gallop along a quarter mile of straight -road leading to the stables, where they dismounted, flushed, -breathless, and laughing. As they walked up the winding concrete walk -toward the house, Shannon Burke was tired, lame, and happy. She had -adventured into a new world and found it good. - -“Come into my room and wash,” said Eva, as they entered the patio. -“We’re late for breakfast now, and we all like to sit down together.” - -For just an instant, and for the first time that morning, Shannon -thought of the hypodermic needle in its black case upstairs. She -hesitated, and then resolutely turned into Eva’s room. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -During the hour following breakfast that morning, while Shannon was -alone in her rooms, the craving returned. The thought of it turned her -sick when she felt it coming. She had been occupying herself making -her bed and tidying the room, as she had done each morning since her -arrival; but when that was done, her thoughts reverted by habit to the -desire that had so fatally mastered her. - -While she was riding, she had had no opportunity to think of anything -but the thrill of the new adventure. At breakfast she had been very -hungry, for the first time in many months; and this new appetite for -food, and the gay conversation of the breakfast table, had given her -nerves no chance to assert their craving. Now that she was alone and -unoccupied, the terrible thing clutched at her again. - -Once again she fought the fight that she had fought so many times of -late--the fight that she knew she was ordained to lose before she -started fighting. She longed to win it so earnestly that her defeat was -the more pitiable. She was eager to prolong this new-found happiness to -the uttermost limit. Though she knew that it must end when her supply -of morphine was gone, she was determined to gain a few hours each day, -in order that she might add at least another happy day to her life. -Again she took but half her ordinary allowance; but with what anguished -humiliation she performed the hated and repulsive act. Always had she -loathed the habit, but never had it seemed nearly so disgusting as when -performed amid these cleanly and beautiful surroundings, under the same -roof with such people as the Penningtons. - -There crept into her mind a thought that had found its way there -more than once before during the past two years--the thought of -self-destruction. She put it away from her; but in the depth of her -soul she knew that never before had it taken so strong a hold upon her. -Her mother, her only tie, was gone, and no one would care. She had -looked into heaven and found that it was not for her. She had no future -except to return to the hideous existence of the Hollywood bungalow and -her lonely boarding house, and to the hated Crumb. - -It was then that Eva Pennington called her. - -“I am going to walk up to the Berkshires,” she said. “Come along with -me!” - -“The Berkshires!” exclaimed Shannon. “I thought they were in New -England.” - -She was descending the stairs toward Eva, who stood at the foot, -holding open the door that led into the patio. She welcomed the -interruption that had broken in upon her morbid thoughts. The sight of -the winsome figure smiling up at her dispelled them as the light of the -sun sweeps away miasmatic vapors. - -“In New England?” repeated Eva. Her brows puckered, and then suddenly -she broke into a merry laugh. “I meant pigs, not hills!” - -Shannon laughed, too. How many times she had laughed that day--and it -was yet far from noon. Close as was the memory of her mother’s death, -she could laugh here with no consciousness of irreverence--rather, -perhaps, with the conviction that she was best serving the ideals that -had been dear to that mother by giving and accepting happiness when -opportunity offered it. - -“I’m only sorry it’s not the hills,” she said; “for that would mean -walking, walking, walking--doing something in the open, away from -people who live in cities and who can find no pleasures outside four -walls.” - -Shannon’s manner was tense, her voice had suddenly become serious. The -younger girl looked up at her with an expression of mild surprise. - -“My gracious!” cried Eva. “You’re getting almost as bad as popsy, and -you’ve been here only half a week; but how radiant, if you really love -it!” - -“I do love it, dear, though I didn’t mean to be quite so tragic; but -the thought that I shall have to go away and can never enjoy it again -_is_ tragic.” - -“I hope you won’t have to go,” said Eva simply, slipping an arm about -the other’s waist. “We all hope that you won’t have to.” - -They walked down the hill, past the saddle horse barn, and along the -graveled road that led to the upper end of the ranch. The summer sun -beat hotly upon them, making each old sycamore and oak and walnut a -delightful oasis of refreshing shade. In a field at their left two -mowers were clicking merrily through lush alfalfa. At their right, -beyond the pasture fence, gentle Guernseys lay in the shade of a -wide-spreading sycamore, a part of the pastoral allegory of content -that was the Rancho del Ganado; and over all were the blue California -sky and the glorious sun. - -“Isn’t it wonderful?” breathed Shannon, half to herself. “It makes one -feel that there cannot be a care or sorrow in all the world!” - -They soon reached the pens and houses where sleek, black Berkshires -dozed in every shaded spot. Then they wandered farther up the cañon, -into the pasture where the great brood sows sprawled beneath the -sycamores, or wallowed in a concrete pool shaded by overhanging boughs. -Eva stooped now and then to stroke a long, deep side. - -“How clean they are!” exclaimed Shannon. “I thought pigs were dirty.” - -“They are when they are kept in dirty places--the same as people.” - -“They don’t smell badly; even the pens didn’t smell of pig. All I -noticed was a heavy, sweet odor. What was it--something they feed them?” - -Eva laughed. - -“It was the pigs themselves. The more you know pigs, the better you -love ’em. They’re radiant creatures!” - -“You dear! You love everything, don’t you?” - -“Pretty nearly everything, except prunes and washing dishes.” - -They swung up then through the orange grove, and along the upper road -back toward the house. It was noon and lunch time when they arrived. -Shannon was hot and tired and dusty and delighted as she opened the -door at the foot of the stairs that led up to her rooms above. - -There she paused. The old, gripping desire had seized her. She had not -once felt it since she had passed through that door more than two hours -before. For a moment she hesitated, and then, fearfully, she turned -toward Eva. - -“May I clean up in your room?” she asked. - -There was a strange note of appeal in Shannon’s voice that the other -girl did not understand. - -“Why, certainly,” she said; “but is there anything the matter? You are -not ill?” - -“Just a little tired.” - -“There! I should never have walked you so far. I’m so sorry!” - -“I want to be tired. I want to do it again this afternoon--all -afternoon. I don’t want to stop until I am ready to drop!” Then, seeing -the surprise in Eva’s expression, she added: “You see, I shall be here -such a short time that I want to crowd every single moment full of -pleasant memories.” - -Shannon thought that she had never eaten so much before as she had that -morning at breakfast; but at luncheon she more than duplicated her -past performance. There was cold chicken--delicious Rhode Island Reds -raised on the ranch; there was a salad of home-grown tomatoes--firm, -deep red beauties--and lettuce from the garden; Hannah’s bread, with -butter fresh from the churn, and tall, cool pitchers filled with rich -Guernsey milk; and then a piece of Hannah’s famous apple pie, with -cream so thick that it would scarce pour. - -“My!” Shannon exclaimed at last. “I have seen the pigs and I have -become one.” - -“And I see something, dear,” said Mrs. Pennington, smiling. - -“What?” - -“Some color in your cheeks.” - -“Not _really_?” she cried, delighted. - -“Yes, really.” - -“And it’s mighty becoming,” offered the colonel. “Nothing like a brown -skin and rosy cheeks for beauty. That’s the way God meant girls to -be, or He wouldn’t have given ’em delicate skins and hung the sun up -there to beautify ’em. Here He’s gone to a lot of trouble to fit up -the whole world as a beauty parlor, and what do women do? They go and -find some stuffy little shop poked away where the sun never reaches -it, and pay some other woman, who knows nothing about art, to paint a -mean imitation of a complexion on their poor skins. They wouldn’t think -of hanging a chromo in their living rooms; but they wear one on their -faces, when the greatest Artist of them all is ready and willing to -paint a masterpiece there for nothing!” - -“What a dapper little thought!” exclaimed Eva. “Popsy should have been -a poet.” - -“Or an ad writer for a cosmetic manufacturer,” suggested Custer. “Oh, -by the way, not changing the subject or anything, but did you hear -about Slick Allen?” - -No, they had not. Shannon pricked up her ears, metaphorically. What did -these people know of Slick Allen? - -“He’s just been sent up in L. A. for having narcotics in his -possession. Got a year in the county jail.” - -“I guess he was a bad one,” commented the colonel; “but he never struck -me as being a drug addict.” - -“Nor me; but I guess you can’t always tell them,” said Custer. - -“It must be a terrible habit,” said Mrs. Pennington. - -“It’s about as low as any one can sink,” said Custer. - -“I hear that there’s been a great increase in it since prohibition,” -remarked the colonel. “Personally, I’d have more respect for a whisky -drunkard than for a drug addict; or perhaps I should better say that -I’d feel less disrespect. A police official told me not long ago, at -a dinner in town, that if drug-taking continues to increase as it has -recently, it will constitute a national menace by comparison with which -the whisky evil will seem paltry.” - -Shannon Burke was glad when they rose from the table, putting an end to -the conversation. She had plumbed the uttermost depths of humiliation. -She had felt herself go hot and cold in shame and fear. At first her -one thought had been to get away--to find some excuse for leaving the -Penningtons at once. If they knew the truth, what would they think -of her? Not because of her habit alone, but because she had imposed -upon their hospitality in the guise of decency, knowing that she was -unclean, and practicing her horrid vice beneath their very roof; -associating with their daughter and bringing them all in contact with -her moral leprosy. - -She was hastening to her room to pack. She knew there was an evening -train for the city, and while she packed she could be framing some -plausible excuse for leaving thus abruptly. - -Custer Pennington called to her. - -“Miss Burke!” - -She turned, her hand upon the knob of the door to the upstairs suite. - -“I’m going to ride over the back ranch this afternoon. Eva showed you -the Berkshires this morning; now I want to show you the Herefords. I -told the stableman to saddle Baldy for you. Will half an hour be too -soon?” - -He was standing in the north arcade of the patio, a few yards from her, -waiting for her reply. How fine and straight and clean he was! If fate -had been less unkind, she might have been worthy of the friendship of -such a man as he. - -Worthy? Was she unworthy, then? She had been just as fine and clean as -Custer Pennington until a beast had tricked her into shame. She had not -knowingly embraced a vice. It had already claimed her before she knew -it for what it was. Must she then forego all hope of happiness because -of a wrong of which she herself was innocent? - -She wanted to go with Custer. Another day would make no difference, -for the Penningtons would never know. How could they? By what chance -might they ever connect Shannon Burke with Gaza de Lure? She well knew -that her screen days were over, and there was no slightest likelihood -that any of these people would be introduced into the bungalow on the -Vista del Paso. Who could begrudge her just this little afternoon of -happiness before she went back to Crumb? - -“Don’t tell me you don’t want to come,” cried Custer. “I won’t take no -for an answer!” - -“Oh, but I do want to come--ever so much! I’ll be down in just a -minute. Why wait half an hour?” - -She was in her room no more than five minutes, and during that time she -sought bravely to efface all thought of the little black case; but with -diabolic pertinacity it constantly obtruded itself, and with it came -the gnawing hunger of nerves starving for a narcotic. - -“I won’t!” she cried, stamping her foot. “I won’t! I won’t!” - -If only she could get away from the room before she succumbed to the -mounting temptation, she was sure that she could fight it off for the -rest of the afternoon. She had gained that much, at least; but she must -keep occupied, constantly occupied, where she could not have access to -it or see the black case in which she kept the morphine. - -She triumphed by running away from it. She almost hurled herself down -the stairs and into the patio. Custer Pennington was not there. She -must find him before the craving dragged her back to the rooms above. -Already she could feel her will weakening. It was the old, old story -that she knew so well. - -“What’s the use?” the voice of the tempter asked. “Just a little one! -It will make you feel so much better. What’s the use?” - -She turned toward the door again; she had her hand upon the knob, and -then she swung back and called him. - -“Mr. Pennington!” - -If he did not hear, she knew that she would go up into her rooms -defeated. - -“Coming!” he answered from beyond the arched entrance of the patio, and -then he stepped into view. - -She almost ran to him. - -“Was I very long?” she asked. “Did I keep you waiting?” - -“Why, you’ve scarcely been gone any time at all,” he replied. - -“Let’s hurry,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t want to miss any of it!” - -He wondered why she should be so much excited at the prospect of a ride -into the hills, but it pleased him that she was, and it flattered him a -little, too. He began to be a little enthusiastic over the trip, which -he had planned only as part of the generous policy of the family to -keep Shannon occupied, so that she might not brood too sorrowfully over -her loss. - -And Shannon was pleased because of her victory. She was too honest at -heart to attempt to deceive herself into thinking that it was any great -triumph; but even to have been strong enough to have run away from the -enemy was something. She did not hope that it augured any permanent -victory for the future, for she did not believe that such a thing was -possible. She knew that scarce three in a hundred slaves of morphine -definitely cast off their bonds this side of the grave, and she had -gone too far to be one of the three. If she could keep going forever as -she had that day, she might do it; but that, of course, was impossible. -There must be hours when she would be alone with nothing to do but -think, think, think, and what would she think about? Always the same -things--the little white powder and the peace and rest that it would -give her. - -Custer watched her as she mounted, holding Baldy beside the block for -her, and again he was pleased to note that she did not neglect a single -detail of the instructions he had given her. - -“Some girl, this!” the young man soliloquized mentally. - -He knew she must be at least a little lame and sore after the morning -ride, but though he watched her face he saw no sign of it registered -there. - -“Game!” - -He was going to like her. Stirrup to stirrup, they rode slowly up -the lane toward the cañon road. Her form was perfect. She seemed to -recall everything his father had told her, and she sat easily, with no -stiffness. - -“Don’t you want to ride faster?” she asked. “You needn’t poke along on -my account.” - -“It’s too hot,” he replied; but the real reason was that he knew she -was probably suffering, even at a walk. - -For a long time they rode in silence, the girl taking in every beauty -of meadow, ravine, and hill, that she might store them all away for -the days when they would be only memories. The sun beat down upon them -fiercely, for it was an early August day, and there was no relieving -breeze; but she enjoyed it. It was all so different from any day in -her past, and so much happier than anything in the last two years, or -anything she could expect in the future. - -Custer Pennington, never a talkative man, was always glad of a -companionship that could endure long silences. Grace had been like -that with him. They could be together for hours with scarce a dozen -words exchanged; and yet both could talk well when they had anything -to say. It was the knowledge that conversation was not essential to -perfect understanding and comradeship that had rendered their intimacy -delightful. - -The riders had entered the hills and were winding up Jackknife Cañon -before either spoke. - -“If you tire,” he said, “or if it gets too hot, we’ll turn back. Please -don’t hesitate to tell me.” - -“It’s heavenly!” she said. - -“Possibly a few degrees too hot for heaven,” he suggested; “but it’s -always cool under the live oaks. Any time you want to rest we’ll stop -for a bit.” - -“Which are the live oaks?” she asked. - -He pointed to one. - -“Why are they called _live_ oaks?” - -“They’re evergreen--I suppose that’s the reason. Here’s a big old -fellow--shall we stop?” - -“And get off?” - -“If you wish.” - -“Do you think I could get on again?” - -Pennington laughed. - -“I’ll get you up all right. Still feel a little lame?” - -“Who said I was lame?” she demanded. - -“I know you must be, but you’re mighty game!” - -“I was when I started, but not any more. I seem to have limbered up. -Let’s try it. I want to see if I can get on from the ground, as Eva -does. What are you smiling at? That’s the second time in the last few -seconds.” - -“Was I smiling? I didn’t know it. I didn’t mean to.” - -“What did I do?” - -“You didn’t do anything--it was something you said. You won’t mind, -will you, as long as you are learning to ride a horse, if I teach you -the correct terminology at the same time?” - -“Why, of course not! What did I say? Was it very awful?” - -“Oh, no; but it always amuses me when I hear it. It’s about getting on -and off. You get on or off a street car, but you mount or dismount if -you’re riding a horse.” - -“But I don’t!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Falling on and off would suit -my method better.” - -“No, you mount very nicely. Now watch, and I’ll show you how to -dismount. Put your left hand on the horn; throw your right leg over -the cantle, immediately grasping the cantle with the right hand; stand -erect in the left stirrup, legs straight and heels together--you see, -I’m facing right across the horse. Now support the weight of the body -with your arms, like this; remove the left foot from the stirrup and -drop to the ground, alighting evenly on both feet. That’s the correct -form and a good plan to follow while you’re learning to ride. Afterward -one gets to swing off almost any old way.” - -“I thought one always _dismounted_,” she suggested, “from a horse!” - -Her eyes twinkled. He laughed. - -“I’ll have to be careful, won’t I? You scored that time!” - -“Now watch me,” she said. - -“Splendid!” he exclaimed, as she dropped lightly to the ground. - -They led their horses beneath the spreading tree and sat down with -their backs to the huge bole. - -“How cool it is here!” remarked the girl. “I can feel a breeze, though -I hadn’t noticed one before.” - -“There always is a breeze beneath the oaks. I think they make their -own. I read somewhere that an oak evaporates about one hundred and -eighty gallons of water every day. That ought to make a considerable -change of temperature beneath the tree on a hot day like this, and in -that way it must start a circulation of air about it.” - -“How interesting! How much there is to know in the world, and how -little of it most of us know! A tree is a tree, a flower is a flower, -and the hills are the hills--that much knowledge of them satisfies -nearly all of us. The how and the why of them we never consider; but I -should like to know more. We should know all about things that are so -beautiful--don’t you think so?” - -“Yes,” he said. “In ranching we do learn a lot that city people don’t -need to know--about how things grow, and what some plants take out of -the soil, and what others put into it. It’s part of our business to -know these things, not only that we may judge the food value of certain -crops, but also to keep our soil in condition to grow good crops every -year.” - -He told her how the tree beneath which they sat drew water and various -salts from the soil, and how the leaves extracted carbon dioxide from -the air, taking it in through myriads of minute mouths on the under -sides of the leaves, and how the leaves manufactured starch and the sap -carried it to every growing part of the tree, from deepest root to the -tip of loftiest twig. - -The girl listened, absorbed. As she listened she watched the man’s -face, earnest and intelligent, and mentally she could not but compare -him and his conversation with the men she had known in the city, and -their conversation. They had talked to her as if she was a mental -cipher, incapable of understanding or appreciating anything worth -while--small talk, that subverter of the ancient art of conversation. -In a brief half hour Custer Pennington had taught her things that -would help to make the world a little more interesting and a little -more beautiful; for she could never look upon a tree again as just -a tree--it would be for her a living, breathing, almost a sentient -creature. - -She tried to recall what she had learned from two years’ association -with Wilson Crumb, and the only thing she could think of was that Crumb -had taught her to snuff cocaine. - -After a while they started on again, and the girl surprised the man by -mounting easily from the ground. She was very much pleased with her -achievement, laughing happily at his word of approval. - -They rode on until they found the Herefords. They counted them as they -searched through the large pasture that ran back into the hills; and -when the full number had been accounted for, they turned toward home. -As he had told her about the trees, Custer told her also about the -beautiful white-faced cattle, of their origin in the English county -whose name they bear, and of their unequaled value as beef animals. He -pointed out various prize winners as they passed them. - -“There you are, smiling again,” she said accusingly, as they followed -the trail homeward. “What have I done now?” - -“You haven’t done anything but be very patient all afternoon. I was -smiling at the idea of how thrilling the afternoon must have been for a -city girl, accustomed, I suppose, to a constant round of pleasure and -excitement!” - -“I have never known a happier afternoon,” she said. - -“I wonder if you really mean that?” - -“Honestly!” - -“I am glad,” he said; “for sometimes I get terribly tired of it here, -and I think it always does me good to have an outsider enthuse a -little. It brings me a realization of the things we have here that city -people can’t have, and makes me a little more contented.” - -“You couldn’t be discontented! Why, there are just thousands and -thousands of people in the city who would give everything to change -places with you! We don’t all live in the city because we want to. You -are fortunate that you don’t have to.” - -“Do you think so?” - -“I know it.” - -“But it seems such a narrow life here! I ought to be doing a man’s work -among men, where it will count.” - -“You _are_ doing a man’s work here and living a man’s life, and what -you do here _does_ count. Suppose you were making stoves, or selling -automobiles or bonds, in the city. Would any such work count for more -than all this--the wonderful swine and cattle and horses that you are -raising? Your father has built a great business, and you are helping -him to make it greater. Could you do anything in the city of which you -could be half so proud? No, but in the city you might find a thousand -things to do of which you might be terribly ashamed. If I were a man, -I’d like your chance!” - -“You’re not consistent. You have the same chance, but you tell us that -you are going back to the city. You have your grove here, and a home -and a good living, and yet you want to return to the city you inveigh -against.” - -“I do _not_ want to,” she declared. - -“I hope you don’t, then,” Custer said simply. - -They reached the house in time for a swim before dinner; but after -dinner, when they started for the ballroom to dance, Shannon threw up -her hands in surrender. - -“I give up!” she cried laughingly. “I tried to be game to the finish, -and I want ever so much to come and dance; but I don’t believe I could -even walk as far as the ballroom, much less dance after I got there. -Why, I doubt whether I’ll be able to get upstairs without crawling!” - -“You poor child!” exclaimed Mrs. Pennington. “We’ve nearly killed you, -I know. We are all so used to the long rides and walking and swimming -and dancing that we don’t realize how they tire unaccustomed muscles. -You go right to bed, my dear, and don’t think of getting up for -breakfast.” - -“Oh, but I want to get up and ride, if I may, and if Eva will wake me.” - -“She’s got the real stuff in her,” commented the colonel, after Shannon -had bid them good night and gone to her rooms. - -“I’ll say she has,” agreed Custer. “She’s a peach of a girl!” - -“She’s simply divine,” added Eva. - -In her room, Shannon could barely get into bed before she was asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -It was four o’clock the following morning before she awoke. The craving -awoke with her. It seized her mercilessly; yet even as she gave in to -it, she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had gone without the -little white powders longer this time than since she had first started -to use them. She took but a third of her normal dose. - -When Eva knocked at half past five, Shannon rose and dressed in frantic -haste, that she might escape a return of the desire. She did not escape -it entirely, but she was able to resist it until she was dressed and -out of reach of the little black case. - -That day she went with Custer and Eva and Guy to the country club, -returning only in time for a swim before dinner; and again she fought -off the craving while she was dressing for dinner. After dinner they -danced, and once more she was so physically tired when she reached -her rooms that she could think of nothing but sleep. The day of golf -had kept her fully occupied in the hot sun, and in such good company -her mind had been pleasantly occupied, too, so that she had not been -troubled by her old enemy. - -Again it was early morning before she was forced to fight the -implacable foe. She fought valiantly this time, but she lost. - -And so it went, day after day, as she dragged out her dwindling supply -and prolonged the happy hours of her all too brief respite from the -degradation of the life to which she knew she must soon return. Each -day it was harder to think of going back--of leaving these people, whom -she had come to love as she loved their lives and their surroundings, -and taking her place again in the stifling and degraded atmosphere -of the Vista del Paso bungalow. They were so good to her, and had so -wholly taken her into their family life, that she felt as one of them. -They shared everything with her. There was not a day that she did not -ride with Custer out among the brown hills. She knew that she was going -to miss these rides--that she was going to miss the man, too. He had -treated her as a man would like other men to treat his sister, with a -respect and deference that she had never met with in the City of Angels. - -Three weeks had passed. She had drawn out the week’s supply that Crumb -had doled out to her to this length, and there was even enough for -another week, to such small quantities had she reduced the doses, and -to such lengths had she increased the intervals between them. She had -gone two whole days without it; yet she did not once think that she -could give it up entirely, for when the craving came in full force she -was still powerless to withstand it, and she knew that she would always -be so. - -Without realizing it, she was building up a reserve force of health -that was to be her strongest ally in the battle to come. The sallowness -had left her; her cheeks were tanned and ruddy; her eyes sparkled with -the old fire, and were no longer wild and staring. She could ride and -walk and swim and dance with the best of them. She found interest in -the work of her orchard, where she went almost daily to talk with the -caretaker, to question him and to learn all that she could of citrus -culture. She even learned to drive the light tractor and steer it in -and out about the trees without barking them. - -Every day that she was there she went to the sunny bedroom in the -bungalow--the bedroom that had been her mother’s--and knelt beside the -bed and poured forth her heart in blind faith that her mother heard. -She did not grieve, for she held that sublime faith in the hereafter -which many profess and few possess--the faith which taught her that -her mother was happier than she had ever been before. Her sorrow had -been in her own loss, and this she fought down as selfishness. She -realized that her greatest anguish lay in vain regrets; and such -thoughts she sought to stifle, knowing their uselessness. - -Sometimes she prayed there--prayed for strength to cast off the bonds -of her servitude. Ineffectual prayers she knew them to be, for the only -power that could free her had lain within herself, and that power the -drug had undermined and permanently weakened. Her will had degenerated -to impotent wishes. - -And now the time had come when she must definitely set a date for her -departure. She had determined to retain the orchard, not alone because -she had seen that it would prove profitable, but because it would -always constitute a link between her and the people whom she had come -to love. No matter what the future held, she could always feel that a -part of her remained here, where she would that all of her might be; -but she knew that she must go, and she determined to tell them on the -following day that she would return to the city within the week. - -It was going to be hard to announce her decision, for she was not blind -to the fact that they had grown fond of her, and that her presence -meant much to Eva, who, since Grace’s departure, had greatly missed -the companionship of a girl near her own age. Mrs. Pennington and the -colonel had been a mother and father to her, and Custer a big brother -and a most charming companion. - -She passed that night without recourse to the white powders, for she -must be frugal of them if they were to last through the week. The next -morning she rode with the Penningtons and the Evanses as usual. She -would tell them at breakfast. - -When she came to the table she found a pair of silver spurs beside her -plate, and when she looked about in astonishment they were all smiling. - -“For me?” she cried. - -“From the Penningtons,” said the colonel. “You’ve won ’em, my dear. You -ride like a trooper already.” - -The girl choked, and the tears came to her eyes. - -“You are all so lovely to me!” she said. Walking around the table to -the colonel, she put her arms about his neck, and, standing on tiptoe, -kissed his cheek. “How can I ever thank you?” - -“You don’t have to, child. The spurs are nothing.” - -“They are everything to me. They are a badge of honor that--that--I -don’t deserve!” - -“But you do deserve them. You wouldn’t have got them if you hadn’t. We -might have given you something else--a vanity case or a book, perhaps; -but no one gets spurs from the Penningtons who does not _belong_.” - -After that she simply couldn’t tell them then that she was going -away. She would wait until to-morrow; but she laid her plans without -reference to the hand of fate. - -That afternoon, immediately after luncheon, they were all seated in -the patio, lazily discussing the chief topic of thought--the heat. -It was one of those sultry days that are really unusual in southern -California. The heat was absolutely oppressive, and even beneath the -canvas canopy that shaded the patio there was little relief. - -“I don’t know why we sit here,” said Custer. “It’s cooler in the house. -This is the hottest place on the ranch a day like this!” - -“Wouldn’t it be nice under one of those oaks up the cañon?” suggested -Shannon. - -He looked at her and smiled. - -“Phew! It’s too hot even to think of getting there.” - -“_That_ from a Pennington!” she cried in mock astonishment and reproach. - -“Do you mean to say that you’d ride up there through this heat?” he -demanded. - -“Of course I would. I haven’t christened my new spurs yet.” - -“I’m game, then, if you are,” Custer announced. - -She jumped to her feet. - -“Come on, then! Who else is going?” - -Shannon looked around at them questioningly. Mrs. Pennington shook her -head, smiling. - -“Not I. Before breakfast is enough for me in the summer time.” - -“I have to dictate some letters,” said the colonel. - -“And I suppose little Eva has to stay at home and powder her nose,” -suggested Custer, grinning at his sister. - -“Little Eva is going to drive over to Ganado with Guy Thackeray Evans, -the famous author,” said the girl. “He expects an express package--his -story’s coming back again. Horrid, stupid old editors! They don’t know -a real story when they see one. I’m in it--Guy put me in. You all ought -to read it--oh, it’s simply radiant! I’m _Hortense_--tall and willowy -and very dignified----” Eva made a grimace. - -“Yes, that’s you, unmistakably,” said Custer. “Tall and willowy and -very dignified--Guy’s some hot baby at character delineation!” - -Eva ignored the interruption. - -“I swoon when the villain enters my room and carries me off. Then the -hero--he’s _Bruce Bellinghame_, tall and slender, with curly hair----” - -“Is he very dignified, too?” - -“And then the hero pursues and rescues me just as the villain is going -to hurl me off a cliff--oh, it’s gorgeristic!” - -“It must be,” commented Custer. - -“You’re horrid,” said Eva. “You ought to have been an editor.” - -“Tall and slender, with curly hair,” gibed Custer. “Or was it tall and -curly, with slender hair? Come on, Shannon! I see where we are the only -real sports in the family.” - -“Hot sports is what you’re going to be!” Eva called after them. - -“The only real sports in the family--in the family!” The words thrilled -her. They had taken her in--they had made her a part of their life. It -was wonderful. Oh, God, if it could only last forever! - -It was very hot. The dust rose from the shuffling feet of their horses. -Even the Apache shuffled to-day. His head was low, and he did not -dance. The dust settled on sweating neck and flank, and filled the eyes -of the riders. - -“Lovely day for a ride,” commented Custer. - -“But think how nice it will be under the oak,” she reminded him. - -“I’m trying to.” - -Suddenly he raised his head as his wandering eyes sighted a slender -column of smoke rising from behind the ridge beyond Jackknife Cañon. He -reined in the Apache. - -“Fire!” he said to the girl. “Wait here. I’ll notify the boys, and -then we’ll ride on ahead and have a look at it. It may not amount to -anything.” - -He wheeled about and was off at a run--the heat and the dust forgotten. -She watched him go, erect in the saddle, swinging easily with every -motion of his mount--a part of the horse. In less than five minutes he -was back. - -“Come on!” he cried. - -She swung Baldy in beside the Apache, and they were off. The loose -stones clattered from the iron hoofs, the dust rose far behind them -now, and they had forgotten the heat. A short cut crossed a narrow wash -that meant a jump. - -“Grab the horn!” he cried to her. “Give him his head!” - -They went over almost stirrup to stirrup, and he smiled broadly, for -she had not grabbed the horn. She had taken the jump like a veteran. - -She thrilled with the excitement of the pace. The horses flattened -out--their backs seemed to vibrate in a constant plane--it was like -flying. The hot wind blew in her face and choked her; but she laughed -and wanted to shout aloud and swing a hat. - -More slowly they climbed the side of Jackknife, and just beyond the -ridge they saw the flames leaping in a narrow ravine below them. -Fortunately there was no wind--no more than what the fire itself was -making; but it was burning fiercely in thick brush. - -“There isn’t a thing to do,” he told her, “till the boys come with the -teams and plows and shovels. It’s in a mean place--too steep to plow, -and heavy brush; but we’ve got to stop it!” - -Presently the “boys”--a wagon full of them--came with four horses, two -walking plows, shovels, a barrel of water, and burlap sacks. They were -of all ages, from eighteen to seventy. Some of them had been twenty -years on the ranch, and had fought many a fire. They did not have to be -told what to bring or what to do with what they brought. - -The wagon had to be left in Jackknife Cañon. The horses dragged the -plows to the ridge, and the men carried the shovels and wet burlaps -and buckets of water from the barrel. Custer dismounted and turned the -Apache over to an old man to hold. - -“Plow down the east side of the ravine. Try to get all the way around -the south side of the fire and then back again,” he directed the two -men with one of the teams. “I’ll take the other, with Jake, and we’ll -try to cut her off across the top here!” - -“You can’t do it, Cus,” said one of the older men. “It’s too steep.” - -“We’ve got to try it,” said Pennington. “Otherwise we’d have to go back -so far that it would get away from us on the east side before we made -the circle. Jake, you choke the plow handles--I’ll drive!” - -Jake was a short, stocky, red-headed boy of twenty, with shoulders like -a bull. He grinned good-naturedly. - -“I’ll choke the tar out of ’em!” he said. - -“The rest of you shovel and beat like hell!” ordered Custer. - -Shannon watched him as he took the reins and started the team forward, -slowly, quietly. There was no yelling. They were horsemen, these men -of Ganado. The great Percherons moved ponderously forward. The plow -point bit deep into the earth, but the huge beasts walked on as if -dragging an empty wagon. - -When the girl saw where Custer was guiding them she held her breath. -No, she must be mistaken! He would turn them up toward the ridge. -He could not be thinking of trying to drive them across the steep, -shelving side of the ravine! - -But he was. They slipped and caught themselves. Directly below them the -burning brush had become a fiery furnace. If ever they failed to catch -themselves, nothing could save them from that hell of heat. - -Jake, clinging to the plow handles, stumbled and slid, but the plow -steadied him, and the furrow saved his footing a dozen times in as many -yards. Custer, driving, walked just below the plow. How he kept the -team going was a miracle to the girl. - -The steep sides of the ravine seemed almost perpendicular in places, -with footing fit only for a goat. How those heavy horses clung there -was beyond her. Only implicit confidence in these men of Ganado, who -had handled them from the time they were foaled, and great courage, -could account for it. - -What splendid animals they were! The crackling of burning brush, the -roaring of the flames, the almost unbearable heat that swept up to -them from below, must have been terrifying; and yet only by occasional -nervous side glances and uppricked ears did they acknowledge their -instinctive fear of fire. - -At first it had seemed to Shannon a mad thing to attempt, but as she -watched and realized what Custer sought to accomplish, she understood -the wisdom of it. If he could check the flames here with a couple of -furrows, he might gain time to stop its eastward progress to the broad -pastures filled with the tinder-dry grasses and brush of late August. - -Already some of the men were working with shovels, just above the -furrow that the plow was running, clearing away the brush and throwing -it back. Shannon watched these men, and there was not a shirker among -them. They worked between the fierce heat of the sun and the fierce -heat of the fire, each one of them as if he owned the ranch. It was -fine proof of loyalty; and she saw an indication of the reason for it -in Custer’s act when he turned the Apache over to the oldest man, in -order that the veteran might not be called upon to do work beyond his -strength, while young Pennington himself undertook a dangerous and -difficult part in the battle. - -The sight thrilled her; and beside this picture she saw Wilson Crumb -directing a Western scene, sending mounted men over a steep cliff, -while he sat in safety beside the camera man, hurling taunts and -insults at the poor devils who risked their lives for five dollars a -day. He had killed one horse that time and sent two men to hospital, -badly injured--and the next day he had bragged about it! - -Now they were across the ravine and moving along the east side on safer -footing. Shannon realized the tension that had been upon her nerves -when reaction followed the lessening of the strain--she felt limp and -fagged. - -The smoke hid them from her occasionally, as it rose in cloudlike -puffs. Then there would be a break in it, and she would see the black -coats of the Percherons and the figures of the sweating men. They -rounded well down the east side of the ravine and then turned back -again; for the other team, with easier going, would soon be up on that -side to join its furrow with theirs. They were running the second -furrow just above the first, and this time the work seemed safer, for -the horses had the first furrow below them should they slip--a ridge of -loose earth that would give them footing. - -They were more than halfway back when it happened. The off horse must -have stepped upon a loose stone, so suddenly did he lurch to the left, -striking the shoulder of his mate just as the latter had planted his -left forefoot. The ton of weight hurled against the shoulder of the -near horse threw him downward against the furrow. He tried to catch -himself on his right foot, crossed his forelegs, stumbled over the -ridge of newly turned earth, and rolled down the hill, dragging his -mate and the plow after him toward the burning brush below. - -Jake at the plow handles and Custer on the lines tried to check the -horses’ fall, but both were jerked from their hands, and the two -Percherons rolled over and over into the burning brush. A groan of -dismay went up from the men. It was with difficulty that Shannon -stifled a scream; and then her heart stood still as she saw Custer -Pennington leap deliberately down the hillside, drawing the long, heavy -trail-cutting knife that he always wore on the belt with his gun. - -The horses were struggling and floundering to gain their feet. One of -them was screaming with pain. The girl wanted to cover her eyes with -her palms to shut out the heart-rending sight, but she could not take -them from the figure of the man. - -She saw that the upper horse was so entangled with the harness and the -plow that he could not rise, and that he was holding the other down. -Then she saw the man leap into the midst of the struggling, terrified -mass of horseflesh, seeking to cut the beasts loose from the tangled -traces and the plow. It seemed impossible that he could escape the -flying hoofs or the tongued flames that licked upward as if in hungry -greed to seize this new prey. - -As Shannon watched, a great light awoke within her, suddenly revealing -the unsuspected existence of a wondrous thing that had come into her -life--a thing which a moment later dragged her from her saddle and sent -her stumbling down the hill into the burning ravine, to the side of -Custer Pennington. - -He had cut one horse free, seized its headstall, dragged it to its -feet, and then started it scrambling up the hill. As he was returning -to the other, the animal struggled up, crazed with terror and pain, -and bolted after its mate. Pennington was directly in its path on the -steep hillside. He tried to leap aside, but the horse struck him with -its shoulder, hurling him to the ground, and before he could stop his -fall he was at the edge of the burning brush, stunned and helpless. - -Every man of them who saw the accident leaped down the hillside to save -him from the flames; but quick as they were, Shannon Burke was first to -his side, vainly endeavoring to drag him to safety. An instant later -strong hands seized both Custer and Shannon and helped them up the -steep acclivity, for Pennington had already regained consciousness, and -it was not necessary to carry him. - -Custer was badly burned, but his first thought was for the girl, and -his next, when he found she was uninjured, for the horses. They had -run for only a short distance and were standing on the ridge above -Jackknife, where one of the men had caught them. One was burned about -the neck and shoulder; the other had a bad cut above the hock, where he -had struck the plow point in his struggles. - -“Take them in and take care of those wounds, Jake,” said Pennington, -after examining them. “You go along,” he told another of the men, “and -bring out Dick and Dave. I don’t like to risk them in this work, but -none of the colts are steady enough for this.” - -Then he turned to Shannon. - -“Why did you go down into that?” he asked. “You shouldn’t have done -it--with all the men here.” - -“I couldn’t help it,” she said. “I thought you were going to be killed.” - -Custer looked at her searchingly for a moment. - -“It was a very brave thing to do,” he said, “and a very foolish thing. -You might have been badly burned.” - -“Never mind that,” she said. “_You_ have been badly burned, and you -must go to the house at once. Do you think you can ride?” - -He laughed. - -“I’m all right,” he said. “I’ve got to stay here and fight this fire.” - -“You are not going to do anything of the kind.” She turned and called -to the man who held Pennington’s horse. “Please bring the Apache over -here,” she said. “These men can fight the fire without you,” she told -Custer. “You are going right back with me. You’ve never seen any one -badly burned, or you’d know how necessary it is to take care of your -burns at once.” - -He was not accustomed to being ordered about, and it amused him. Grace -would never have thought of questioning his judgment in this or any -other matter; but this girl’s attitude implied that she considered his -judgment faulty and his decisions of no consequence. She evidently had -the courage of her convictions, for she caught up her own horse and -rode over to the men, who had resumed their work, to tell them that -Custer was too badly burned to remain with them. - -“I told him that he must go back to the house and have his burns -dressed; but he doesn’t want to. Maybe he would pay more attention to -you, if you told him.” - -“Sure, we’ll tell him,” cried one of them. “Here comes Colonel -Pennington now. He’ll make him go, if it’s necessary.” - -Colonel Pennington reined in a dripping horse beside his son, and -Shannon rode over to them. Custer was telling him about the accident to -the team. - -“Burned, was he?” exclaimed the colonel. “Why damn it, man, _you’re_ -burned!” - -“It’s nothing,” replied the younger man. - -“It _is_ something, colonel,” cried Shannon. “Please make him go back -to the house. He won’t pay any attention to me, and he ought to be -cared for right away. He should have a doctor just as quickly as we can -get one.” - -“Can you ride?” snapped the colonel at Custer. - -“Of course I can ride!” - -“Then get out of here and take care of yourself. Will you go with him, -Shannon? Have them call Dr. Baldwin.” - -His rough manner did not conceal the father’s concern, or his deep love -for his boy. That he could be as gentle as a woman was evidenced, when -he dismounted, in the way that he helped Custer to his saddle. - -“Take care of him, my dear,” he said to Shannon. “I’ll stay here and -help the boys. Ask Mrs. Pennington to send the car out with some iced -water or lemonade for them. Take care of yourself, boy!” he called -after them as they rode away. - -As the horses moved slowly along the dusty trail, Shannon, riding a -pace behind the man, watched his profile for signs of pain, that she -knew he must be suffering. Once, when he winced, she almost gave a -little cry, as if it had been she who was tortured. They were riding -very close, and she laid her hand gently upon his right arm, in -sympathy. - -“I am so sorry!” she said. “I know it must pain you terribly.” - -He turned to her with a smile on his face, now white and drawn. - -“It does hurt a little now,” he said. - -“And you did it to save those two dumb brutes. I think it was -magnificent, Custer!” - -He looked at her in mild surprise. - -“What was there magnificent about it? It was my duty. My father has -always taught me that the ownership of animals entails certain moral -obligations which no honorable man can ignore--that it isn’t sufficient -merely to own them, and feed them, and house them; but to serve and -protect them, even if it entailed sacrifices to do so.” - -“I don’t believe he meant that you should give your life for them,” she -said. - -“No, of course not; but I am not giving my life.” - -“You might have.” - -“I really didn’t think there would be any danger to me,” he said. -“I guess I didn’t think anything about it. I saw those two beautiful -animals, who had been working there for me so bravely, helpless at the -edge of that fire, and I couldn’t have helped doing what I did under -any circumstances. You don’t know, Shannon, how we Penningtons love our -horses. It’s been bred in the bone for generations. Perhaps it’s silly; -but we don’t think so.” - -“Neither do I. It’s fine.” - -By the time they reached the house she could see that the man was -suffering excruciating pain. The stableman had gone to help the fire -fighters, as had every able-bodied man on the ranch, so that she had to -help Custer from the Apache. After tying the two horses at the stable, -she put an arm about him and assisted him up the long flight of steps -to the house. There Mrs. Pennington and Hannah came at her call and -took him to his room, while she ran to the office to telephone for the -doctor. - -When she returned, they had Custer undressed and in bed, and were -giving such first aid as they could. She stood in the doorway for a -moment, watching him, as he fought to hide the agony he was enduring. -He rolled his head slowly from side to side, as his mother and Hannah -worked over him; but he stifled even a faint moan, though Shannon knew -that his tortured body must be goading him to screams. He opened his -eyes and saw her, and tried to smile. - -Mrs. Pennington turned then and discovered her. - -“Please let me do something, Mrs. Pennington, if there is anything I -can do.” - -“I guess we can’t do much until the doctor comes. If we only had -something to quiet the pain until then!” - -If they only had something to quiet the pain. The horror of it! She had -something that would quiet the pain; but at what a frightful cost to -herself must she divulge it! They would know, then, the sordid story -of her vice. There could be no other explanation of her having such an -outfit in her possession. How they would loathe her! To see disgust -in the eyes of these friends, whose good opinion was her one cherished -longing, seemed a punishment too great to bear. - -And then there was the realization of that new force that had entered -her life with the knowledge that she loved Custer Pennington. It was a -hopeless love, she knew; but she might at least have had the happiness -of knowing that he respected her. Was she to be spared nothing? Was her -sin to deprive her of even the respect of the man whom she loved? - -She saw him lying there, and saw the muscles of his jaws tensing as -he battled to conceal his pain; and then she turned and ran up the -stairway to her rooms. She did not hesitate again, but went directly to -her bag, unlocked it, and took out the little black case. Carefully she -dissolved a little of the white powder--a fraction of what she could -have taken without danger of serious results, but enough to allay his -suffering until the doctor came. She knew that this was the end--that -she might not remain under that roof another night. - -She drew the liquid through the needle into the glass barrel of the -syringe, wrapped it in her handkerchief, and descended the stairs. She -felt as if she moved in a dream. She felt that she was not Shannon -Burke at all, but another whom Shannon Burke watched with pitying eyes; -for it did not seem possible that she could enter that room and before -his eyes and Mrs. Pennington’s and Hannah’s reveal the thing that she -carried in her handkerchief. - -Ah, the pity of it! To realize her first love, and in the same hour to -slay the respect of its object with her own hand! Yet she entered the -room with a brave step, fearlessly. Had he not risked his life for the -two dumb brutes he loved? Could she be less courageous? Perhaps though, -she was braver, for she was knowingly surrendering what was dearer to -her than life. - -Mrs. Pennington turned toward her as she entered. - -“He has fainted,” she said. “My poor boy!” - -Tears stood in his mother’s eyes. - -“He is not suffering, then?” asked Shannon, trembling. - -“Not now. For his sake, I hope he won’t recover consciousness until -after the doctor comes.” - -Shannon Burke staggered and would have fallen had she not grasped the -frame of the door. - -It was not long before the doctor came, and then she went back up the -stairs to her rooms, still trembling. She took the filled hypodermic -syringe from her handkerchief and looked at it. Then she carried it -into the bathroom. - -“You can never tempt me again,” she said aloud, as she emptied its -contents into the lavatory. “Oh, dear God, I love him!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -That night Shannon insisted upon taking her turn at Custer’s bedside, -and she was so determined that they could not refuse her. He was still -suffering, but not so acutely. The doctor had left morphine, with -explicit directions for its administration should it be required. The -burns, while numerous, and reaching from his left ankle to his cheek, -were superficial, and, though painful, not necessarily dangerous. - -He slept but little, and when he was awake he wanted to talk. He told -her about Grace. It was his first confidence--a sweetly sad one--for he -was a reticent man concerning those things that were nearest his heart -and consequently the most sacred to him. He had not heard from Grace -for some time, and her mother had had but one letter--a letter that had -not sounded like Grace at all. They were anxious about her. - -“I wish she would come home!” he said wistfully. “You would like her, -Shannon. We could have such bully times together! I think I would -be content here if Grace were back; but without her it seems very -different, and very lonely. You know we have always been together, all -of us, since we were children--Grace, Eva, Guy, and I; and now that you -are here it would be all the better, for you are just like us. You seem -like us, at least--as if you had always lived here, too.” - -“It’s nice to have you say that; but I haven’t always been here, and, -really, you know I don’t _belong_.” - -“But you do belong!” - -“And I’m going away again pretty soon. I must go back to the city.” - -“Please don’t go back,” he begged. “You don’t really have to, do you?” - -“I had intended telling you all this morning; but after the spurs, I -couldn’t.” - -“Do you _really_ have to go?” Custer insisted. - -“I don’t have to, but I think I ought to. Do you want me to -stay--honestly?” - -“Honest Injun!” he said, smiling. - -“Maybe I will.” - -He reached over with his right hand and took hers. - -“Oh, will you?” he exclaimed. “You don’t know how much we want you--all -of us.” - -It was precisely what he might have done or said to Eva in boyish -affection and comradeship. - -“I’m going to stay,” she announced. “I’ve made up my mind. As soon as -you are well I’m going to move down to my own place and really learn to -work it. I’d love it!” - -“And I’ll come down and help you with what little I know about oranges. -Father will, too. We don’t know much--citrus growing is a little out of -our line, though we have a small orchard here; but we’ll give you the -best we’ve got. And it’ll be fine for Eva--she loves you. She cried the -other day--the last time you mentioned in earnest that you might not -stay.” - -“She’s a dear!” - -“She is all of that,” he said. “We have always had our fights--I -suppose all brothers and sisters do--and we kid one another a lot; but -there never was a sister like Eva. Just let any one else say anything -against me! They’d have a fight on their hands right there, if Eva was -around. And sunshine! The old place seems like a morgue every time she -goes away.” - -“She worships you, Custer.” - -“She’s a brick!” - -He could have voiced no higher praise. - -He asked about the fire, and especially about the horses. He was -delighted when she told him that a man had just come down to say that -the fire was practically out, and the colonel was coming in shortly; -and that the veterinary had been there and found the team not seriously -injured. - -“I think that fire was incendiary,” he said; “but now that Slick Allen -is in jail, I don’t know who would set it.” - -“Who is Slick Allen,” she asked, “and why should he want to set fire to -Ganado?” - -He told her, and she was silent for a while, thinking about Allen and -the last time she had seen him. She wondered what he would do when he -got out of jail. She would hate to be in Wilson Crumb’s boots then, for -she guessed that Allen was a hard character. - -While she was thinking of Allen, Custer mentioned Guy Evans. Instantly -there came to her mind, for the first time since that last evening at -the Vista del Paso bungalow, Crumb’s conversation with Allen and the -latter’s account of the disposition of the stolen whisky. His very -words returned to her. - -“Got a young high-blood at the edge of the valley handling it--a fellow -by the name of Evans.” - -She had not connected Allen or that conversation or the Evans he had -mentioned with these people; but now she knew that it was Guy Evans -who was disposing of the stolen liquor. She wondered if Allen would -return to this part of the country after he was released from jail. If -he did, and saw her, he would be sure to recognize her, for he must -have had her features impressed upon his memory by the fact that she so -resembled some one he had known. - -If he recognized her, would be expose her? She did not doubt but that -he would. The chances were that he would attempt to blackmail her; but, -worst of all, he might tell Crumb where she was. That was the thing -she dreaded most--seeing Wilson Crumb again, or having him discover -her whereabouts; for she knew that he would leave no stone unturned, -and hesitate to stoop to no dishonorable act, to get her back again. -She shuddered when she thought of him--a man whose love, even, was a -dishonorable and dishonoring thing. - -Then she turned her eyes to the face of the man lying there on the bed -beside which she sat. He would never love her; but her love for him had -already ennobled her. - -If the people of her old life did not discover her hiding place, she -could remain here on her little grove, near Ganada, and see Custer -often--nearly every day. He would not guess her love--no one would -guess it; but she should be happy just to be near him. Even if Grace -returned, it would make no difference--even if Grace and Custer were -married. Shannon knew that he was not for her--no honorable man was -for her, after what she had been--but there was no moral law to be -transgressed by her secret love for him. - -She felt no jealousy for Grace. He belonged to Grace, and even had she -thought she might win him she would not have attempted it, for she had -always held in contempt those who infringed selfishly upon settled -affections. It would be hard for her, of course, when Grace returned; -but she was determined to like her, even to love her. She would be -untrue to this new love that had transfigured her should she fail to -love what _he_ loved. - -Custer moved restlessly. Again he was giving evidence of suffering. She -laid a cool palm upon his forehead, and stroked it. He opened his eyes -and smiled up at her. - -“It’s bully of you to sit with me,” he said; “but you ought to be in -bed. You’ve had a pretty hard day, and you’re not as used to it as we -are.” - -“I am not tired,” she said, “and I should like to stay--if you would -like to have me.” - -He took her hand from his forehead and kissed it. - -“Of course I like to have you here, Shannon--you’re just like a sister. -It’s funny, isn’t it, that we should all feel that way about you, when -we’ve only known you a few weeks? It must have been because of the way -you fitted in. You belonged right from the start--you were just like -us.” - -She turned her head away suddenly, casting her eyes upon the floor and -biting her lip to keep back the tears. - -“What’s the matter?” he asked. - -“I am not like you, Custer; but I have tried hard to be.” - -“Why aren’t you like us?” he demanded. - -“I--why, I--couldn’t ride a horse,” she explained lamely. - -“Don’t make me laugh, please; my face is burned,” he pleaded in mock -irony. “Do you think that’s all we know, or think of, or possess--our -horsemanship? We have hearts, and minds, such as they are--and souls, -I hope. It was of these things that I was thinking. I was thinking, -too, that we Penningtons demand a higher standard in women than is -customary nowadays. We are a little old-fashioned, I guess. We want the -blood of our horses and the minds of our women pure. Here is a case -in point--I can tell you, because you don’t know the girl and never -will. She was the daughter of a friend of Cousin William--our New York -cousin. She was spending the winter in Pasadena, and we had her out -here on Cousin William’s account. She was a pippin of a looker, and I -suppose she was all right morally; but she didn’t have a clean mind. I -discovered it about the first time I talked with her alone; and then -Eva asked me a question about something that she couldn’t have known -about at all except through this girl. I didn’t know what to do. She -was a girl, and so I couldn’t talk about her to any one, not even my -father or mother; but I didn’t want her around Eva. I wondered if I was -just a narrow prig, and if, after all, there was nothing that any one -need take exception to in the girl. I got to analyzing the thing, and -I came to the conclusion that I would be ashamed of mother and Eva if -they talked or thought along such lines. Consequently, it wasn’t right -to expose Eva to that influence. That was what I decided, and I don’t -just _think_ I was right--I _know_ I was.” - -“And what did you do?” Shannon asked in a very small voice. - -“I did what under any other circumstances would have been unpardonable. -I went to the girl and asked her to make some excuse that would -terminate her visit. It was a very hard thing to do; but I would do -more than that--I would sacrifice my most cherished friendship--for -Eva.” - -“And the girl--did you tell her why you asked her to go?” - -“I didn’t want to, but she insisted, and I told her.” - -“Did she understand?” - -“She did not.” - -They were silent for some time. - -“Do you think I did wrong?” he asked. - -“No. There is mental virtue as well as physical. It is as much your -duty to protect your sister’s mind as to protect her body.” - -“I knew you’d think as I do about it; but let me tell you it was an -awful jolt to the cherished Pennington hospitality. I hope I never have -to do it again!” - -“I hope you never do.” - -He commenced to show increasing signs of suffering, presently, and then -he asked for morphine. - -“I don’t want to take it unless I have to,” he explained. - -“No,” she said, “do not take it unless you have to.” - -She prepared and administered it, but she felt no desire for it -herself. Then Eva came to relieve her, and she bade them good night -and went up to bed. She awoke about four o’clock in the morning, and -immediately thought of the little black case; but she only smiled, -turned over, and went back to sleep again. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -It was several weeks before Custer could ride again, and in the -meantime Shannon had gone down to her own place to live. She came up -every day on Baldy, who had been loaned to her until Custer should be -able to select a horse for her. She insisted that she would own nothing -but a Morgan, and that she wanted one of the Apache’s brothers. - -“You’ll have to wait, then, until I can break one for you,” Custer told -her. “There are a couple of four-year-olds that are saddle-broke and -bridle-wise in a way; but I wouldn’t want you to ride either of them -until they’ve had the finishing touches. I want to ride them enough to -learn their faults, if they have any. In the meantime you just keep -Baldy down there and use him. How’s ranching? You look as if it agreed -with you. Nobody’d know you for the same girl. You look like an Indian, -and how your cheeks have filled out!” - -The girl smiled happily. - -“I never knew before what it was to live,” she said. “I have never -been sickly; but on the other hand I never _felt_ health before, to -know it was a tangible, enjoyable possession that one experienced and -was conscious of every moment. People fill themselves with medicines, -or drugs, or liquors, to induce temporarily a poor imitation of what -they might enjoy constantly if they only would. A man who thinks that a -drink is the only thing that can make one feel like shouting and waving -one’s hat should throw a leg over one of your Morgans before breakfast -one of these cool September mornings, and give him his head and let him -go. Oh, _boy_!” she cried. “_There’s_ intoxication for you!” - -Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dancing. She was a picture of life -and health and happiness; and Custer’s eyes were sparkling, too. - -“Gee!” he exclaimed. “You’re a regular Pennington!” - -“I wish I were!” the girl thought to herself. “You honor me,” was what -she said aloud. - -Custer laughed. - -“That sounded rotten, didn’t it? But you know what I meant--it’s nice -to have people whom we like like the same things we do. It doesn’t -necessarily mean that we think our likes are the best in the world. I -didn’t mean to be egotistical.” - -Eva had just entered the patio. - -“Listen to him, the radiant child!” she exclaimed. “Do you know, -Shannon, that dear little brother just hates himself!” - -She walked over and perched on his knee and kissed him. - -“Yes,” said Custer, “brother hates himself. He spends hours powdering -his nose. Mother found a lip stick and an eyebrow pencil, or whatever -you call it, in his dressing table recently; and when he goes to L. A. -he has his eyebrows plucked.” - -Eva jumped from his knee and stamped her foot. - -“I _never_ had my eyebrows plucked!” she cried. “They’re naturally this -way.” - -“Why the excitement, little one? Did I say you did have them plucked?” - -“Well, you tried to make Shannon think so. I got the lip stick and -the other things so that if we have any amateur theatricals this -winter I’ll have them. Do you know, I think I’ll go on the stage or -the screen--wouldn’t it be splishous, though?--‘Miss Eva Pennington -is starring in the new and popular success based on the story by Guy -Thackeray Evans, the eminent author!’” - -“Eminent! He isn’t even imminent,” said Custer. - -“Oh, Eva!” cried Shannon, genuine concern in her tone. “Surely you -wouldn’t _think_ of the screen, would you? You’re not serious?” - -“Oh, yes,” said Custer. “She’s serious--serious is her middle name. -To-morrow she will want to be a painter, and day after to-morrow the -world’s most celebrated harpist. Eva is nothing if not serious, while -her tenacity of purpose is absolutely inspiring. Why, once, for one -whole day, she wanted to do the same thing.” - -Eva was laughing with her brother and Shannon. - -“If she were just like every one else, you wouldn’t love your little -sister any more,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. -“Honestly, ever since I met Wilson Crumb, I have thought I should like -to be a movie star.” - -“Wilson Crumb!” exclaimed Shannon. “What do _you_ know of Wilson Crumb?” - -“Oh, I’ve met him,” said Eva airily. “Don’t you envy me?” - -“What do you know about him, Shannon?” asked Custer. “Your tone -indicated that you may have heard something about him that wasn’t -complimentary.” - -“No--I don’t know him. It’s only what I’ve heard. I don’t think you’d -like him.” Shannon almost shuddered at the thought of this dear child -even so much as knowing Wilson Crumb. “Oh, Eva!” she cried impulsively. -“You mustn’t even think of going into pictures. I lived in Los Angeles -long enough to learn that the life is oftentimes a hard one, filled -with disappointment, disillusionment, and regrets--principally regrets.” - -“And Grace is there now,” said Custer in a low voice, a worried look in -his eyes. - -“Can’t you persuade her to return?” - -He shook his head. - -“It wouldn’t be fair,” he said. “She is trying to succeed, and we ought -to encourage her. It is probably hard enough for her at best, without -all of us suggesting antagonism to her ambition by constantly urging -her to abandon it, so we try to keep our letters cheerful.” - -“Have you been to see her since she left? No, I know you haven’t. If I -were you, I’d run down to L. A. It might mean a lot to her, Custer; it -might mean more than you can guess.” - -The girl spoke from a full measure of bitter experience. She realized -what it might have meant to her had there been some man like this to -come to her when she had needed the strong arm of a clean love to drag -her from the verge of the mire. She would have gone away with such a -man--gone back home, and thanked God for the opportunity. If Grace -loved Custer, and was encountering the malign forces that had arisen -from their own corruption to claw at Shannon’s skirts, she would come -back with him. - -On the other hand, should conditions be what they ought to be, and -what they are in some studios, Custer would return with a report that -would lift a load from the hearts of all of them, while it left Grace -encouraged and inspired by the active support of those most dear to -her. What it would mean to Shannon, in either event, the girl did not -consider. Her soul was above jealousy. She was prompted only by a -desire to save another from the anguish she had endured, and to bring -happiness to the man she loved. - -“You really think I ought to go?” Custer asked. “You know she has -insisted that none of us should come. She said she wanted to do it all -on her own, without any help. Grace is not only very ambitious, but -very proud. I’m afraid she might not like it.” - -“I wouldn’t care what she liked,” said Shannon. “Either you or Guy -should run down there and see her. You are the two men most vitally -interested in her. No girl should be left alone long in Hollywood -without some one to whom she can look for the right sort of guidance -and--and--protection.” - -“I believe I’ll do it,” said Custer. “I can’t get away right now; but -I’ll run down there before I go on to Chicago with the show herds for -the International.” - -It was shortly after this that Custer began to ride again, and Shannon -usually rode with him. Unconsciously he had come to depend upon her -companionship more and more. He had been drinking less on account of -it, for it had broken a habit which he had been forming since Grace’s -departure--that of carrying a flask with him on his lonely rides -through the hills. - -As a small boy, it had been Custer’s duty, as well as his pleasure, to -“ride fence.” He had continued the custom long after it might have been -assigned to an employee, not only because it had meant long, pleasant -hours in the saddle with Grace, but also to get first-hand knowledge of -the condition of the pastures and the herds, as well as of the fences. -During his enforced idleness, while recovering from his burns, the duty -had devolved upon Jake. - -On the first day that Custer took up the work again, Jake had called -his attention to a matter that had long been a subject of discussion -and conjecture on the part of the employees. - -“There’s something funny goin’ on back in them hills,” said Jake. “I’ve -seen fresh signs every week of horses and burros comin’ and goin’. -Sometimes they trail through El Camino Largo and again through Corto, -an’ they’ve even been down through the old goat corral once, plumb -through the ranch, an’ out the west gate. But what I can’t tell for sure -is whether they come in an’ go out, or go out an’ come in. Whoever does -it is foxy. Their two trails never cross, an’ they must be made within -a few hours of each other, for I’m not Injun enough to tell which is -freshest--the one comin’ to Ganado or the one goin’ out. An’ then they -muss it up by draggin’ brush, so it’s hard to tell how many they be of -’em. It’s got me.” - -“They head for Jackknife, don’t they?” asked Custer. - -“Sometimes, an’ sometimes they go straight up Sycamore, an’ again they -head in or out of half a dozen different little barrancos comin’ down -from the east; but sooner or later I lose ’em--can’t never follow ’em -no place in particular. Looks like as if they split up.” - -“Maybe it’s only greasers from the valley coming up after firewood at -night.” - -“Mebbe,” said Jake; “but that don’t sound reasonable.” - -“I know it doesn’t; but I can’t figure out what else it can be. I found -a trail up above Jackknife last spring, and maybe that had something to -do with it. I’ve sure got to follow that up. The trouble has been that -it doesn’t lead where the stock ever goes, and I haven’t had time to -look into it. Do you think they come up here regularly?” - -“We got it doped out that it’s always Friday nights. I see the tracks -Saturday mornings, and some of the boys say they’ve heard ’em along -around midnight a couple of times.” - -“What gates do they go out by?” - -“They use all four of ’em at different times.” - -“H-m! Padlock all the gates to-morrow. This is Thursday. Then we’ll see -what happens.” - -They did see, for on the following Saturday, when Custer rode fence, he -found it cut close by one of the padlocked gates--the gate that opened -into the mouth of Horse Camp Cañon. Shannon was with him, and she was -much excited at this evidence of mystery so close at home. - -“What in the world do you suppose they can be doing?” she asked. - -“I don’t know; but it’s something they shouldn’t be doing, or they -wouldn’t go to so much pains to cover their tracks. They evidently -passed in and out at this point, but they’ve brushed out their tracks -on both sides, so that you can’t tell which way they went last. Look -here! On both sides of the fence the trail splits. It’s hard to say -which was made first, and where they passed through the fence. One -track must have been on top of the other, but they’ve brushed it out.” - -He had dismounted, and was on his knees, examining the spoor beyond the -fence. - -“I believe,” he said presently, “that the fresher trail is the one -going toward the hills, although the other one is heavier. Here’s a -rabbit track that lies on top of the track of a horse’s hoof pointed -toward the valley, and over here a few yards the same rabbit track -is obliterated by the track of horses and burros coming up from the -valley. The rabbit must have come across here after they went down, -stepping on top of their tracks, and when they came up again they -crossed on top of his. That’s pretty plain, isn’t it?” - -“Yes; but the tracks going down are much plainer than those going up. -Wouldn’t that indicate that they were fresher?” - -“That’s what I thought until I saw this evidence introduced by Brer -Rabbit--and it’s conclusive, too. Let’s look along here a little -farther. I have an idea that I have an idea.” - -“One of Eva’s ‘dapper little ideas,’ perhaps!” - -He bent close above first one trail and then another, following them -down toward the valley. Shannon walked beside him, leading Baldy. -Sometimes, as they knelt above the evidence imprinted in the dusty -soil, their shoulders touched. The contact thrilled the girl with sweet -delight, and the fact that it left him cold did not sadden her. She -knew that he was not for her. It was enough that she might be near him -and love him. She did not want him to love her--that would have been -the final tragedy of her life. - -For the most part the trail was obliterated by brush, which seemed to -have been dragged behind the last horse; but here and there was the -imprint of the hoof of a horse, or, again, of a burro, so that the -story that Custer pieced out was reasonably clear--as far as it went. - -“I think I’ve got a line on it,” he said presently. “Two men rode along -here on horses. One horse was shod, the other was not. One rider went -ahead, the other brought up the rear, and between them were several -burros. Going down, the burros carried heavy loads; coming back, they -carried nothing.” - -“How do you know all that?” she asked rather incredulously. - -“I don’t _know_ it, but it seems the most logical deduction from these -tracks. It is easy to tell the horse tracks from those of the burros, -and to tell that there were at least two horses, because it is plain -that a shod horse and an unshod horse passed along here. That one -horse--the one with shoes--went first is evident from the fact that -you always see the imprints of burro hoofs, or the hoofs of an unshod -horse, or both superimposed on his. That the other horse brought up -the rear is equally plain from the fact that no other tracks lie on -top of his. Now, if you will look close, and compare several of these -horse tracks, you will notice that there is little or no difference -in the appearance of those leading into the valley and those leading -out; but you can see that the burro tracks leading down are more deeply -imprinted than those leading up. To me that means that those burros -carried heavy loads down and came back light. How does it sound?” - -“It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “It is all that I can do to see that -anything has been along here.” - -“It’s not wonderful,” he replied. “An experienced tracker would tell -you how many horses there were, how many burros, how many hours had -elapsed since they came down out of the hills, how many since they -returned, and the names of the grandmothers of both riders.” - -Shannon laughed. - -“I’m glad you’re not an experienced tracker, then,” she said, “for -now I can believe what you have told me. And I still think it very -wonderful, and very delightful, too, to be able to read stories--true -stories--in the trampled dust where men and animals have passed.” - -“There is nothing very remarkable about it. Just look at the Apache’s -hoofprints, for instance. See how the hind differ from the fore.” - -Custer pointed to them as he spoke, calling attention to the fact that -the Apache’s hind shoes were squared off at the toe. - -“And now compare them with Baldy’s,” he said. “See how different the -two hoofprints are. Once you know them, you could never confuse one -with the other. But the part of the story that would interest me most -I can’t read--who they are, what they were packing out of the hills on -these burros, where they came from, and where they went. Let’s follow -down and see where they went in the valley. The trail must pass right -by the Evanses’ hay barn.” - -The Evanses’ hay barn! A great light illuminated Shannon’s memory. -Allen had said, that last night at the bungalow, that the contraband -whisky was hauled away on a truck, that it was concealed beneath hay, -and that a young man named Evans handled it. - -What was she to do? She dared not reveal this knowledge to Custer, -because she could not explain how she came into possession of it. Nor, -for the same reason, could she warn Guy Evans, had she thought that -necessary--which she was sure it was not, since Custer would not expose -him. She concluded that all she could do was to let events take their -own course. - -She followed Custer as he traced the partially obliterated tracks -through a field of barley stubble. A hundred yards west of the hay -barn the trail entered a macadam road at right angles, and there it -disappeared. There was no telling whether the little caravan had turned -east or west, for it left no spoor upon the hard surface of the paved -road. - -“Well, _Watson_!” said Custer, turning to her with a grin. “What do you -make of this?” - -“Nothing.” - -“Nothing? _Watson_, I am surprised. Neither do I.” He turned his -horse back toward the cut fence. “There’s no use looking any farther -in this direction. I don’t know that it’s even worth while following -the trail back into the hills, for the chances are that they have it -well covered. What I’ll do is to lay for them next Friday night. Maybe -they’re not up to any mischief, but it looks suspicious; and if they -are, I’d rather catch them here with the goods than follow them up into -the hills, where about all I’d accomplish would probably be to warn -them that they were being watched. I’m sorry now I had those gates -locked, for it will have put them on their guard. We’ll just fix up -this fence, and then we’ll ride about and take all the locks off.” - -On the way home, an hour later, he asked Shannon not to say anything -about their discovery or his plan to watch for the mysterious pack -train the following Friday. - -“It would only excite the folks needlessly,” he explained. “The chances -are that there’ll be some simple explanation when I meet up with these -people. As I told Jake, they may be greasers who work all the week and -come up here at night for firewood. Still more likely, it’s people who -don’t know they can get permission to gather deadwood for the asking, -and think they are stealing it. Putting themselves to a lot of trouble -for nothing, I’ll say!” - -“You’ll not wait for them alone?” she asked, for she knew what he -did not--that they were probably unscrupulous rascals who would not -hesitate to commit any crime if they thought themselves in danger of -discovery. - -“Why not?” he asked. “I only want to ask them what they are doing on -Ganado, and why they cut our fence.” - -“Please don’t!” she begged. “You don’t know who they are or what they -have been doing. They might be very desperate men, for all we know.” - -“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll take Jake with me.” - -“Why don’t you get Guy to go along, too?” she suggested, for she knew -that he would be safer if Guy knew of his intention, since then there -would be little likelihood of his meeting the men. - -“No,” he replied. “Guy would have to have a big camp fire, an easy -chair, and a package of cigarettes if he was going to sit up that late -out in the hills. Jake’s the best for that sort of work.” - -“Guy isn’t a bit like you, is he?” she asked. “He’s lived right here -and led the same sort of life, and yet he doesn’t seem to be a part of -it, as you are.” - -“Guy’s a dreamer, and he likes to be comfortable all the time,” laughed -Custer. “They’re all that way a little. Mr. Evans was, so father says. -He died while we were all kids. Mrs. Evans likes to take it easy, too, -and even Grace wasn’t much on roughing it, though she could stand more -than the others. None of them seemed to take to it the way you do. I -never saw any one else but a Pennington such a glutton for a saddle -and the outdoors as you are. I don’t like ’em any the less for it,” he -hastened to add. “It’s just the way people are, I guess. The taste for -such things is inherited. The Evanses, up to this generation, all came -from the city; the Penningtons all from the country. Father thinks that -horsemen, if not the descendants of a distinct race, at least spring -from some common ancestors who inhabited great plains and were the -original stock raisers of the human race. He thinks they mingled with -the hill and mountain people, who also became horsemen through them; -but that the forest tribes and the maritime races were separate and -distinct. It was the last who built the cities, which the horsemen came -in from the plains and conquered.” - -“But perhaps Guy would like the adventure of it,” she insisted. “It -might give him material for a story. I’m going to ask him.” - -“Please don’t. The less said about it the better, for if it’s talked -about it may get to the men I want to catch. Word travels fast in the -country. Just as we don’t know who these men are or what they are -doing, neither do we know but what some of them may be on friendly -terms with our employees, or the Evanses, or yours.” - -The girl made no reply. - -“You won’t mention it to him, please?” Custer insisted. - -“Not if you don’t wish it,” she said. - -They were silent for a time, each absorbed in his or her own thoughts. -The girl was seeking to formulate some plan that would prevent a -meeting between Custer and Allen’s confederates, who she was sure -were the owners of the mysterious pack train; while the man indulged -in futile conjectures as to their identity and the purpose of their -nocturnal expeditions. - -“That trail above Jackknife Cañon is the key to the whole business,” he -declared presently. “I’ll just lay low until after next Friday night, -so as not to arouse their suspicions, and then, no matter what I find -out, I’ll ride that trail to its finish, if it takes me clear to the -ocean!” - -They had reached the fork in the road, one branch of which led down to -Shannon’s bungalow, the other to the Ganado saddle-horse stables. - -“I thought you were coming up to lunch,” said Custer, as Shannon reined -her horse into the west road. - -“Not to-day,” she said. “I’ll come to dinner, if I may, though.” - -“We all miss you when you’re not there,” he said. - -“How nice! Now I’ll surely come.” - -“And this afternoon--will you ride with me again?” - -“I’m going to be very busy this afternoon,” she replied. - -His face dropped, and then, almost immediately, he laughed. - -“I hadn’t realized how much of your time I have been demanding. Why, -you ride with me every day, and now when you want an afternoon off I -start moping. I’m afraid you’ve spoiled me; but you mustn’t let me be a -nuisance.” - -“I ride with you because I like to,” she replied. “I should miss our -rides terribly if anything should occur to prevent them.” - -“Let’s hope nothing will prevent them. I’m afraid I’d be lost without -you now, Shannon. You can never know what it has meant to me to have -you here. I was sort of going to pot after Grace left--blue and -discouraged and discontented; and I was drinking too much. I don’t -mind telling you, because I know you’ll understand--you seem to -understand everything. Having you to ride with and talk to pulled me -together. I owe you a lot, so don’t let me impose on your friendship -and your patience. Any time you want an afternoon off,” he concluded, -laughing, “don’t be afraid to ask for it--I’ll see that you get it with -full pay!” - -“I don’t _want_ any afternoons off, because I enjoy the rides as much -as you, and they have meant even more to me. I intend to see that -nothing prevents them, if I can.” - -She was touched and pleased with Custer’s sudden burst of confidence, -and thankful for whatever had betrayed him into one of those rare -revelations of his heart. She wanted to be necessary to him, in the -sweet and unemotional way of friendship, so that they might be together -without embarrassment or constraint. - -They had been standing at the fork, talking, and now, as she started -Baldy again in the direction of her own place, Custer reined the Apache -to accompany her. - -“You needn’t come down with me,” she said. “It’s nearly lunch time now, -and it would only make you late.” - -“But I want to.” - -“No!” She shook her head. “You go right home.” - -“Please!” - -“This is my afternoon off,” she reminded him, “and I’d really rather -you wouldn’t.” - -“All right! I’ll drive down in the car early, and we’ll have a swim -before dinner.” - -“Not too early--I’ll telephone you when I’m ready. Good-by!” - -He waved his hat as she cantered off, and then sat the Apache for a -moment, watching her. How well she rode! What grace and ease in every -motion of that supple body! He shook his head. - -“Some girl, Shannon!” he mused aloud as he wheeled the Apache and rode -toward the stables. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -Shannon Burke did not ride to her home after she left Custer. She -turned toward the west at the road above the Evans place, continued on -to the mouth of Horse Camp Cañon, and entered the hills. For two miles -she followed the cañon trail to El Camino Largo, and there, turning -to the left, she followed this other trail east to Sycamore Cañon. -Whatever her mission, it was evident that she did not wish it known -to others. Had she not wished to conceal it, she might have ridden -directly up Sycamore Cañon from Ganado with a saving of several miles. - -Crossing Sycamore, she climbed the low hills skirting its eastern -side. There was no trail here, and the brush was thick and oftentimes -so dense that she was forced to make numerous detours to find a way -upward; but at last she rode out upon the western rim of the basin -meadow above Jackknife. Thence she picked her way down to more level -ground, and, putting spurs to Baldy, galloped east, her eyes constantly -scanning the ground just ahead of her. - -Presently she found what she sought--a trail running north and south -across the basin. She turned Baldy into it, and headed him south toward -the mountains. She was nervous and inwardly terrified, and a dozen -times she would have turned back had she not been urged on by a power -infinitely more potent than self-interest. - -Personally, she had all to lose by the venture and naught to gain. The -element of physical danger she knew to be far from inconsiderable, -while it appalled her to contemplate the after effects, in the -not inconceivable contingency of the discovery of her act by the -Penningtons. Yet she urged Baldy steadily onward, though she felt her -flesh creep as the trail entered a narrow barranco at the southern -extremity of the meadow and wound upward through dense chaparral, which -shut off her range of vision in all directions for more than a few feet. - -At the upper end of the barranco the trail turned back and ascended a -steep hillside, running diagonally upward through heavy brush--without -which, she realized, the trail would have appeared an almost impossible -one, since it clung to a nearly perpendicular cliff. The brush lent a -suggestion of safety that was more apparent than real, and at the same -time it hid the sheer descent below. - -Baldy, digging his toes into the loose earth, scrambled upward, -stepping over gnarled roots and an occasional bowlder, and finding, -almost miraculously, the least precarious footing. There were times -when the girl shut her eyes tightly and sat with tensed muscles, her -knees pressing her horse’s sides until her muscles ached. At last the -doughty Morgan topped the summit of the hogback, and Shannon drew a -deep breath of relief--which was alloyed, however, by the realization -that in returning she must ride down this frightful trail, which now, -as if by magic, disappeared. - -The hogback was water-washed and gravel-strewn, and as hard-baked -beneath the summer’s sun as a macadam road. To Shannon’s unaccustomed -eyes it gave no clew as to the direction of the trail. She rode up and -down in both directions until finally she discovered what appeared to -be a trail leading downward into another barranco upon the opposite -side of the ridge. The descent seemed less terrifying than that which -she had just negotiated, and as it was the only indication of a trail -that she could find, she determined to investigate it. - -Baldy, descending carefully, suddenly paused and with uppricked ears -emitted a shrill neigh. So sudden and so startling was the sound that -Shannon’s heart all but stood still, gripped by the cold fingers of -terror. And then from below came an answering neigh. - -She had found what she sought, but the fear that rode her all but sent -her panic-stricken in retreat. It was only the fact that she could not -turn Baldy upon that narrow trail that gave her sufficient pause to -gain mastery over the chaos of her nerves and drive them again into the -fold of reason. It required a supreme effort of will to urge her horse -onward again, down into that mysterious ravine, where she knew there -might lurk for her a thing more terrible than death. That she did it -bespoke the greatness of the love that inspired her courage. - -The ravine below her was both shallower and wider than that upon the -opposite side of the ridge, so that it presented the appearance of a -tiny basin. From her vantage point she looked out across the tops of -spreading oaks to the brush-covered hillside that bounded the basin on -the south; but what lay below, what the greenery of the trees concealed -from her sight, she could only surmise. - -She knew that the Penningtons kept no horses here, so she guessed that -the animal that had answered Baldy’s neigh belonged to the men she -sought. Slowly she rode downward. What would her reception be? If her -conclusions as to the identity of the men camped below were correct, -she could imagine them shooting first and investigating later. The idea -was not a pleasant one, but nothing could deter her now. - -After what seemed a long time she rode out among splendid old oaks, -in view of a soiled tent and a picket line where three horses and a -half dozen burros were tethered. Nowhere was there sign of the actual -presence of men, yet she had an uncanny feeling that they were there, -and that from some place of concealment they were watching her. - -She sat quietly upon her horse for a moment, waiting. Then, no one -appearing, she called aloud. - -“Hello, there! I want to speak with you.” - -Her voice sounded strange and uncanny in her ears. - -For what seemed a long time there was no other sound than the gently -moving leaves about her, the birds, and the heavy breathing of Baldy. -Then, from the brush behind her, came another voice. It came from the -direction of the trail down which she had ridden. She realized that she -must have passed within a few feet of the man who now spoke. - -“What do you want?” - -“I have come to warn you. You are being watched.” - -“You mean you are not alone? There are others with you? Then tell them -to go away, for we have our rifles. We have done nothing. We’re tending -our bees--they’re just below the ridge above our camp.” - -“There is no one with me. I do not mean that others are watching you -now, but that others know that you come down out of the hills with -something each Friday night, and they want to find out what it is you -bring.” - -There was a rustling in the brush behind her, and she turned to see -a man emerge, carrying a rifle ready in his hands. He was a Mexican, -swarthy and ill-favored, his face pitted by smallpox. - -Almost immediately two other men stepped from the brush at other points -about the camp. The three walked to where Shannon sat upon her mount. -All were armed, and all were Mexicans. - -“What do you know about what we bring out of the hills? Should we not -bring our honey out?” asked the pock-marked one. - -“I know what you bring out,” she said. “I am not going to expose you. I -am here to warn you.” - -“Why?” - -“I know Allen.” - -Immediately their attitude changed. - -“You have seen Allen? You bring a message from him?” - -“I have not seen him. I bring no message from him; but for reasons of -my own I have come to warn you not to bring down another load next -Friday night.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -The pock-marked Mexican stepped close to Shannon and took hold of her -bridle reins. - -“You think,” he said in broken English, “we are damn fool? If you do -not come from Allen, you come for no good to us. You tell us the truth, -damn quick, or you never go back to tell where you find us and bring -policemen here!” - -His tone was ugly and his manner threatening. - -There was no harm in telling these men the truth, though it was -doubtful whether they would believe her. She realized that she was in a -predicament from which it might not be easy to extricate herself. She -had told them that she was alone, and if they suspected her motives -they might easily do away with her. She knew how lightly the criminal -Mexican esteems life--especially the life of the hated gringo. - -“I have come to warn you because a friend of mine is going to watch for -you next Friday night. He does not know who you are, or what you bring -out of the hills. I do, and so I know that rather than be caught you -might kill him, and I do not want him killed. That is all.” - -“How do you know what we bring out of the hills?” - -“Allen told me.” - -“Allen told you? I do not believe you. Do you know where Allen is?” - -“He is in jail in Los Angeles. I heard him telling a man in Los Angeles -last July.” - -“Who is the friend of yours that is going to watch for us?” - -“Mr. Pennington.” - -“You have told him about us?” - -“I have told you that he knows nothing about you. All he knows is that -some one comes down with burros from the hills, and that they cut his -fence last Friday night. He wants to catch you and find out what you -are doing.” - -“Why have you not told him?” - -She hesitated. - -“That can make no difference,” she said presently. - -“It makes a difference to us. I told you to tell the truth, or----” - -The Mexican raised his rifle that she might guess the rest. - -“I did not want to have to explain how I knew about you. I did not want -Mr. Pennington to know that I knew such men as Allen.” - -“How did you know Allen?” - -“That has nothing to do with it at all. I have warned you so that you -can take steps to avoid discovery and capture. I shall tell no one else -about you. Now let me go.” - -She gathered Baldy and tried to rein him about, but the man clung to -her bridle. - -“Not so much of a hurry, _señorita_! Unless I know how Allen told you -so much, I cannot believe that he told you anything. The police have -many ways of learning things--sometimes they use women. If you are a -friend to Allen, all right. It you are not, you know too damn much for -to be very good for your health. You had better tell me all the truth, -or you shall not ride away from here--ever!” - -“Very well,” she said. “I met Allen in a house in Hollywood where he -sold his ‘snow,’ and I heard him telling the man there how you disposed -of the whisky that was stolen in New York, brought here to the coast in -a ship, and hidden in the mountains.” - -“What is the name of the man in whose house you met Allen?” - -“Crumb.” - -The man raised his heavy brows. - -“How long since you been there--in that house in Hollywood?” - -“Not since the last of July. I left the house the same time Allen did.” - -“You know how Allen he get in jail?” the Mexican asked. - -The girl saw that a new suspicion had been aroused in the man, and she -judged that the safer plan was to be perfectly frank. - -“I do not know, for I have seen neither Crumb nor Allen since; but when -I read in the paper that he had been arrested that night, I guessed -that Crumb had done it. I heard Crumb ask him to deliver some snow to -a man in Hollywood. I know that Crumb is a bad man, and that he was -trying to steal your share of the money from Allen.” - -The man thought in silence for several minutes, the lines of his heavy -face evidencing the travail with which some new idea was being born. -Presently he looked up, the light of cunning gleaming in his evil eyes. - -“You go now,” he said. “I know you! Allen tell me about you a long -time ago. You Crumb’s woman, and your name is Gaza. You will not tell -anything about us to your rich friends the Penningtons--you bet you -won’t!” - -The Mexican laughed loudly, winking at his companions. - -Shannon could feel the burning flush that suffused her face. She -closed her eyes in what was almost physical pain, so terrible did the -humiliation torture her pride, and then came the nausea of disgust. The -man had dropped her reins, and she wheeled Baldy about. - -“You will not come Friday night?” she asked, wishing some assurance -that her sacrifice had not been entirely unavailing. - -“Mr. Pennington will not find us Friday night, and so he will not be -shot.” - -She rode away then; but there was a vague suspicion lurking in her mind -that there had been a double meaning in the man’s final words. - -Custer Pennington, occupied in the office for a couple of hours after -lunch, had just come from the house, and was standing on the brow of -the hill looking out over the ranch toward the mountains. His gaze, -wandering idly at first, was suddenly riveted upon a tiny speck moving -downward from the mouth of a distant ravine--a moving speck which he -recognized, even at that distance, to be a horseman, where no horseman -should have been. For a moment he watched it, and then, returning to -the house, he brought out a pair of binoculars. - -Now the speck had disappeared; but he knew that it was down in the -bottom of the basin, hidden by the ridge above Jackknife Cañon, and he -waited for the time when it would reappear on the crest. For five, ten, -fifteen minutes he watched the spot where the rider should come into -view once more. Then he saw a movement in the brush and leveled his -glasses upon the spot, following the half seen figure until it emerged -into a space clear of chaparral. Now they were clearly revealed by the -powerful lenses, the horse and its rider--Baldy and Shannon! - -Pennington dropped the glasses at his side, a puzzled expression on -his face, as he tried to find some explanation of the fact that the -binoculars had revealed. From time to time he caught glimpses of her -again as she rode down the cañon; but when, after a considerable time, -she did not emerge upon the road leading to the house, he guessed that -she had crossed over El Camino Corto. Why she should do this he could -not even conjecture. It was entirely out of her way, and a hilly trail, -while the other was a wagon road leading almost directly from Sycamore -to her house. - -Presently he walked around the house to the north side of the hill, -where he had a view of the valley spreading to the east and the west -and the north. Toward the west he could see the road that ran above -the Evanses’ house all the way to Horse Camp Cañon. - -He did not know why he stood there watching for Shannon. It was none -of his affair where she rode, or when. It seemed strange, though, that -she should have ridden alone into the hills after having refused to -ride with him. It surprised him, and troubled him, too, for it was the -first suggestion that Shannon could commit even the most trivial act of -underhandedness. - -After a while he saw her emerge from Horse Camp Cañon and follow the -road to her own place. Custer ran his fingers through his hair in -perplexity. He was troubled not only because Shannon had ridden without -him, after telling him that she could not ride that afternoon, but also -because of the direction in which she had ridden--the trail of which he -had told her that he thought it led to the solution of the mystery of -the nocturnal traffic. He had told her that he would not ride it before -Saturday, for fear of arousing the suspicions of the men he wished to -surprise in whatever activity they might be engaged upon; and within -a few hours she had ridden deliberately up into the mountains on that -very trail. - -The more Custer considered the matter, the more perplexed he became. At -last he gave it up in sheer disgust. Doubtless Shannon would tell him -all about it when he called for her later in the afternoon. He tried to -forget it; but the thing would not be forgotten. - -Several times he realized, with surprise, that he was hurt because she -had ridden without him. He tried to argue that he was not hurt, that it -made no difference to him, that she had a perfect right to ride with or -without him as she saw fit, and that he did not care a straw one way or -the other. - -No, it was not that that was troubling him--it was something else. -He didn’t know what it was, but a drink would straighten it out; so -he took a drink. He realized that it was the first he had had in a -week, and almost decided not to take it; but he changed his mind. -After that he took several more without bothering his conscience to -any appreciable extent. When his conscience showed signs of life, he -reasoned it back to innocuous desuetude by that unanswerable argument: - -“What’s the use?” - -By the time he left to call for Shannon he was miserably happy and -happily miserable; yet he showed no outward sign that he had been -drinking, unless it was that he swung the roadster around the curves of -the driveway leading down the hill a bit more rapidly than usual. - -Shannon was ready and waiting for him. She came out to the car with a -smile--a smile that hid a sad and frightened heart; and he greeted her -with another that equally belied his inward feelings. As they rode up -to the castle on the hill, he gave her every opportunity to mention and -explain her ride, principally by long silences, though never by any -outward indication that he thought she had aught to explain. If she did -not care to have him know about it, she should never know from him that -he already knew; but the canker of suspicion was already gnawing at -his heart, and he was realizing, perhaps for the first time, how very -desirable this new friendship had grown to be. - -Again and again he insisted to himself that what she had done made -no difference--that she must have had some excellent reason. Perhaps -she had just wanted to be alone. He often had experienced a similar -longing. Even when Grace had been there, he had occasionally wanted to -ride off into the hills with nothing but his own thoughts for company. - -Yet, argue as he would, the fact remained that it had made a -difference, and that he was considering Shannon now in a new light. -Just what the change meant he probably could not have satisfactorily -explained, had he tried; but he did not try. He knew that there was a -difference, and that his heart ached when it should not ache. It made -him angry with himself, with the result that he went to his room and -had another drink. - -Shannon, too, felt the difference. She thought that it was her own -guilty conscience, though why she should feel guilt for having risked -so much for his sake she did not know. Instinctively she was honest, -and so to deceive one whom she loved, even for a good purpose, troubled -her. - -Something else troubled her, too. She knew that Custer had been -drinking again, and she recalled what he had said to her, that morning, -of the help she had been to him in getting away from his habit. She -knew too well herself what it meant to fight for freedom from a settled -vice, and she had been glad to have been instrumental in aiding him. -She had had to fight her own battle alone; she did not want him to face -a similar ordeal. - -She wondered why he had been drinking that afternoon. Could it have -been because she had not been able to ride with him, and thus left -alone he had reverted to the old habit? The girl reproached herself, -even though she felt, after her interview with the Mexicans, that she -had undoubtedly saved Custer’s life. - -The Evanses, mother and son, were also at the Penningtons’ for dinner -that night. Shannon had noticed that it was with decreasing frequency -that Grace’s name was mentioned of late. She knew the reason. Letters -had become fewer and fewer from the absent girl. She had practically -ceased writing to Custer. Her letters to Mrs. Evans were no longer -read to the Penningtons, for there had crept into them a new and -unpleasant note that was as foreign as possible to the girl who had -gone away months before. They showed a certain carelessness and lack of -consideration that had pained them all. - -They always asked after the absent girl, but her present life and her -career were no longer discussed, since the subject brought nothing but -sorrow to them all. That she had been disappointed and disillusioned -seemed probable, since she had obtained only a few minor parts in -mediocre pictures; and now she no longer mentioned her ambition, and -scarcely ever wrote of her work. - -At dinner that night Eva was unusually quiet until the colonel, -noticing it, asked if she was ill. - -“There!” she cried. “You all make life miserable for me because I talk -too much, and then, when I give you a rest, you ask if I am ill. What -shall I do? If I talk, I pain you. If I fail to talk, I pain you; but -if you must know, I am too thrilled to talk just now--I am going to be -married!” - -“All alone?” inquired Custer. - -A sickly purplish hue, threatening crimson complications, crept from -beneath Guy’s collar and enveloped his entire head. He reached for his -water goblet and ran the handle of his fork up his sleeve. The ensuing -disentanglement added nothing to his equanimity, though it all but -overturned the goblet. Custer was eying him with a seraphic expression -that boded ill. - -“What’s the matter, Guy--measles?” he asked with a beatific smile. - -Guy grinned sheepishly, and was about to venture an explanation when -Eva interrupted him. The others at the table were watching the two with -amused smiles. - -“You see, momsy,” said Eva, addressing her mother, “Guy has sold a -story. He got a thousand dollars for it--a thousand!” - -“Oh, not a thousand!” expostulated Guy. - -“Well, it was nearly a thousand--if it had been three hundred dollars -more it would have been--and so now that our future is assured we are -going to be married. I hadn’t intended to mention it until Guy had -talked with popsy, but this will be very much nicer, and easier for -Guy.” - -Guy looked up appealingly at the colonel. - -“You see, sir, I was summing to key you--I mean I was----” - -“You see what it is going to mean to have an author in the family,” -said Custer. “He’s going to talk away above our heads. We won’t know -what he’s talking about half the time. I don’t know. Do you, Guy?” - -“For pity’s sake, Custer, leave the boy alone!” laughed Mrs. -Pennington. “You’re enough to rattle a stone image. And now, Guy, you -know you don’t have to feel embarrassed. We have all grown accustomed -to the idea that you and Eva would marry, so it is no surprise. It -makes us very happy.” - -“Thank you, Mrs. Pennington,” said the boy. “It wasn’t that it was hard -to tell you. It was the way Eva wanted me to do it--like a book. I was -supposed to come and ask the colonel for her hand in a very formal -manner, and it made me feel foolish, the more I thought of it--and I -have been thinking about it all day. So, you see, when Eva blurted it -out, I thought of my silly speech and I----” - -“It wasn’t a silly speech,” interrupted Eva. “It was simplimetic -gorgeristic. You thought so yourself when you made _Bruce Bellinghame_ -ask _Hortense’s_ father for her. ‘_Mr. Le Claire_,’ he said, squaring -his manly shoulders, ‘it is with emotions of deepest solemnity and -a full realization of my unworthiness that I approach you upon this -beautiful day in May----’” - -“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Eva, _please_!” begged Guy. - -They were all laughing now, including Eva and Guy. The tears were -rolling down Custer’s cheeks. - -“That editor was guilty of grand larceny when he offered you seven -hundred berries for the story. Why, the gem alone is easily worth a -thousand. Adieu, Mark Twain! Farewell, Bill Nye! You’ve got ’em all -nailed to the post, Guy Thackeray!” - -The colonel wiped his eyes. - -“I gather,” he said, “that you two children wish to get married. Do I -surmise correctly?” - -“Oh, popsy, you’re just wonderful!” exclaimed Eva. - -“Yes, how did you guess it, father?” asked Custer. “Marvelous deductive -faculties for an old gentleman, I’ll say!” - -“That will be about all from you, Custer,” admonished the colonel. - -“Any time that I let a chance like this slip!” returned young -Pennington. “Do you think I have forgotten how those two imps pestered -the life out of Grace and me a few short years ago? Nay, nay!” - -“I don’t blame Custer a bit,” said Mrs. Evans. “Guy and Eva certainly -did make life miserable for him and Grace.” - -“That part of it is all right--it is Guy’s affair and Eva’s; but did -you hear him refer to me as an old gentleman?” - -They all laughed. - -“But you _are_ a gentleman,” insisted Custer. - -The colonel, his eyes twinkling, turned to Mrs. Evans. - -“Times have changed, Mae, since we were children. Imagine speaking thus -to our fathers!” - -“I’m glad they have changed, Custer. It’s terrible to see children -afraid of their parents. It has driven so many of them away from home.” - -“No danger of that here,” said the colonel. - -“It is more likely to be the other way around,” suggested Mrs. -Pennington. “In the future we may hear of parents leaving home because -of the exacting tyranny of their children.” - -“My children shall be brought up properly,” announced Eva, “with proper -respect for their elders.” - -“Guided by the shining example of their mother,” said Custer. - -“And their Uncle Cutie,” she retorted. - -“Come, now,” interrupted the colonel, “let’s hear something about your -plans. When are you going to be married?” - -“Yes,” offered Custer. “Now that the seven hundred dollars has assured -their future, there is no reason why they shouldn’t be married at once -and take a suite at the Ambassador. I understand they’re as low as -thirty-five hundred a month.” - -“Aw, I have more than the seven hundred,” said Guy. “I’ve been saving -up for a long time. We’ll have plenty to start with.” - -Shannon noticed that he flushed just a little as he made the statement, -and she alone knew why he flushed. It was too bad that Custer’s little -sister should start her married life on money of that sort! - -Shannon felt that at heart Guy was a good boy--that he must have been -led into this traffic originally without any adequate realization of -its criminality. Her own misfortune had made her generously ready to -seek excuses for wrong-doing in others; but she dreaded to think what -it was going to mean to Eva and the other Penningtons if ever the truth -became known. From her knowledge of the sort of men with whom Guy was -involved, she was inclined to believe that the menace of exposure or -blackmail would hang over him for many years, even if the former did -not materialize in the near future; for she was confident that if his -confederates were discovered by the authorities, they would immediately -involve him, and would try to put the full burden of responsibility -upon his shoulders. - -“I don’t want the financial end of matrimony to worry either of you,” -the colonel was saying. “Guy has chosen a profession in which it may -require years of effort to produce substantial returns. All I shall ask -of my daughter’s husband is that he shall honestly apply himself to his -work. If you do your best, Guy, you will succeed, and in the meantime -I’ll take care of the finances.” - -“But we don’t want it that way,” said Eva. “We don’t want to live on -charity.” - -“Do you think that what I give to my little girl would be given in a -spirit of charity?” the colonel asked. - -“Oh, popsy, I know you wouldn’t feel that it was; but can’t you see how -Guy would feel? I want him to be independent. I’d rather get along with -a little, and feel that he had earned it all.” - -“It may take a long time, Eva,” said Custer; “and in the meantime the -best part of your lives would be spent in worry and scrimping. I know -how you feel; but there’s a way around it that has the backing of -established business methods. Let father finance Guy’s writing ability, -just as inventive genius is sometimes financed. When Guy succeeds, he -can pay back with interest.” - -“What a dapper little thought!” exclaimed the girl. “That would fix -everything, wouldn’t it? You radiant man!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -On the following Monday a pock-marked Mexican appeared at the county -jail in Los Angeles, during visitors’ hours, and asked to be permitted -to see Slick Allen. The two stood in a corner and conversed in -whispers. Allen’s face wore an ugly scowl when his visitor told him of -young Pennington’s interference with their plans. - -“It’s getting too hot for us around there,” said Allen. “We got to -move. How much junk you got left?” - -“About sixty cases of booze. We got rid of nearly three hundred cases -on the coast side, without sending ’em through Evans. There isn’t much -of the other junk left--a couple pounds altogether, at the outside.” - -“We got to lose the last of the booze,” said Allen; “but we’ll get our -money’s worth out of it. Now you listen, and listen careful, Bartolo.” - -He proceeded very carefully and explicitly to explain the details of -a plan which brought a grin of sinister amusement to the face of the -Mexican. It was not an entirely new plan, but rather an elaboration and -improvement of one that Allen had conceived some time before in the -event of a contingency similar to that which had now arisen. - -“And what about the girl?” asked Bartolo. “She should pay well to keep -the Penningtons from knowing.” - -“Leave her to me,” replied Allen. “I shall not be in jail forever.” - -During the ensuing days of that late September week, when Shannon and -Custer rode together, there was a certain constraint in their relations -that was new and depressing. The girl was apprehensive of the outcome -of his adventure on the rapidly approaching Friday, while he could not -rid himself of the haunting memory of her solitary and clandestine ride -over the mysterious trail that led into the mountains. - -It troubled him that she should have kept the thing a secret, and it -troubled him that he should care. What difference could it make to him -where Shannon Burke rode? He asked himself that question a hundred -times; but though he always answered that it could make no difference, -he knew perfectly well that it _had_ made a difference. - -He often found himself studying her face, as if he would find there -either an answer to his question, or a refutation of the suspicion of -trickery and deceit which had arisen in his mind and would not down. -What a beautiful face it was--not despite its irregular features, but -because of them, and because of the character and individuality they -imparted to her appearance. Custer could not look upon that face and -doubt her. - -Several times she caught him in the act of scrutinizing her thus, -and she wondered at it, for in the past he had never appeared to be -consciously studying her. She was aware, too, that he was troubled -about something. She wished that she might ask him--that she might -invite his confidence, for she knew the pain of unshared sorrows; but -he gave her no opening. So they rode together, often in silence; and -though their stirrups touched many a time, yet constantly they rode -farther and farther apart, just because chance had brought Custer -Pennington from the office that Saturday afternoon to look out over the -southern hills at the moment when Shannon had ridden down the trail -into the meadow above Jackknife Cañon. - -At last Friday came. Neither had reverted, since the previous Saturday, -to the subject that was uppermost in the mind of each; but now Shannon -could not refrain from seeking once more to deter Custer from his -project. She had not been able to forget the sinister smile of the -Mexican, or to rid her mind of an intuitive conviction that the man’s -final statement had concealed a hidden threat. - -They were parting at the fork of the road--she had hesitated until the -last moment. - -“You still intend to try to catch those men to-night?” she asked. - -“Yes--why?” - -“I had hoped you would give it up. I am afraid something may happen. -I--oh, please don’t go, Custer!” She wished that she might add: “For my -sake.” - -He laughed shortly. - -“I guess there won’t be any trouble. If there is, I can take care of -myself.” - -She saw that it was useless to insist further. - -“Let me know if everything is all right,” she asked. “Light the light -in the big cupola on the house when you get back--I can see it from -my bedroom window--and then I shall know that nothing has happened. I -shall be watching for it.” - -“All right,” Custer promised, and they parted. - -He wondered why she should be so perturbed about his plans for the -night. There was something peculiar about that--something that he -couldn’t understand or explain, except in accordance with a single -hypothesis--a hypothesis which he scorned to consider, yet which rode -his thoughts like a veritable _Little Old Man of the Sea_. Had he known -the truth, it would all have been quite understandable; but how was he -to know that Shannon Burke loved him? - -When he reached the house, the ranch bookkeeper came to tell him that -the Los Angeles operator had been trying to get him all afternoon. - -“Somebody in L. A. wants to talk to you on important business,” said -the bookkeeper. “You’re to call back the minute you get here.” - -Five minutes later he had his connection. An unfamiliar voice asked if -he were the younger Mr. Pennington. - -“I am,” he replied. - -“Some one cut your fence last Friday. You like to know who he is?” - -“What about it? Who are you?” - -“Never mind who I am. I was with them. They double-crossed me. You want -to catch ’em?” - -“I want to know who they are, and why they cut my fence, and what the -devil they’re up to back there in the hills.” - -“You listen to me. You _sabe_ Jackknife Cañon?” - -“Yes.” - -“To-night they bring down the load just before dark. They do that -every Friday, and hide the burros until very late. Then they come down -into the valley while every one is asleep. To-night they hide ’em in -Jackknife. They tie ’em there an’ go away. About ten o’clock they come -back. You be there nine o’clock, and you catch ’em when they come back. -_Sabe?_” - -“How many of ’em are there?” - -“Only two. You don’t have to be afraid--they don’t pack no guns. You -take gun an’ you catch ’em all alone.” - -“But how do I know that you’re not stringing me?” - -“You listen. They double-cross me. I get even. You no want to catch -’em, I no care--that’s all. Good-by!” - -Custer turned away from the phone, running his fingers through his hair -in a characteristic gesture signifying perplexity. What should he do? -The message sounded rather fishy, he thought; but it would do no harm -to have a look into Jackknife Cañon around nine o’clock. If he was -being tricked, the worst he could fear was that they had taken this -method of luring him to Jackknife while they brought the loaded burros -down from the hills by some other route. If they had done that, it was -very clever of them; but he would not be fooled a second time. - -Custer Pennington didn’t care to be laughed at, and so, if he was -going to be hoaxed that night, he had no intention of having a witness -to his idiocy. For that reason he did not take Jake with him, but -rode alone up Sycamore when all the inmates of the castle on the hill -thought him in bed and asleep. It was a clear night. Objects were -plainly discernible at short distances, and when he passed the horse -pasture he saw the dim bulks of the brood mares a hundred yards away. A -coyote voiced its uncanny cry from a near hill. An owl hooted dismally -from a distance; but these sounds, rather than depressing him, had the -opposite effect, for they were of the voices of the nights that he had -known and loved since childhood. - -When he turned into Jackknife, he reined the Apache in and sat for a -moment listening. From farther up the cañon, out of sight, there came -the shadow of a sound. That would be the tethered burros, he thought, -if the whole thing was not a trick; but he was certain that he heard -the sound of something moving there. - -He rode on again, but he took the precaution of loosening his gun in -its holster. There was, of course, the bare possibility of a sinister -motive behind the message he had received. As he thought of it now, it -occurred to him that his informant was perhaps a trifle too insistent -in assuring him that it was safe to come up here alone. Well, the man -had put it over cleverly, if that had been his intent. - -Now Custer saw a dark mass beneath a sycamore. He rode directly toward -it, and in another moment he saw that it represented half a dozen laden -burros tethered to the tree. He moved the Apache close in to examine -them. There was no sign of men about. - -He examined the packs, leaning over and feeling one. What they -contained he could not guess; but it was not firewood. They evidently -consisted of six wooden boxes to each burro, three on a side. - -He reined the Apache in behind the burros in the darkness of the tree’s -shade, and there he waited for the coming of the men. He did not like -the look of things at all. What could those boxes contain? There was -no legitimate traffic through or out of those hills that could explain -the weekly trip of this little pack train; and if the men in charge -of it were employed in any illegitimate traffic, they would not be -surrendering to a lone man as meekly as his informant had suggested. -The days of smuggling through the hills from the ocean was over--or at -least Custer had thought it was over; but this thing commenced to look -like a recrudescence of the old-time commerce. - -As he sat there waiting, he had ample time to think. He speculated upon -the identity and purpose of the mysterious informant who had called -him up from Los Angeles. He speculated again upon the contents of the -packs. He recalled the whisky that Guy had sold him from time to time, -and wondered if the packs might not contain liquor. He had gathered -from Guy that his supply came from Los Angeles, and he had never -given the matter a second thought; but now he recalled the fact, and -concluded that if this was whisky, it was not from the same source as -Guy’s. - -All the time he kept thinking of Shannon and her mysterious excursion -into the hills. He recalled her anxiety to prevent him from coming up -here to-night, and he tried to find reasonable explanations for it. Of -course, it was the obvious explanation that did not occur to him; but -several did occur that he tried to put from his mind. - -Then from the mouth of Jackknife he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs. -The Apache pricked up his ears, and Custer leaned forward and laid a -hand upon his nostrils. - -“Quiet, boy!” he admonished, in a low whisper. - -The sounds approached slowly, halting occasionally. Presently two -horsemen rode directly past him on the far side of the cañon. They -rode at a brisk trot. Apparently they did not see the pack train, or, -if they saw it, they paid no attention to it. They disappeared in the -darkness, and the sound of their horses’ hoofs ceased. Pennington knew -that they had halted. Who could they be? Certainly not the drivers of -the pack train, else they would have stopped with the burros. - -He listened intently. Presently he heard horses walking slowly -toward him from up the cañon. The two who had passed were coming -back--stealthily. - -“I sure have got myself in a pretty trap!” he soliloquized a moment -later, when he heard the movement of mounted men in the cañon below him. - -He drew his gun and sat waiting. It was not long that he had to wait. A -voice coming from a short distance down the cañon addressed him. - -“Ride out into the open and hold up your hands!” it said. “We got you -surrounded and covered. If you make a break, we’ll bore you. Come on, -now, step lively--and keep your hands up!” - -It was the voice of an American. - -“Who in thunder are you?” demanded Pennington. - -“I am a United States marshal,” was the quick reply. - -Pennington laughed. There was something convincing in the very tone -of the man’s voice--possibly because Custer had been expecting to -meet Mexicans. Here was a hoax indeed; but evidently as much on the -newcomers as on himself. They had expected to find a lawbreaker. They -would doubtless be angry when they discovered that they had been duped. - -Custer rode slowly out from beneath the tree. - -“Hold up your hands, Mr. Pennington!” snapped the marshal. - -Custer Pennington was nonplused. They knew who he was, and yet they -demanded that he should hold up his hands like a common criminal. - -“Hold on there!” he cried. “What’s the joke? If you know who I am, what -do you want me to hold up my hands for? How do I know you’re a marshal?” - -“You don’t know it; but I know that you’re armed, and that you’re in a -mighty bad hole. I don’t know what you might do, and I ain’t taking no -chances. So stick ’em up, and do it quick. If anybody’s going to get -bored around here it’ll be you, and not none of my men!” - -“You’re a damned fool,” said Pennington succinctly; but he held his -hands before his shoulders, as he had been directed. - -Five men rode from the shadows and surrounded him. One of them -dismounted and disarmed him. He lowered his hands and looked about at -them. - -“Would you mind,” he said, “showing me your authority for this, and -telling me what in hell it’s all about?” - -One of the men threw back his coat, revealing a silver shield. - -“That’s my authority,” he said; “that, and the goods we got on you.” - -“What goods?” - -“Well, we expect to get ’em when we examine those packs.” - -“Look here!” said Custer. “You’re all wrong. I have nothing to do with -that pack train or what it’s packing. I came up here to catch the -fellows who have been bringing it down through Ganado every Friday -night, and who cut our fence last week. I don’t know any more about -what’s in those packs than you do--evidently not as much.” - -“That’s all right, Mr. Pennington. You’ll probably get a chance to tell -all that to a jury. We been laying for you since last spring. We didn’t -know it was you until one of your gang squealed; but we knew that this -stuff was somewhere in the hills above L. A., and we aimed to get it -and you sooner or later.” - -“Me?” - -“Well, not you particularly, but whoever was bootlegging it. To tell -you the truth, I’m plumb surprised to find who it is. I thought -all along it was some gang of cheap greasers; but it don’t make no -difference who it is to your Uncle Sam.” - -“You say some one told you it was I?” asked Custer. - -“Sure! How else would we know it? It don’t pay to double-cross your -pals, Mr. Pennington.” - -“What are you going to do with me?” he asked. - -“We’re going to take you back to L. A. and get you held to the Federal -grand jury.” - -“To-night?” - -“We’re going to take you back to-night.” - -“Can I stop at the house first?” - -“No. We got a warrant to search the place, and we’re going to leave a -couple of my men here to do it the first thing in the morning. I got -an idea you ain’t the only one around there that knows something about -this business.” - -As they talked, one of the deputies had taken a case from a pack and -opened it. - -“Look here!” he called. “It’s it, all right!” - -“It’s what?” asked Custer. - -“Oh, pe-ru-na, of course!” replied the deputy facetiously. “What did -you think it was? I hope you never thought it none of that hootch -stolen from a government bonded warehouse in New York!” - -The others laughed at his joke. - -“It’s too bad,” said the marshal, not at all unkindly, “for a decent -young fellow like you to get mixed up in a nasty business like this.” - -“I agree with you,” said Pennington. - -His mind traveled like lightning, flashing a picture of Shannon Burke -riding out of the hills and across the meadow above Jackknife Cañon; -of her inquiry that very afternoon as to whether he was coming up -here to-night. Had she really wished to dissuade him, or had she only -desired to make sure of his intentions? The light would not shine from -the big cupola to-night. What message would the darkness carry to -Shannon Burke? - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -They took Custer down to the village of Ganado, where they had left -their cars and obtained horses. Here they left the animals, including -the Apache, with instructions that he should be returned to the Rancho -del Ganado in the morning. - -The inhabitants of the village, almost to a man, had grown up in -neighborly friendship with the Penningtons. When he from whom the -officers had obtained their mounts discovered the identity of the -prisoner, his surprise was exceeded only by his anger. - -“If I’d known who you was after,” he said, “you’d never have got no -horses from me. I’d ’a’ hamstrung ’em first! I’ve known Cus Pennington -since he was knee high to a grasshopper, and whatever you took him for -he never done it. Wait till the colonel hears of this. You won’t have -no more job than a jack rabbit!” - -The marshal turned threateningly toward the speaker. - -“Shut up!” he advised. “If Colonel Pennington hears of this before -morning, you’ll wish to God you was a jack rabbit, and could get out of -the country in two jumps! Now you get what I’m telling you--you’re to -keep your trap closed until morning. Hear me?” - -“I ain’t deaf, but sometimes I’m a leetle mite dumb.” The last he added -in a low aside to Pennington, accompanying it with a wink; and aloud: -“I’m mighty sorry, Cus--_mighty_ sorry. If I’d only knowed it was you! -By gosh, I’ll never get over this--furnishin’ horses to help arrest a -friend, and a Pennington!” - -“Don’t worry about that for a minute, Jim. I haven’t done anything. -It’s just a big mistake.” - -The officers and their prisoner were in the car ready to start. The -marshal pointed a finger at Jim. - -“Don’t forget what I told you about keeping your mouth shut until -morning,” he admonished. - -They drove off toward Los Angeles. Jim watched them for a moment, as -the red tail light diminished in the distance. Then he turned into the -office of his feed barn and took the telephone receiver from its hook. -“Gimme Ganado No. 1,” he said to the sleepy night operator. - -It was five minutes before continuous ringing brought the colonel to -the extension telephone in his bedroom. He seemed unable to comprehend -the meaning of what Jim was trying to tell him, so sure was he that -Custer was in bed and asleep in a near-by room; but at last he was -half convinced, for he had known Jim for many years, and well knew his -stability and his friendship. - -“If it was anybody but you, Jim, I’d say you were a damned liar,” he -commented in characteristic manner; “but what in hell did they take the -boy for?” - -“They wouldn’t say. Just as I told ’em. I don’t know what he done, but -I know he never done it.” - -“You’re right, Jim--my boy couldn’t do a crooked thing!” - -“I’m just like you, colonel--I know there ain’t a crooked hair in Cus -Pennington’s head. If there’s anything I can do, colonel, you jest let -me know.” - -“You’ll bring the Apache up in the morning? Thank you again, Jim, and -good-by.” - -He hung up the receiver. While he dressed hastily, he explained to his -wife the purport of the message he had just received. - -“What are you going to do, Custer?” she asked. - -“I’m going to Los Angeles, Julia. Unless that marshal’s driving a -racing car, I’ll be waiting for him when he gets there!” - -Shortly before breakfast the following morning two officers, armed with -a warrant, searched the castle on the hill. In Custer Pennington’s -closet they found something which seemed to fill them with elation--two -full bottles of whisky and an empty bottle, each bearing a label -identical with those on the bottles they had found in the cases borne -by the burros. With this evidence and the laden pack train, they -started off toward the village. - -Shannon Burke had put in an almost sleepless night. For hours she -had lain watching the black silhouette of the big cupola against the -clear sky, waiting for the light which would announce that Custer had -returned home in safety; but no light had shone to relieve her anxiety. -She had strained her ears through the long hours of the night for the -sound of shooting from the hills; but only the howling of coyotes -and the hooting of owls had disturbed the long silence. She sought -to assure herself that all was well--that Custer had returned and -forgotten to switch on the cupola light--that he had not forgotten, but -that the bulb was burned out. She manufactured probable and improbable -explanations by the score; but always a disturbing premonition of evil -dispersed the cohorts of hope. - -She was up early in the morning, and in the saddle at the first streak -of dawn, riding directly to the stables of the Rancho del Ganado. The -stableman was there, saddling the horses while they fed. - -“No one has come down yet?” she asked. - -“The Apache’s gone,” he replied. “I don’t understand it. He hasn’t been -in his box all night. I was just thinkin’ of goin’ up to the house to -see if Custer was there. Don’t seem likely he’d be ridin’ all night, -does it?” - -“No,” she said. Her heart was in her mouth. She could scarcely speak. -“I’ll ride up for you,” she managed to say. - -Wheeling Baldy, she put him up the steep hill to the house. The iron -gate that closed the patio arch at night was still down, so she rode -around to the north side of the house and _coo-hooed_ to attract the -attention of some one within. Mrs. Pennington, followed by Eva, came to -the door. Both were fully dressed. When they saw who it was, they came -out and told Shannon what had happened. - -He was not injured, then. The sudden sense of relief left her -weak, and for a moment she did not consider the other danger that -confronted him. He was safe! That was all she cared about just then. -Later she commenced to realize the gravity of his situation, and the -innocent part that she had taken in involving him in the toils of the -scheme which her interference must have suggested to those actually -responsible for the traffic in stolen liquor, the guilt of which -they had now cleverly shifted to the shoulders of an innocent man. -Intuitively she guessed Slick Allen’s part in the unhappy contretemps -of the previous night; for she knew of the threats he had made against -Custer Pennington, and of his complicity in the criminal operations of -the bootleggers. - -How much she knew! More than any other, she knew all the details of -the whole tragic affair. She alone could untangle the knotted web, -and yet she dared not until there was no other way. She dared not let -them guess that she knew more of the matter than they. She could not -admit such knowledge without revealing the source of it and exposing -herself to the merited contempt of these people whose high regard had -become her obsession, whose friendship was her sole happiness, and the -love she had conceived for one of them the secret altar at which she -worshiped. - -In the last extremity, if there was no alternative, she would sacrifice -everything for him. To that her love committed her; but she would wait -until there was no other way. She had suffered so grievously through no -fault of her own that she clung with desperation to the brief happiness -which had come into her life, and which was now threatened, once again -because of no wrong-doing on her part. - -Fate had been consistently unkind to her. Was it fair that she should -suffer always for the wickedness of another? She had at least the right -to hope and wait. - -But there was something that she could do. When she turned Baldy down -the hill from the Penningtons’, she took the road home that led past -the Evanses’ ranch, and, turning in, dismounted and tied Baldy at the -fence. Her knock was answered by Mrs. Evans. - -“Is Guy here?” asked Shannon. - -Hearing her voice, Guy came from his room, drawing on his coat. - -“You’re getting as bad as the Penningtons,” he said, laughing. “They -have no respect for Christian hours!” - -“Something has happened,” she said, “that I thought you should know -about. Custer was arrested last night by government officers and taken -to Los Angeles. He was out on the Apache at the time. No one seems to -know where he was arrested, or why; but the supposition is that they -found him in the hills, for the man who runs the feed barn in the -village--Jim--told the colonel that the officers got horses from him -and rode up toward the ranch, and that it was a couple of hours later -that they brought Custer back on the Apache. The stableman just told me -that the Apache had not been in his stall all night, and I know--Custer -told me not to tell, but it will make no difference now--that he was -going up into the hills last night to try to catch the men who have -been bringing down loads on burros every Friday night for a long time, -and who cut his fence last Friday.” - -She looked straight into Guy’s eyes as she spoke; but he dropped his as -a flush mounted his cheek. - -“I thought,” she continued, “that Guy might want to go to Los Angeles -and see if he could help Custer in any way. The colonel went last -night.” - -“I’ll go now,” said Guy. “I guess I can help him.” - -His voice was suddenly weary, and he turned away with an air of -dejection which assured Shannon that he intended to do the only -honorable thing that he could do--assume the guilt that had been thrown -upon Custer’s shoulders, no matter what the consequences to himself. -She had had little doubt that Guy would do this, for she realized -his affection for Custer, as well as the impulsive generosity of his -nature, which, however marred by weakness, was still fine by instinct. - -Half an hour later, after a hasty breakfast, young Evans started for -Los Angeles, while his mother and Shannon, standing on the porch of -the bungalow, waved their good-bys as his roadster swung through the -gate into the county road. Mrs. Evans had only a vague idea as to what -her son could do to assist Custer Pennington out of his difficulty; -but Shannon Burke knew that Pennington’s fate lay in the hands of Guy -Evans, unless she chose to tell what she knew. - -Colonel Pennington had overtaken the marshal’s car before the -latter reached Los Angeles, but after a brief parley on the road -he had discovered that he could do nothing to alter the officer’s -determination to place Custer in the county jail pending his -preliminary hearing before a United States commissioner. Neither the -colonel’s plea that his son should be allowed to accompany him to a -hotel for the night, nor his assurance that he would be personally -responsible for the young man’s appearance before the commissioner on -the following morning, availed to move the obdurate marshal from his -stand; nor would he permit the colonel to talk with the prisoner. - -This was the last straw. Colonel Pennington had managed to dissemble -outward indications of his rising ire, but now an amused smile lighted -his son’s face as he realized that his father was upon the verge of an -explosion. He caught the older man’s eye and shook his head. - -“It’ll only make it worse,” he cautioned. - -The colonel directed a parting glare at the marshal, muttered something -about homeopathic intellects, and turned back to his roadster. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -During the long ride to Los Angeles, and later in his cell in the -county jail, Custer Pennington had devoted many hours to seeking an -explanation of the motives underlying the plan to involve him in -a crime of which he had no knowledge, nor even a suspicion of the -identity of its instigators. To his knowledge, he had no enemies whose -hostility was sufficiently active to lead them to do him so great a -wrong. He had had no trouble with any one recently, other than his -altercation with Slick Allen several months before; yet it was obvious -that he had been deliberately sacrificed for some ulterior purpose. -What that purpose was he could only surmise. - -The most logical explanation, he finally decided, was that those -actually responsible, realizing that discovery was imminent, had sought -to divert suspicion from themselves by fastening it upon another. -That they had selected him as the victim might easily be explained -on the ground that his embarrassing interest in their movements had -already centered their attention upon him, while it also offered -the opportunity for luring him into the trap without arousing his -suspicions. - -It was, then, just a combination of circumstances that had led him -into his present predicament; but there still remained unanswered one -question that affected his peace of mind more considerably than all -the others combined. Who had divulged to the thieves his plans for the -previous night? - -Concurrently with that question there arose before his mind’s eye a -picture of Shannon Burke and Baldy as they topped the summit above -Jackknife from the trail that led across the basin meadow back into the -hills, he knew not where. - -“I can’t believe that it was she,” he told himself for the hundredth -time. “She could not have done it. I won’t believe it! She could -explain it all if I could ask her; but I can’t ask her. There is a -great deal that I cannot understand, and the most inexplicable thing -is that she could possibly have had any connection whatever with the -affair.” - -When his father came with an attorney, in the morning, the son made no -mention of Shannon Burke’s ride into the hills, or of her anxiety, when -they parted in the afternoon, to learn if he was going to carry out his -plan for Friday night. - -“Did any one know of your intention to watch for these men?” asked the -attorney. - -“No one,” he replied; “but they might have become suspicious from the -fact that the week before I had all the gates padlocked on Friday. They -had to cut the fence that night to get through. They probably figured -that it was getting too hot for them, and that on the following Friday -I would take some other steps to discover them. Then they made sure of -it by sending me that message from Los Angeles. Gee, but I bit like a -sucker!” - -“It is unfortunate,” remarked the attorney, “that you had not discussed -your plans with some one before you undertook to carry them out on -Friday night. If we could thus definitely establish your motive for -going alone into the hills, and to the very spot where you were -discovered with the pack train, I think it would go much further toward -convincing the court that you were there without any criminal intent -than your own unsupported testimony to that effect!” - -“But haven’t you his word for it?” demanded the colonel. - -“I am not the court,” replied the attorney, smiling. - -“Well, if the court isn’t a damned fool it’ll know he wouldn’t have -padlocked the gates the week before to keep himself out,” stated the -colonel conclusively. - -“The government might easily assume that he did that purposely to -divert suspicion from himself. At least, it is no proof of innocence.” - -Colonel Pennington snorted. - -“The best thing to do now,” said the attorney, “is to see if we can get -an immediate hearing, and arrange for bail in case he is held to the -grand jury.” - -“I’ll go with you,” said the colonel. - -They had been gone but a short time when Guy Evans was admitted to -Custer’s cell. The latter looked up and smiled when he saw who his -visitor was. - -“It was bully of you to come,” he said. “Bringing condolences, or -looking for material, old thing?” - -“Don’t joke, Cus,” exclaimed Evans. “It’s too rotten to joke about, and -it’s all my fault.” - -“Your fault?” - -“I am the guilty one. I’ve come down to give myself up.” - -“Guilty! Give yourself up! What are you talking about?” - -“God, Cus, I hate to tell you. It didn’t seem such an awful thing to -do until this happened. Every one’s buying booze, or selling booze, or -making booze. Every one’s breaking the damned old Eighteenth Amendment, -and it’s got so it don’t seem like committing a crime, or anything like -that. You know, Cus, that I wouldn’t do anything criminal, and, oh, -God, what’ll Eva think?” - -Guy covered his face with his hands and choked back a sob. - -“Just what the devil are you talking about?” inquired Pennington. -“Do you mean to tell me that you have been mixed up in--well, what -do you know about that?” A sudden light had dawned upon Custer’s -understanding. “That hootch that you’ve been getting me--that I joked -you about--it was really the stuff that was stolen from a bonded -warehouse in New York? It wasn’t any joke at all?” - -“You can see for yourself now how much of a joke it was,” replied -Evans. - -“I’ll admit,” returned Custer ruefully, “that it does require -considerable of a sense of humor to see it in this joint!” - -“What do you suppose they’ll do to me?” asked Guy. “Do you suppose -they’ll send me to the penitentiary?” - -“Tell me the whole thing from the beginning--who got you into it, -and just what you’ve done. Don’t omit a thing, no matter how much it -incriminates you. I don’t need to tell you, old man, that I’m for you, -no matter what you’ve done.” - -“I know that, Cus; but I’m afraid no one can help me. I’m in for it. I -knew it was stolen from the start. I have been selling it since last -May--seven thousand seven hundred and seventy-six quarts of it--and -I made a dollar on every quart. It was what I was going to start -housekeeping on. Poor little Eva!” Again a sob half choked him. “It -was Slick Allen that started me. First he sold me some; then he got me -to sell you a bottle, and bring him the money. Then he had me, or at -least he made me think so; and he insisted on my handling it for them -out in the valley. It wasn’t hard to persuade me, for it looked safe, -and it didn’t seem like such a rotten thing to do, and I wanted the -money the worst way. I know they’re all bum excuses. I shan’t make any -excuses--I’ll take my medicine; but it’s when I think of Eva that it -hurts. It’s only Eva that counts!” - -“Yes,” said Pennington, laying his hand affectionately on the other’s -shoulder. “It is only Eva who counts; and because of Eva, and because -you and I love her so much, you cannot go to the penitentiary.” - -“What do you mean--cannot go?” - -“Have you told any one else what you have just told me?” - -“No.” - -“Don’t. Go back home, and keep your mouth shut,” said Custer. - -“You mean that you will take a chance of going up for what I did? -Nothing doing! Do you suppose I’d let you, Cus, the best friend I’ve -got in the world, go to the pen for me--for something I did?” - -“It’s not for you, Guy. I wouldn’t go to the pen for you or any other -man; but I’d go to the pen for Eva, and so would you.” - -“I know it, but I can’t let you do it. I’m not rotten, Cus!” - -“You and I don’t count. To see her unhappy and humiliated would be -worse for me than spending a few years in the penitentiary. I’m -innocent. No matter if I am convicted, I’ll know I’m innocent, and -Eva’ll know it, and so will all the rest at Ganado; but, Guy, they’ve -got too much on you if they ever suspect you, and the fact that you -voluntarily admitted your guilt would convince even my little sister. -If you were sent up it might ruin her life--it _would_ ruin it. Things -could never be the same for her again; but if I was sentenced for a few -years, it would only be the separation from a brother whom she knew to -be innocent, and in whom she still had undiminished confidence. She -wouldn’t be humiliated--her life wouldn’t be ruined; and when I came -back everything would be just as it was before. If you go, things will -not be the same when you come back--they can never be the same again. -You cannot go!” - -“I cannot let you go, and be punished for what I did, while I remain -free!” - -“You’ve got to--it’s the easiest way. We’ve all got to be punished for -what you did--those who love us are always punished for our sins; but -let me tell you that I don’t think you are going to escape punishment -if I go up for this. You’re going to suffer more than I. You’re going -to suffer more than you would if you went up yourself; but it can’t be -helped. The question is, are you man enough to do this for Eva? It is -your sacrifice more than mine.” - -Evans swallowed hard and tried to speak. It was a moment before he -succeeded. - -“My God, Cus, I’d rather go myself!” - -“I know you would.” - -“I can never have any self-respect again. I can never look a decent man -in the face. Every time I see Eva, or your mother, or the colonel, I’ll -think: ‘You dirty cur, you let their boy go to the pen for something -you did!’ Oh, Cus, please don’t ask me to do it! There must be some -other way. And--and, Cus, think of Grace. We’ve been forgetting Grace. -What’ll it mean to Grace if you are sent up?” - -“It won’t mean anything to Grace, and you know it. None of us mean much -to Grace any more.” - -Guy looked out of the little barred window, and tears came to his eyes. - -“I guess you’re right,” he said. - -“You’re going to do it, Guy--for Eva?” - -“For Eva--yes.” - -Pennington brightened up as if a great load had been lifted from his -shoulders. - -“Good!” he cried. “Now the chances are that I’ll not be sent up, for -they’ve nothing on me--they can’t have; but if I am, you’ve got to take -my place with the folks. You’ve had your lesson. I know you’ll never -pull another fool stunt like this again. And quit drinking, Guy. I -haven’t much excuse for preaching; but you’re the sort that can’t do -it. Leave it alone. Good-by, now; I’d rather you were not here when -father comes back--you might weaken.” - -Evans took the other’s hand. - -“I envy you, Cus--on the level, I do!” - -“I know it; but don’t feel too bad about it. It’s one of those things -that’s done, and it can’t be undone. Roosevelt would have called what -you’ve got to do ‘grasping the nettle.’ Grasp it like a man!” - -Evans walked slowly from the jail, entered his car, and drove away. Of -the two hearts his was the heavier; of the two burdens his the more -difficult to bear. - -Custer Pennington, appearing before a United States commissioner -that afternoon for his preliminary hearing, was held to the Federal -grand jury, and admitted to bail. The evidence brought by the deputies -who had searched the Pennington home, taken in connection with the -circumstances surrounding his arrest, seemed to leave the commissioner -no alternative. Even the colonel had to admit that to himself, though -he would never have admitted it to another. The case would probably -come up before the grand jury on the following Wednesday. - -The colonel wanted to employ detectives at once to ferret out those -actually responsible for the theft and bootlegging of the stolen -whisky; but Custer managed to persuade him not to do so, on the ground -that it would be a waste of time and money, since the government was -already engaged upon a similar pursuit. - -“Don’t worry, father,” he said. “They haven’t a shred of evidence -that I stole the whisky, or that I ever sold any. They found me with -it--that is all. I can’t be hanged for that. Let them do the worrying. -I want to get home in time to eat one of Hannah’s dinners. I’ll say -they don’t set much of a table in the sheriff’s boarding house!” - -“Where did you get the three bottles they found in your room?” - -“I bought them.” - -“I asked where, not how.” - -“I might get some one else mixed up in this if I were to answer that -question. I can’t do it.” - -“No,” said the colonel, “you can’t. When you buy whisky, nowadays, you -are usually compounding a felony. It’s certainly a rotten condition -to obtain in the land of the free; but you’ve got to protect your -accomplices. I shall not ask you again; but they’ll ask you in court, -my boy.” - -“All the good it’ll do them!” - -“I suppose so; but I’d hate to see my boy sent to the penitentiary.” - -“You’d hate to be in court and hear him divulge the name of a man who -had trusted him sufficiently to sell him whisky.” - -“I’d rather see you go to the penitentiary!” the colonel said. - -That night, at dinner, Custer made light of the charge against him, -yet at the same time he prepared them for what might happen, for -the proceedings before the commissioner had impressed him with the -gravity of his case, as had also the talk he had had with his attorney -afterward. - -“No matter what happens,” he said to them all, “I shall know that you -know I am not guilty.” - -“My boy’s word is all I need,” replied his mother. - -Eva came and put her arms about him. - -“They wouldn’t send you to jail, would they?” she demanded. “It would -break my heart!” - -“Not if you knew I was innocent.” - -“N-no, not then, I suppose; but it would be awful. If you were guilty, -it would kill me. I’d never want to live if my brother was convicted of -a crime, and was guilty of it. I’d kill myself first!” - -Her brother drew her face down and kissed her tenderly. - -“That would be foolish, dear,” he said. “No matter what one of us does, -such an act would make it all the worse--for those who were left.” - -“I can’t help it,” she said. “It isn’t just because I have had the -honor of the Penningtons preached to me all my life. It’s because it’s -in me--the Pennington honor. It’s a part of me, just as it’s a part of -you, and mother, and father. It’s a part of the price we have to pay -for being Penningtons. I have always been proud of it, Custer, even if -I am only a silly girl.” - -“I’m proud of it, too, and I haven’t jeopardized it; but even if I had, -you mustn’t think about killing yourself on my account, or any one’s -else.” - -“Well, I know you’re not guilty, so I don’t have to.” - -“Good! Let’s talk about something pleasant.” - -“Why didn’t you see Grace while you were in Los Angeles?” - -“I tried to. I called up her boarding place from the lawyer’s office. I -understood the woman who answered the phone to say that she would call -her, but she came back in a couple of minutes and said that Grace was -out on location.” - -“Did you leave your name?” - -“I told the woman who I was when she answered the phone.” - -“I’m sorry you didn’t see her,” said Mrs. Pennington. “I often think -that Mrs. Evans, or Guy, should run down to Los Angeles occasionally -and see Grace.” - -“That’s what Shannon says,” said Custer. “I’ll try to see her next -week, before I come home.” - -“Shannon was up nearly all afternoon waiting to hear if we received -any word from you. When you telephoned that you had been held to the -Federal grand jury, she would scarcely believe it. She said there must -be some mistake.” - -“Did she say anything else?” - -“She asked whether Guy got there before you were held and I told her -that you said Guy visited you in the jail. She seems so worried about -the affair--just as if she were one of the family. She is such a dear -girl! I think I grow to love her more and more every day.” - -“Yes,” said Custer, non-committally. - -“She asked me one rather peculiar question,” Eva went on. - -“What was that?” - -“She asked if I was _sure_ that it was _you_ who had been held to the -grand jury.” - -“That was odd, wasn’t it?” - -“She’s so sure of your innocence--just as sure as we are,” said Eva. - -“Well, that’s very nice of her,” remarked Custer. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -The next morning he saw Shannon, who came to ride with them, the -Penningtons, as had been her custom. She looked tired, as if she had -spent a sleepless night. She had--she had spent two sleepless nights, -and she had had to fight the old fight all over again. It had been very -hard, even though she had won, for it had shown her that the battle was -not over. She had thought that she had conquered the craving; but that -had been when she had had no troubles or unhappiness to worry her mind -and nerves. The last two days had been days of suffering for her, and -the two sleepless nights had induced a nervous condition that begged -for the quieting influence of the little white powder. - -Custer noticed immediately that something was amiss. The roses were -gone from her cheeks, leaving a suggestion of the old pallor; and -though she smiled and greeted him happily, he thought that he detected -an expression of wistfulness and pain in her face when she was not -conscious that others were observing her. - -There was a strange suggestion of change in their relations, which -Custer did not attempt to analyze. It was as if he had been gone a long -time, and, returning, had found Shannon changed through the natural -processes of time and separation. She was not the same girl--she could -never be the same again, nor could their relations ever be the same. - -The careless freedom of their association, which had resembled that of -a brother and sister more than any other relationship between a man and -a woman, had gone forever. What had replaced it Custer did not know. -Sometimes he thought that it was a suspicion of Shannon that clung to -his mind in spite of himself, but again and again he assured himself -that he held no suspicion of her. - -He wished, though, that she would explain that which was to him -inexplicable. He had the faith to believe that she could explain it -satisfactorily; but would she do so? She had had the opportunity, -before this thing had occurred, and had not taken advantage of it. He -would give her another opportunity that day, and he prayed that she -would avail herself of it. Why he should care so much, he did not try -to reason. He did not even realize how much he did care. - -Presently he turned toward her. - -“I am going to ride over to the east pasture after breakfast,” he said, -and waited. - -“Is that an invitation?” - -He smiled and nodded. - -“But not if it isn’t perfectly convenient,” he added. - -“I’d love to come with you. You know I always do.” - -“Fine! And you’ll breakfast with us?” - -“Not to-day. I have a couple of letters to write that I want to get off -right away; but I’ll be up between eight thirty and nine. Is that too -late?” - -“I’ll ride down after breakfast and wait for you--if I won’t be in the -way.” - -“Of course you won’t. It will take me only a few minutes to write my -letters.” - -“How are you going to mail them? This is Sunday.” - -“Mr. Powers is going to drive in to Los Angeles to-day. He’ll mail them -in the city.” - -“Who looks after things when Mr. and Mrs. Powers are away?” - -“Who looks after things? Why, I do.” - -“The chickens, and the sow, and Baldy--you take care of them all?” - -“Certainly, and I have more than that now.” - -“How’s that?” - -“Nine little pigs! They came yesterday. They’re perfect beauties.” - -The man laughed. - -“What are you laughing about?” she demanded. - -“The idea of you taking care of chickens and pigs and a horse!” - -“I don’t see anything funny about it, and it’s lot of fun. Did you -think I was too stupid?” - -“I was just thinking what a change two months have made. What would you -have done if you’d been left alone two months ago with a hundred hens, -a horse, and ten pigs to care for?” - -“The question then would have been what the hens, the horse, and the -pigs would have done; but now I know pretty well what to do. The two -letters I have to write are about the little pigs. I don’t know much -about them, and so I am writing to Berkeley and Washington for the -latest bulletins.” - -“Why don’t you ask _us_?” - -“Gracious, but I do! I am forever asking the colonel questions, and -the boys at the hog house must hate to see me coming. I’ve spent hours -in the office, reading Lovejoy and Colton; but I want something for -ready reference. I’ve an idea that I can raise lots more hogs than I -intended by fencing the orchard and growing alfalfa between the rows, -for pasture. There’s something solid and substantial about hogs that -suggests a bank balance even in the years when the orange crop may be -short or a failure, or the market poor.” - -“You’ve got the right idea,” said Custer. “There isn’t a rancher or an -orchardist, big or little, in the valley who couldn’t make more money -year in and year out if he’d keep a few brood sows.” - -“What’s Cus doing?” asked Eva, who had reined back beside them. -“Preaching hog raising again? That’s his idea of a dapper little way to -entertain a girl--hogs, Herefords and horses! Wouldn’t he make a hit in -society? Regular little tea pointer, I’ll say!” - -“I knew you were about to say something,” remarked her brother. “You’ve -been quiet for all of five minutes.” - -“I’ve been thinking,” said Eva. “I’ve been thinking how lonely it will -be when you have to go away to jail.” - -“Why, they can’t send me to jail--I haven’t done anything,” he tried to -reassure her. - -“I’m so afraid, Cus!” The tears came to her eyes. “I lay awake for -hours last night, thinking about it. Oh, Cus, I just couldn’t stand it -if they sent you to jail! Do you think the men who did it would let you -go for something they did? Could any one be so wicked? I never hated -any one in my life, but I could hate them, if they don’t come forward -and save you. I could _hate_ them, _hate_ them, _hate_ them! Oh, Cus, -I believe that I could _kill_ the man who would do such a thing to my -brother!” - -“Come, dear, don’t worry about it. The chances are that they’ll free -me. Even if they don’t, you mustn’t feel quite so bitterly against the -men who are responsible. There may be reasons that you know nothing of -that would keep them silent. Let’s not talk about it. All we can do now -is to wait and see what the grand jury is going to do. In the meantime -I don’t intend to worry.” - -Shannon Burke, her heart heavy with shame and sorrow, listened as might -a condemned man to the reading of his death sentence. She felt almost -the degradation that might have been hers had she deliberately planned -to ensnare Custer Pennington in the toils that had been laid for him. - -She determined that she would go before the grand jury and tell all she -knew. Then she would go away. She would not have to see the contempt -and hatred they must surely feel for her after she had recited the -cold facts that she must lay before the jury, unmitigated by any of -those extenuating truths that must lie forever hidden in the secret -recesses of her soul. They would know only that she might have warned -Custer, and did not; that she might have cleared him at his preliminary -hearing, and did not. The fact that she had come to his rescue at the -eleventh hour would not excuse her, in their minds, of the guilt -of having permitted the Pennington honor to be placed in jeopardy -needlessly; nor could it explain her knowledge of the crime, or those -associations of her past life that had made it possible for her to have -gained such knowledge. - -No, she could never face them again after the following Wednesday; but -until then she would cling to the brief days of happiness that remained -to her before the final catastrophe of her life, for it was thus that -she thought of it--the moment and the act that would forever terminate -her intercourse with the Penningtons, that would turn the respect of -the man she loved to loathing. - -She counted the hours before the end. There would be two more morning -rides--to-morrow and Tuesday. They would ask her to dinner, or to -lunch, or to breakfast several times in the ensuing three days, and -there would be rides with Custer. She would take all the happy memories -that she could into the bleak and sunless future. - -Their ride that morning was over a loved and familiar trail that led -across El Camino Corto over low hills into Horse Camp Cañon, and up -Horse Camp to Coyote Springs; then over El Camino Largo to Sycamore -Cañon and down beneath the old, old sycamores to the ranch. She felt -that she knew each bush and tree and bowlder, and they held for her the -quiet restfulness of the familiar faces of old friends. She should miss -them, but she would carry them in her memory forever. - -When they came to the fork in the road, she would not let Custer ride -home with her. - -“At eight thirty, then,” he called to her, as she urged Baldy into a -canter and left them with a gay wave of the hand that gave no token of -the heavy sorrow in her heart. - -As was her custom, she ate breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Powers at the -little tenant cottage a couple of hundred yards in rear of her own -bungalow--a practice which gave her an opportunity to discuss each -day’s work in advance with her foreman, and at the same time to add -to her store of information concerning matters of ranching and citrus -culture. Her knowledge of these things had broadened rapidly, and was a -constant source of surprise to Powers, who took great pride in bragging -about it to his friends; for Shannon had won as great a hold upon the -hearts of these two as she had upon all who were fortunate enough to -know her well. - -After breakfast, as she was returning to her bungalow to write her -letters, she saw a Mexican boy on a bicycle turn in at her gate. They -met in front of the bungalow. - -“Are you Miss Burke?” he asked. “Bartolo says for you to come to his -camp in the mountains this morning, sure,” he went on, having received -an affirmative reply. - -“Who is Bartolo?” - -“He says you know. You went to his camp a week ago yesterday.” - -“Tell him I do not know him and will not go.” - -“He says to tell you that he only wants to talk to you about your -friend who is in trouble.” - -The girl thought for a moment. Possibly here was a way out of her -dilemma. If she could force Bartolo by threats of exposure, he might -discover a way to clear Custer Pennington without incriminating -himself. She turned to the boy. - -“Tell him I will come.” - -“I do not see him again. He is up in his camp now. He told me this -yesterday. He also told me to tell you that he would be watching for -you, and if you did not come alone you would not find him.” - -“Very well,” she said, and turned into the bungalow. - -She wrote her letters, but she was not thinking about them. Then she -took them over to Powers to take to the city for her. After that she -went to the telephone and called the Rancho del Ganado, asking for -Custer when she got the connection. - -“I’m terribly disappointed,” she said, when he came to the telephone. -“I find I simply can’t ride this morning; but if you’ll put it off -until afternoon----” - -“Why, certainly! Come up to lunch and we’ll ride afterward,” he told -her. - -“You won’t go, then, until afternoon?” she asked. - -“I’ll ride over to the east pasture this morning, and we’ll just take a -ride any old place that you want to go this afternoon.” - -“All right,” she replied. - -She had hoped that he would not ride that morning. There was a chance -that he might see her, even though the east pasture was miles from the -trail she would ride, for there were high places on both trails, where -a horseman would be visible for several miles. - -“This noon at lunch, then,” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -Half an hour later Custer Pennington swung into the saddle and headed -the Apache up Sycamore Cañon. - -The trail to the east pasture led through Jackknife. As he passed the -spot where he had been arrested on the previous Friday night, the man -made a wry face--more at the recollection of the ease with which he -had been duped than because of the fact of his arrest. Being free from -any sense of guilt, he could view with a certain lightness of spirit -that was almost levity the mere physical aspects of possible duress. -The reality of his service to Eva could not but tend to compensate for -any sorrow he must feel because of the suffering his conviction and -imprisonment might bring to his family, so much greater must be their -sorrow should Eva be permitted to learn the truth. - -When Shannon had broken their engagement for the morning, he had felt -a disappointment entirely out of proportion to its cause--a thing -which he had realized himself, but had been unable to analyze. Now, in -anticipation of seeing her at noon and riding with her after lunch, he -experienced a rise in spirits that was equally unaccountable. He liked -her very much, and she was excellent company--which, of course, would -account for the pleasure he derived from being with her. To-day, too, -he hoped for an explanation of her ride into the mountains the week -before, so that there might be no longer any shadow on his friendship -for her. - -The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that this -afternoon she would explain the whole matter quite satisfactorily, and -presently he found himself whistling as if there were no such places as -jails or penitentiaries in the whole wide and beautiful world. - -Just then he reached the summit of the trail leading out of Jackknife -Cañon toward the east pasture. As was his wont, the Apache stopped -to breathe after the hard climb, and, as seems to be the habit of -all horses in like circumstances, he turned around and faced in the -opposite direction from that in which his rider had been going. - -Below and to Custer’s right the ranch buildings lay dotted about in the -dust like children’s toys upon a gray rug. Beyond was the castle on the -hill, shining in the sun, and farther still the soft-carpeted valley, -in grays and browns and greens. Then the young man’s glance wandered -to the left and out over the basin meadow, and instantly the joy died -out of his heart and the happiness from his eyes. Straight along the -mysterious trail loped a horse and rider toward the mountains, and even -at that distance he recognized them as Baldy and Shannon. - -The force of the shock was almost equivalent to an unexpected blow -in the face. What could it mean? He recalled her questions. She had -deliberately sought to learn his plans, as she had that other day, and -then, as before, she had hastened off to some mysterious rendezvous in -the hills. - -Suddenly a hot wave of anger surged through him. Quiet and -self-controlled as he usually was, there were times when the Pennington -temper seized and dominated him so completely that he himself was -appalled by the acts it precipitated. Under its spell a Pennington -might commit murder. Now Custer did what was almost as foreign to his -nature--he cursed the girl who rode on, unconscious of his burning eyes -upon her, toward the mountains. He cursed her aloud, searching his -memory for opprobrious epithets and anathemas to hurl after her. - -This was the end. He was through with her forever. What did he know -about her? What did any of them know about her? She had never mentioned -her life or associations in the city--he recalled that now. She had -known no one whom they knew, and they had taken her in and treated her -as a daughter of the house, without knowing anything of her; and this -was their reward! - -She was doubtless a hireling of the gang that had stolen the whisky and -disposed of it through Guy. They had sent her here to spy on Guy and to -watch the Penningtons. It was she who had set the trap in which he had -been caught, not to save Guy, but to throw the suspicion of guilt upon -Custer. - -But for what reason? There was no reason except that he had been -selected from the first to be the scapegoat when the government -officers were too hot upon their trail. She had watched him carefully. -God, but she had been cunning and he credulous! There had been scarce -a day that she had not been with him. She had ridden the hills with -him, and she had kept him from following the mysterious trail--so he -reasoned in his rage, though as a matter of fact she had done nothing -of the sort; but anger and hate are blind, and Custer Pennington was -angry and filled with hate. Unreasoning rage consumed him. - -He believed that he never had hated before as he hated this girl now, -so far to the other extreme had the shock of her duplicity driven his -regard for her. He would see her just once more, and he would tell -her what he thought of her, so that there might be no chance that she -would ever again enter the home of the Penningtons. He must see to that -before he went away, that Eva might not be exposed to the influence of -such a despicable character. - -But he could not see her to-day. He could not trust himself to see her, -for even in his anger he remembered that she was a woman, and that when -he saw her he must treat her as a woman. If she had been within reach -when he first discovered her, a moment since, he could have struck her, -choked her. - -With the realization, the senseless fury of his anger left him. He -turned the Apache away, and headed him again toward the east pasture; -but deep within his heart was a cold anger that was quite as terrible, -though in a different way. - -Shannon Burke rode up the trail toward the camp of the smugglers, all -unconscious that there looked down upon her from a high ridge behind -eyes filled with hate and loathing--the eyes of the man she loved. - -She put Baldy up the steep trail that had so filled her with terror -when she first scaled it, and down upon the other side into the grove -of oaks that had hidden the camp; but now there was no camp there--only -the debris that always marks the stopping place of men. - -As she reached the foot of the trail, she saw Bartolo standing beneath -a great oak, awaiting her. His pony stood with trailing reins beneath -the tree. A rifle butt protruded from a boot on the right of the -saddle. He came forward as she guided Baldy toward the tree. - -“_Buenos dias, señorita_,” he greeted her, twisting his pock-marked -face into the semblance of a smile. - -“What do you want of me?” Shannon demanded. - -“I need money,” he said. “You get money from Evans. He got all the -money from the hootch we take down two weeks ago. We never get no -chance to get it from him.” - -“I’ll get you nothing!” - -“You get money now--and whenever I want it,” said the Mexican, “or I -tell about Crumb. You Crumb’s woman. I tell how you peddle dope. I -know! You do what I tell you, or you go to the pen. _Sabe?_” - -“Now listen to me,” said the girl. “I didn’t come up here to take -orders from you. I came to give you orders.” - -“What?” exclaimed the Mexican, and then he laughed aloud. “You give me -orders? That is damn funny!” - -“Yes, it is funny. You will enjoy it immensely when I tell you what you -are to do.” - -“Hurry, then; I have no time to waste.” - -He was still laughing. - -“You are going to find some way to clear Mr. Pennington of the charge -against him. I don’t care what the way is, so long as it does not -incriminate any other innocent person. If you can do it without getting -yourself in trouble, well and good. I do not care; but you must see -that there is evidence given before the grand jury next Wednesday that -will prove Mr. Pennington’s innocence.” - -“Is that all?” inquired Bartolo, grinning broadly. - -“That is all.” - -“And if I don’t do it--eh?” - -“Then I shall go before the grand jury and tell them about you, and -Allen--about the opium and the morphine and the cocaine--how you -smuggled the stolen booze from the ship off the coast up into the -mountains.” - -“You think you would do that?” he asked. “But how about me? Wouldn’t I -be telling everything I know about you? Allen would testify, too, and -they would make Crumb come and tell how you lived with him. Oh, no, I -guess you don’t tell the grand jury nothing!” - -“I shall tell them everything. Do you think I care about myself? I will -tell them all that Allen or Crumb could tell; and listen, Bartolo--I -can tell them something more. There used to be five men in your gang. -There were three when I came up last week, and Allen is in jail; but -where is the other?” - -The man’s face went black with anger, and perhaps with fear, too. - -“What you know about that?” he demanded sharply. - -“Allen told Crumb the first time he came to the Hollywood bungalow -that he was having trouble among his gang, that you were a hard lot -to handle, and that already one named Bartolo had killed one named -Gracial. How would you like me to tell that to the grand jury?” - -“You never tell that to no one!” growled the Mexican. “You know too -damn much for your health!” - -He had stepped suddenly forward and seized her wrist. She struck at him -and at the same time put the spurs to Baldy--in her fear and excitement -more severely than she had intended. The high-spirited animal, unused -to such treatment, leaped forward past the Mexican, who, clinging -to the girl’s wrist, dragged her from the saddle. Baldy turned, and -feeling himself free, ran for the trail that led toward home. - -“You know too damn much!” repeated Bartolo. “You better off up here -alongside Gracial!” - -The girl had risen to her feet and stood facing him. There was no fear -in her eyes. She was very beautiful, and her beauty was not lost upon -the Mexican. - -“You mean that you would kill me to keep me from telling the truth -about you?” she asked. - -“Why not? Should I die instead? If you had kept your mouth shut, you -would have been all right; but now”--he shrugged suggestively--“you -better off up here beside Gracial.” - -“They’ll get you and hang you for it,” she said. - -“Who will know?” - -“The boy who brought me the message from you.” - -“He will not tell. He my son.” - -“I wrote a note and left it in my desk before I came up here, telling -everything, for fear of something of this sort,” she said. - -“You lie!” he accused, correctly; “but for fear you did, I go down and -burn your house to-night, after I get through with you. The ground -pretty hard after the hot weather--it take me long time to dig a hole -beside Gracial!” - -The girl was at her wits’ end now. Her pitiful little lie had not -availed. She began to realize that nothing would avail. She had made -the noose, stuck her head into it, and sprung the trap. It was too late -to alter the consequences. The man had the physique of a bull--she -could not hope to escape him by recourse to any power other than her -wits, and in the first effort along that line she had failed miserably -and put him on his guard. - -Her case appeared hopeless. She thought of pleading with him, but -realized the futility of it. The fact that she did not do so indicated -her courage, which had not permitted her to lose her head. She saw -that it was either his life or hers, as he saw the matter, and that it -was going to be hers was obvious. - -The man stood facing her, holding her by the wrist. His eyes appraised -her boldly. - -“You damn good-looking,” he said, and pulled the girl toward him. -“Before I kill you, I----” - -He threw an arm about her roughly, and, leaning far over her as she -pulled away, he sought to reach her lips with his. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -The Apache had taken but a few steps on the trail toward the east -pasture when Custer reined him in suddenly and wheeled him about. - -“I’ll settle this thing now,” he muttered. “I’ll catch her with them. -I’ll find out who the others are. By God, I’ve got her now, and I’ve -got them!” - -He spurred the Apache into a lope along the steep and dangerous -declivity leading downward into the basin. The horse was surprised. -Never before had he been allowed to go down hill faster than a -walk--his sound forelegs attested the careful horsemanship of his rider. - -Where the trail wound around bushes, he took perilous jumps on the -steep hillside, for his speed was too great to permit him to make the -short turns. He cleared them, and somehow he stuck to the trail beyond. -His iron shoes struck fire from half embedded bowlders. - -A rattler crossing the trail ahead coiled, buzzing its warning. The -hillside was steep--there was no footing above or below the snake. -The Apache could not have stopped in time to save himself from those -poisoned fangs. A coward horse would have wheeled and gone over the -cliff; but the Morgan is no coward. - -The rider saw the danger at the instant the horse did. The animal felt -the spurs touch him lightly, he heard a word of encouragement from the -man he trusted. As the snake struck, he rose, gathering his four feet -close to his belly, and cleared the danger spot far out of reach of the -needle-like fangs. - -The trail beyond was narrow, rocky, and shelving--the thing could not -have happened in a worse place. The Apache lit, stumbled, slipped. His -off hind foot went over the edge. He lunged forward upon his knees. - -Only the cool horsemanship of his rider saved them both. A pound of -weight thrown in the wrong direction would have toppled the horse to -the bottom of the rocky gorge; a heavy hand upon the bit would have -accomplished the same result. Pennington sat easily the balanced seat -that gave the horse the best chance to regain his footing. His touch -upon the bit was only sufficient to impart confidence to his mount, -giving the animal’s head free play, as nature intended, as he scrambled -back to the trail again. - -At last they reached the safer footing of the basin, and were off in -a straight line for the ravine into which led the mysterious trail. -The Apache knew that there was need for haste--an inclination of his -master’s body, a closing of the knees against his barrel, the slight -raising of the bridle hand, had told him this more surely than loud -cries of the punishment of steel rowels. He flattened out and flew. - -The cold rage that gripped Pennington brooked no delay. He was glad, -though, that he was unarmed; for he knew that when he came face to face -with the men with whom Shannon Burke had conspired against him, he -might again cease to be master of his anger. - -They reached the foot of the acclivity terminating at the summit of the -ridge beyond which lay the camp of the bootleggers. Again the man urged -his mount to the necessity of speed. The powerful beast leaped upward -along the steep trail, digging his toes deep into the sun-baked soil, -every muscle in his body strained to the limit of its powers. - -At the summit they met Baldy, head and tail erect, snorting and -riderless. The appearance of the horse and his evident fright bespoke -something amiss. Custer had seen him just as he was emerging from -the upper end of the dim trail leading down the opposite side of the -hogback. He turned the Apache into it and headed him down toward the -oaks. - -Below, Shannon was waging a futile fight against the burly Bartolo. -She struck at his face and attempted to push him from her, but he only -laughed his crooked laugh and pushed her slowly toward the trampled -dust of the abandoned camp. - -“Before I kill you----” he repeated again and again, as if it were some -huge joke. - -He heard the sound of the Apache’s hoofs upon the trail above, but he -thought it the loose horse of the girl. Custer was almost at the bottom -of the trail when the Mexican glanced up and saw him. With a curse, he -hurled Shannon aside and leaped toward his pony. - -At the same instant the girl saw the Apache and his rider, and in -the next she saw Bartolo seize his rifle and attempt to draw it from -its boot. Leaping to her feet, she sprang toward the Mexican, who -was cursing frightfully because the rifle had stuck and he could not -readily extricate it from the boot. As she reached him, he succeeded -in jerking the weapon free. Swinging about, he threw it to his -shoulder and fired at Pennington, just as Shannon threw herself upon -him, clutching at his arms and dragging the muzzle of the weapon -downward. He struck at her face, and tried to wrench the rifle from her -grasp; but she clung to it with all the desperation that the danger -confronting the man she loved engendered. - -Custer had thrown himself from the saddle and was running toward them. -Bartolo saw that he could not regain the rifle in time to use it. -He struck the girl a terrible blow in the face that sent her to the -ground. Then he turned and vaulted into his saddle, and was away across -the bottom and up the trail on the opposite side before Pennington -could reach him and drag him from his pony. - -Custer turned to the girl lying motionless upon the ground. He knelt -and raised her in his arms. She had fainted, and her face was very -white. He looked down into it--the face of the girl he hated. He felt -his arms about her, he felt her body against his, and suddenly a look -of horror filled his eyes. - -He laid her back upon the ground, and stood up. He was trembling -violently. As he had held her in his arms, there had swept over him an -almost irresistible desire to crush her to him, to cover her eyes and -cheeks with kisses, to smother her lips with them--the girl he hated! - -A great light had broken upon his mental horizon--a light of -understanding that left all his world in the dark shadow of despair. He -loved Shannon Burke! - -Again he knelt beside her, and very gently he lifted her in his arms -until he could support her across one shoulder. Then he whistled to the -Apache, who was nibbling the bitter leaves of the live oak. When the -horse came to him, he looped the bridle reins about his arm and started -on foot up the trail down which he had just ridden, carrying Shannon -across his shoulder. At the summit of the ridge he found Baldy grazing -upon the sparse, burned grasses of late September. - -It was then that Shannon Burke opened her eyes. At first, confused -by the rush of returning recollections, she thought that it was the -Mexican who was carrying her; but an instant later she recognized the -whipcord riding breeches and the familiar boots and spurs of the son of -Ganado. Then she stirred upon his shoulder. - -“I am all right now,” she said. “You may put me down. I can walk.” - -He lowered her to the ground, but he still supported her as they stood -facing each other. - -“You came just in time,” she said. “He was going to kill me.” - -“I am glad I came,” was all that he said. - -She noticed how tired and pinched Custer’s face looked, as if he had -risen from a sick bed after a long period of suffering. He looked -older--very much older--and oh, so sad! It wrung her heart; but she did -not question him. She was waiting for him to question her, for she knew -that he must wonder why she had come here, and what the meaning of the -encounter he had witnessed; but he did not ask her anything, beyond -inquiring whether she thought she was strong enough to sit her saddle -if he helped her mount. - -“I shall be all right now,” she assured him. - -He caught Baldy and assisted her into the saddle. Then he mounted the -Apache and led the way along the trail toward home. They were halfway -across the basin meadow before either spoke. It was Shannon who broke -the silence. - -“You must have wondered what I was doing up there,” she said, with a -backward nod of her head. - -“That would not be strange, would it?” - -“I will tell you.” - -“No,” he said. “It is bad enough that you went there to-day and the -Saturday before I was arrested. Anything more that you could tell -me would only make it worse. Do you remember that girl I told you -about--that friend of Cousin William--who visited us?” - -“Yes.” - -“I followed you up here to-day to tell you the same thing I told her.” - -“I understand,” she said. - -“You do not understand,” he snapped, almost angrily. “You understand -nothing. I only said that I followed to tell you that. I have not told -you, have I? Well, I don’t intend to tell you; but my shame that I -don’t is enough without you telling me any more to add to it. There -can be no honorable excuse for your having come here that other time, -or this time, either. There is no reason in the world why a woman -should have any dealings with criminals, or any knowledge that would -make dealings with them possible. That is the reason I don’t want you -to tell me more. Oh, Shannon”--his voice broke--“I don’t want to hear -anything bad about you!... Please!” - -She had been upon the verge of just anger until then. Even now she did -not understand--only that he wanted to believe in her, however much he -doubted her, and that their friendship had meant more to him than she -had imagined. - -“But I must tell you, Custer,” she insisted. “Now that you have learned -this much, I can see that your suspicions wrong me more than I deserve. -I came here the Saturday before you were arrested to warn them that -you were going to watch for them on the following Friday. Though I did -not know the men, I knew what sort they were, and that they would kill -you the moment they found that they were discovered. It was only to -save your life that I came that other time, and this time I came to try -to force them to go before the grand jury and clear you of the charge -against you; but when I threatened the man, and he found what I knew -about him, he said that he would kill me.” - -“You did not know that I was going to be arrested that night?” - -“Oh, Custer, how could you believe that of me?” exclaimed Shannon. - -“I didn’t want to believe it.” - -“I came into all this information--about the work of this gang--by -accidentally overhearing a conversation in Hollywood, months ago. I -know the names of the principals, I know Guy’s connection with them. -To-day I was trying to keep Guy’s name out, too, if that were possible; -but he is guilty and you are not. I cannot understand how he could come -back from Los Angeles without telling them the truth and removing the -suspicion from you.” - -“I would not let him,” said Pennington. - -“You would not let him? You would go to the penitentiary for the crime -of another?” - -“Not for him, but for Eva. Guy and I thrashed it all out. He wanted to -give himself up--he almost demanded that I should let him; but it can’t -be done. Eva must never know.” - -“But, Custer, you can’t go! It wouldn’t be fair--it wouldn’t be right. -I won’t let you go! I know enough to clear you, and I shall go before -the grand jury on Wednesday and tell all I know.” - -“No,” he said. “You must not. It would involve Guy.” - -“I won’t mention Guy.” - -“But you will mention others, and they will mention Guy--don’t doubt -that for a minute.” He turned suddenly toward her. “Promise me, -Shannon, that you will not go--that you will not mention what you know -to a living soul. I would rather go to the pen for twenty years than -see Eva’s life ruined. You don’t know her. She’s gay and happy and -frivolous on the outside; but deep within her is a soul of wondrous -sensitiveness and beauty, which is fortified and guarded by her pride -and her honor. Strike down one of these, and you will have given her -soul a wound from which it may never recover. She can understand -neither meanness nor depravity in men and women. Should she ever learn -that Guy had been connected with this gang, and that the money upon -which they were to start their married life was the fruits of his -criminality, it would break her heart. I know that Guy isn’t criminally -inclined, and that this will be a lesson that will keep him straight as -long as he lives; but she wouldn’t look at it that way. Now do you see -why you must not tell what you know?” - -“Perhaps you are right, but it seems to me she would not suffer any -more if Guy went than if her brother went. She loves you very much.” - -“But she will know that I am innocent. If Guy went, she would know that -he was guilty.” - -Shannon had no answer to this, and they were silent for a while. - -“You will help me to keep this from Eva?” he asked. - -“Yes.” - -She was thinking of the futility of her sacrifice, and wondering what -explanation he was putting upon her knowledge of the activities of the -criminals. He had said that there could be no reason in the world why -a woman should have any dealings with such men, or any knowledge that -would make dealings with them possible. What would he think of her if -he knew the truth? - -The man’s mind was a chaos of conflicting thoughts--the -sudden realization of a love that was as impossible as it was -unwelcome--recollection of his vows to Grace, which were as binding -upon his honor as the marriage vows themselves would have been--doubts -as to the character and antecedents of this girl who rode at his side -to-day, and whose place in his life had suddenly assumed an importance -beyond that of any other. - -Then he turned a little, his eyes rested upon her profile, and he found -it hard to doubt her. - -Shannon felt his eyes upon her, and looked up. - -“You have been so good to me, Custer, all of you--you can never know -how I have valued the friendship of the Penningtons, or what it has -meant to me, or how I have striven to deserve it. I would have done -anything to repay a part, at least, of what it has done for me. That -was what I was trying to do--that is why I wanted to go before the -grand jury, no matter what the cost to me; but I failed, and perhaps I -have only made it worse. I do not even know that you believe me.” - -“I believe you, Shannon,” he said. “There is much that I do not -understand; but I believe that what you did was done in our interests. -There is nothing more that any of us can do now but keep still about -what we know, for the moment one of those actually responsible -is threatened with exposure Guy’s name will be divulged--you may -rest assured of that. They would be only too glad to shift the -responsibility to his shoulders.” - -“But you will make some effort to defend yourself?” - -“I shall simply plead not guilty, and tell the truth about why I was up -there when the officers arrested me.” - -“You will make no other defense?” - -“What other defense can I make that would not risk incriminating Guy?” -Custer asked her. - -She shook her head. It seemed quite hopeless. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -Federal officers, searching the hills found the camp above Jackknife -Cañon. They collected a number of empty bottles bearing labels -identical with those on the bottles in the cases carried by the -burros, and those found in Custer Pennington’s room. That was all they -discovered, except that the camp was located on the Pennington property. - -The district attorney, realizing the paucity of evidence calculated to -convict the prisoner on any serious charge, was inclined to drop the -prosecution; but the prohibition enforcement agents, backed by a band -of women, most of whom had never performed a woman’s first duty to the -state and society, and therefore had ample time to meddle in affairs -far beyond the scope of their intellects, seized upon the prominence -of the Pennington name to gain notoriety for themselves on the score -that the conviction of a member of a prominent family would have an -excellent moral effect upon the community at large. - -Just how they arrived at this conclusion it is difficult to discern. -Similarly one might argue that if it could be proved that the Pope was -a pickpocket, it would be tremendously effective in regenerating the -morals of the world. - -Be that as it may, the works of the righteous were not without fruit, -for on the 12th of October Custer Pennington was found guilty and -sentenced to six months in the county jail for having had several -hundred dollars’ worth of stolen whisky in his possession. He was -neither surprised nor disheartened. His only concern was for the -sensibilities of his family, and these--represented at the trial in the -person of his father--seemed far from overwhelmed, for the colonel was -unalterably convinced of his son’s innocence. - -Eva, who had remained at home with her mother, was more deeply affected -than the others, though through a sense of injustice rather than of -shame. Shannon, depressed by an unwarranted sense of responsibility -for the wrong that Custer had suffered, and chagrined that force of -circumstances should have prevented her from saving the Penningtons -from a stain upon their escutcheon, found it increasingly difficult to -continue her intimacy with these loved friends. Carrying in her heart -the knowledge and the proof of his innocence, she regarded herself as a -traitor among them, and in consequence held herself more and more aloof -from their society, first upon one pretext and then upon another. - -At a loss to account for her change toward them, Eva, in a moment of -depression, attributed it to the disgrace of Custer’s imprisonment. - -“She is ashamed to associate with the family of a--a--jailbird!” she -cried. - -“I don’t believe anything of the kind,” replied the colonel. “Shannon’s -got too much sense, and she’s too loyal. That’s all damned poppycock!” - -“I’m sure she couldn’t feel that way,” said Mrs. Pennington. “She has -been just as positive in her assertions of Custer’s innocence as any of -us.” - -“You might as well think the same about Guy,” said the colonel. “He’s -scarcely been up here since Custer’s arrest.” - -“He’s very busy on a new story. Anyway, I asked him about that very -thing, and offered to break the engagement if he felt our disgrace too -keenly to want to marry into the family.” - -The colonel drew her down to his knee. - -“You silly little girl!” he said. “Do you suppose that this has made -any difference in the affection that Guy or any other of our real -friends feel for us? Not in the slightest. Even if Cus were guilty, -they would not change. Those who did we would be better off not to -know. I am rather jealous of the Pennington honor myself, but I have -never felt that this affair is any reflection upon it, and you need -not.” - -“But I can’t help it, popsy. My brother, my dear brother, in jail with -a lot of thieves and murderers and horrible people like that! It is -just too awful! I lie awake at night thinking about it. I am ashamed to -go to the village, for fear some one will point at me and say, ‘There -goes the girl whose brother is in jail!’” - -“You are taking it much too hard, dear,” said her mother. “One would -think that our boy was really guilty.” - -“Oh, if he really were, I should kill myself!” - -The only person, other than the officious reformers, to derive any -happiness from young Pennington’s fate was Slick Allen. He occupied -a cell not far from Custer’s, and there were occasions when they -were thrown together. Several times Allen saw fit to fling gibes at -his former employer, much to the amusement of his fellows. They were -usually indirect. - -One day, as Custer was passing, Allen remarked in a loud tone: - -“There’s a lot more of these damn fox-trottin’ dudes that put on airs, -but ain’t nothin’ but common thieves!” - -Pennington turned and faced him. - -“You remember what you got the last time you tried calling me names, -Allen? Well, don’t think for a minute that just because we’re in -jail I won’t hand you the same thing again some day, if you get too -funny. The trouble with you, Allen, is that you are laboring under the -misapprehension that you are a humorist. You’re not, and if I were you -I wouldn’t make faces at the only man in this jail who knows about you, -and Bartolo, and--Gracial. Don’t forget Gracial!” - -Allen paled, and his eyes closed to two very narrow slits. He made no -more observations concerning Pennington; but he devoted much thought -to him, trying to arrive at some reasonable explanation of the man’s -silence, when it was evident that he must have sufficient knowledge of -the guilt of others to clear himself of the charge upon which he had -been convicted. - -To Allen’s hatred of Custer was now added a real fear, for he had been -present when Bartolo killed Gracial. The other two witnesses had been -Mexicans, and Allen had no doubt but that if Bartolo were accused, the -three of them would swear that the American committed the murder. - -One of the first things to do, when he was released from jail, would -be to do away with Bartolo. Bartolo disposed of, the other witnesses -would join with Allen to lay the guilt upon the departed. Such pleasant -thoughts occupied the time and mind of Slick Allen, as did also his -plans for paying one Wilson Crumb a little debt he felt due this -one-time friend. - -Nor was Crumb free from apprehension for the time that would see -Allen’s jail sentence fulfilled. He well knew the nature of the man. -It is typical of drug addicts to disregard the effect of their acts -further than the immediate serving of their own interests, and the -director had encompassed Allen’s arrest merely to meet the emergency of -the moment. Later, as time gave him the opportunity to consider what -must inevitably follow Allen’s release, he began to take thought as to -means whereby he might escape the just deserts of his treachery. - -He knew enough of Allen’s activities to send the man to a Federal -prison for a long term, but these matters he could not divulge without -equally incriminating himself. There was, however, one little item of -Allen’s past which might be used against him without signal danger to -Crumb, and that was the murder of Gracial. It would not be necessary -for Crumb to appear in the matter at all. An anonymous letter to the -police would suffice to direct suspicion of the crime toward Allen, and -to insure for Crumb, if not permanent immunity, at least a period of -reprieve. - -With the natural predilection of the weak for avoiding or delaying the -consummation of their intentions, Crumb postponed the writing of this -letter of accusation. There was no cause for hurry, he argued, since -Allen’s time would not expire until the 6th of the following August. - -Crumb led a lonely life after the departure of Gaza. His infatuation -for the girl had as closely approximated love as a creature of his -type could reach. He had come to depend upon her, and to look forward -to finding her at the Vista del Paso bungalow on his return from the -studio. Since her departure his evenings had been unbearable, and with -the passing weeks he developed a hatred for the place that constantly -reminded him of his loss. He had been so confident that she would have -to return to him after she had consumed the small quantity of morphine -he had allotted her that only after the weeks had run into months did -he realize that she had probably gone out of his life forever. How she -had accomplished it he could not understand, unless she had found means -of obtaining the narcotic elsewhere. - -Not knowing where she had gone, he had no means of searching for her. -In his own mind, however, he was convinced that she must have returned -to Los Angeles. Judging others by himself, he could conceive of no -existence that would be supportable beyond the limits of a large city, -where the means for the gratification of his vice might be obtained. - -That Gaza de Lure had successfully thrown off the fetters into which he -had tricked her never for a moment entered his calculations. Finally, -however, it was borne in upon him that there was little likelihood of -her returning; and so depressing had become the familiar and suggestive -furnishings of the Vista del Paso bungalow that he at last gave it up, -stored his furniture, and took a room at a local hotel. He took with -him, carefully concealed in a trunk, his supply of narcotics--which -he did not find it so easy to dispose of since the departure of his -accomplice. - -During the first picture in which Grace Evans had worked with him, -Crumb had become more and more impressed with her beauty and the subtle -charm of her refinement, which appealed to him by contrast with the -ordinary surroundings and personalities of the K. K. S. studio. There -was a quiet restfulness about her which soothed his diseased nerves, -and after Gaza’s desertion he found himself more and more seeking her -society. As was his accustomed policy, his attentions were at first so -slight, and increased by such barely perceptible degrees, that, taken -in connection with his uniform courtesy, they gave the girl no warning -of his ultimate purposes. - -The matter of the test had shocked and disgusted her for the moment; -but the thing having been done, and no harm coming from it, she began -to consider even that with less revulsion than formerly. The purpose of -it she had never been able to fathom; but if Crumb had intended it to -place him insidiously upon a plane of greater intimacy with the girl, -he had succeeded. That the effect was subjective rendered it none the -less effective. - -Added to these factors in the budding intimacy between the director and -the extra girl was the factor which is always most potent in similar -associations--the fear that the girl holds of offending a potent ally, -and the hope of propitiating a power in which lies the potentiality of -success upon the screen. - -Lunches at Frank’s, dinners at the Ship, dances at the Country Club, -led by easy gradations to more protracted parties at the Sunset -Inn and the Green Mill. The purposes of Crumb’s shrewdly conceived -and carefully executed plan were twofold. Primarily, he sought a -companionship to replace that of which Gaza de Lure had robbed him. -Secondarily, he needed a new tool to assist in the disposal of the -considerable store of narcotics that he had succeeded in tricking Allen -and his accomplices into delivering to him with the understanding that -he would divide the profits of the sales with them--which, however, -Crumb had no intention of doing if he could possibly avoid it. - -In much the same manner that he had tricked Gaza de Lure, he tricked -Grace Evans into the use of cocaine; and after that the rest was easy. -Renting another and less pretentious bungalow on Circle Terrace, he -installed the girl there, and transferred the trunk of narcotics to her -care, retaining his room at the hotel for himself. - -Grace’s fall was more easily accomplished than in the case of Gaza, -and was more complete, for the former had neither the courage nor the -strength of character that had enabled the other to withstand the -more degrading advances of her tempter. To assume that the girl made -no effort to oppose his importunings would be both unfair and unjust, -for both heredity and training had endowed her with a love of honor -and a horror of the sordidness of vice; but the gradual undermining of -her will by the subtle inroads of narcotics rendered her powerless to -withstand the final assault upon the citadel of her scruples. - -One evening, toward the middle of October, they were dining together -at the Winter Garden. Crumb had bought an evening paper on the street, -and was glancing through it as they sat waiting for their dinner to be -served. Presently he looked up at the girl seated opposite him. - -“Didn’t you come from a little jerk-water place up the line, called -Ganado?” he asked. - -She nodded affirmatively. - -“Why?” - -“Here’s a guy from there been sent up for bootlegging--fellow by the -name of Pennington.” - -She half closed her eyes, as if in pain. - -“I know,” she said. “It has been in the newspapers for the last couple -of weeks.” - -“Did you know him?” - -“Yes--he has been out to see me since his arrest, and he called up -once.” - -“Did you see him?” - -“No--I would be ashamed to see any decent person!” - -“Decent!” snorted Crumb. “You don’t call a damned bootlegger decent, do -you?” - -“I don’t believe he ever did it,” said the girl. “I have known him all -my life, and his family. I’m certain that he couldn’t have done it.” - -A sudden light came into Crumb’s eye. - -“By God!” he exclaimed, bringing his fist down upon the table. - -“What is the matter?” Grace inquired. - -“Well, wouldn’t that get you?” he exclaimed. “I never connected you at -all!” - -“What do you mean?” - -“This fellow Pennington may not be guilty, but I know who is.” - -“How do you know? I don’t understand you. Why do you look at me that -way?” - -“Well, if that isn’t the best ever!” exclaimed the man. “And here you -have been handing me a long line of talk about the decent family you -came from, and how it would kill them if they knew you sniffed a little -coke now and then. Well, wouldn’t that get you? You certainly are a -fine one to preach!” - -“I don’t understand you,” said the girl. “What has this to do with me? -I am not related to Mr. Pennington, but it would make no difference if -I were, for I know he never did anything of the sort. The idea of a -Pennington bootlegging! Why, they have more money than they need, and -always have had.” - -“It isn’t Pennington who ought to be in jail,” he said. “It’s your -brother.” - -She looked at him in surprise, and then she laughed. - -“You must have been hitting it up strong to-day, Wilson,” she said. - -“Oh, no, I haven’t; but it’s funny I never thought of it before. -Allen told me a long while ago that a fellow by the name of Evans was -handling the hootch for him. He said he got a job from the Penningtons -as stableman in order to be near the camp where they had the stuff -cached in the hills. He described Evans as a young blood, so I guess -there isn’t any doubt about it. You have a brother--I’ve heard you -speak of him.” - -“I don’t believe you,” she said. - -“It don’t make any difference whether you believe me or not. I could -put your brother in the pen, and they’ve only got Pennington in the -county jail. All they could get on him, according to this article, was -having stolen goods in his possession; but your brother was in on the -whole proposition. It was hidden in his hay barn. He delivered it to a -fellow who came up there every week, ostensibly to get hay, and your -brother collected the money. Gosh, they’d send him up for sure if I -ever tipped them off to what I know!” - -And thus was fashioned the power he used to force her to his will. - -A week later the bungalow on Circle Terrace was engaged, and Grace -Evans took up the work of peddling narcotics, which Shannon Burke had -laid down a few months before. With this difference--Gaza de Lure had -shared in the profits of the traffic, while Grace Evans got nothing -more than her living, and what drugs she craved for her personal use. - -Her life, her surroundings, every environment of this new and terrible -world into which her ambition had introduced her, tended rapidly to -ravish her beauty. She faded with a rapidity that was surprising even -to Crumb--surprising and annoying. He had wanted her for her beauty, -and now she was losing it; but still he must keep her, because of her -value in his nefarious commerce. - -As weeks and months went by, he no longer took pleasure in her -society, and was seldom at the bungalow save when he came to demand -an accounting and to collect the proceeds of her sales. Her pleas and -reproaches had no other effect upon him than to arouse his anger. One -day, when she clung to him, begging him not to desert her, he pushed -her roughly from him so that she fell, and in falling she struck the -edge of a table and hurt herself. - -This happened in April. On the following day Custer Pennington, his -term in the county jail expired, was liberated. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -Custer’s long hours of loneliness had often been occupied with plans -against the day of his liberation. That Grace had not seen him or -communicated with him since his arrest and conviction had been a source -of wonder and hurt to him. He recalled many times the circumstance of -the telephone call, with a growing belief that Grace had been there, -but had refused to talk with him. Nevertheless, he was determined to -see her before he returned to Ganado. - -He had asked particularly that none of his family should come to Los -Angeles on the day of his release, but that the roadster should be sent -up on the preceding day and left in a garage for him. He lost no time, -after quitting the jail, in getting his machine and driving out to -Hollywood, to the house where Grace had boarded. - -The woman who answered his ring told him that Grace no longer lived -there. At first she was loath to give him any information as to the -girl’s whereabouts; but after some persuasion she gave him a number on -Circle Terrace, and in that direction Pennington turned his car. - -As he left his car before the bungalow, and approached the building, he -could see into the interior through the screen door, for it was a warm -day in April, and the inner door was open. As he mounted the few steps -leading to the porch, he saw a woman cross the living room, into which -the door opened. She moved hurriedly, disappearing through a doorway -opposite and closing the door after her. Though he had but a brief -glimpse of her in the darkened interior, he knew that it was Grace, -so familiar were every line of her figure and every movement of her -carriage. - -It was several minutes after Custer rang before a Japanese appeared at -the doorway. It was the same Japanese “schoolboy” who had served as -general factotum at the Vista del Paso bungalow. He opened the screen -door a few inches and looked inquiringly at the caller. - -“I wish to see Miss Evans,” said Custer. - -He took a card case from his pocket and handed a card to the servant, -who looked blankly at the card and then at the caller, finally shaking -his head stupidly and closing the door. - -“No here,” he said. “Nobody home.” - -Pennington recalled once more the affair of the telephone. He knew that -he had just seen Grace inside the bungalow. He had come to talk with -her, and he intended to do so. - -He laid his hand on the handle of the door and jerked it open. The -Jap, evidently lacking in discretion, endeavored to prevent him from -entering. First the guardian clawed at the door in an effort to close -it, and then, very foolishly, he attempted to push Pennington out on -the porch. The results were disastrous to the Jap. - -Crossing the living room, Custer rapped on the door through which he -had seen Grace go, calling her by name. Receiving no reply, he flung -the door open. Facing him was the girl he was engaged to marry. - -With her back against the dresser, Grace stood at the opposite end of -the room. Her disheveled hair fell about her face, which was overspread -with a sickly pallor. Her wild, staring eyes were fixed upon him. Her -mouth, drooping at the corners, tremulously depicted a combination of -terror and anger. - -“Grace!” he exclaimed. - -She still stood staring at him for a moment before she spoke. - -“What do you mean,” she demanded at last, “by breaking into my bedroom? -Get out! I don’t want to see you. I don’t want you here!” - -He crossed the room and put a hand upon her shoulder. - -“My God, Grace,” he cried, “what is the matter? What has happened to -you?” - -“Nothing has happened,” she mumbled. “There is nothing the matter with -me. I suppose you want me to go back with the rest of the rubes. I am -through with the damned country--and country jakes, too!” she added. - -“You mean that you don’t want me here, Grace? That you don’t love me?” -he asked. - -“Love you?” She broke into a disagreeable laugh. “Why, you poor rube, I -never want to see you again!” - -He stood looking at her for a moment longer, and then he turned slowly -and walked out of the bungalow and down to his car. When he had -gone, the girl threw herself face down upon the bed and burst into -uncontrollable sobs. For the moment she had risen triumphant above the -clutches of her sordid vice. For that brief moment she had played her -part to save the man she loved from greater torture and humiliation in -the future--at what a price only she could ever know. - -Custer found them waiting for him on the east porch as he drove up to -the ranch house. The new freedom and the long drive over the beautiful -highway through the clear April sunshine, with the green hills at his -left and the lovely valley spread out upon his right hand, to some -extent alleviated the depression that had followed the shock of his -interview with Grace; and when he alighted from the car he seemed quite -his normal self again. - -Eva was the first to reach him. She fairly threw herself upon her -brother, laughing and crying in a hysteria of happiness. His mother was -smiling through her tears, while the colonel blew his nose violently, -remarking that it was “a hell of a time of year to have a damned cold!” - -Custer joked a little about his imprisonment, but he soon saw that the -mere mention of it had a most depressing effect upon Eva; so he did -not revert to the subject again in her presence. He confined himself -to plying them with a hundred questions about happenings on the ranch -during his long absence, the condition of the stock, and the crop -outlook for the season. - -As he considered the effect his undeserved jail sentence had produced -upon the sensibilities of his sister, he was doubly repaid for the -long months of confinement that he had suffered in order to save -her from the still greater blow of having the man she was to marry -justly convicted of a far more serious crime. He saw no reason now -why she should ever learn the truth. The temporary disgrace of his -incarceration would soon be forgotten in the everyday run of work and -pleasure that constituted the life of Ganado, and the specter of her -hurt pride would no longer haunt her. - -Custer was surprised that Guy and Mrs. Evans had not been of the -party that welcomed his return. When he mentioned this, Eva told him -that Mrs. Evans thought the Penningtons would want to have him all to -themselves for a while, and that their neighbors were coming up after -dinner. And it was not until dinner that he asked after Shannon. - -“We have seen very little of her since you left,” explained his mother. -“She returned Baldy soon after that, and bought the Senator from Mrs. -Evans.” - -“I don’t know what is the matter with the child,” said the colonel. -“She is as sweet as ever when we do see her, and she always asks after -you and tells us that she believes in your innocence. She rides a great -deal at night, but seldom, if ever, in the daytime. I don’t think it is -safe for a woman to ride alone in the hills at night, and I have told -her so; but she says that she is not afraid, and that she loves the -hills as well by night as by day.” - -“Eva has missed her company very much,” said Mrs. Pennington. “I was -afraid that we might have done something to offend her, but none of us -could think what it could have been.” - -“I thought she was ashamed of us,” said Eva. - -“Nonsense!” exclaimed the colonel. - -“Of course that’s nonsense,” said Custer. “She knows as well as the -rest of you that I was innocent.” - -He was thinking how much more surely Shannon knew his innocence than -any of them. - -During dinner Eva regained her old-time spirit. More than once the -tears came to Mrs. Pennington’s eyes as she realized that once more -their little family was united, and that the pall of sorrow that had -weighed so heavily upon them for the past six months had at last -lifted, revealing again the sunshine of the daughter’s heart, which had -never been the same since their boy had gone away. - -“Oh, Cus!” exclaimed Eva. “The most scrumptious thing is going to -happen, and I’m so glad that you are going to be here too. It’s going -to be perfectly gorgeristic! There’s be a whole regiment of them, and -they’re going to be camped right up at the mouth of Jackknife. I can -scarcely wait until they come--can you?” - -“I think I might manage,” said her brother; “at least until you tell me -what you are talking about.” - -“Pictures,” exclaimed Eva. “Isn’t it simplimetic gorgeristic? And they -may be here a whole month!” - -“What in the world is the child talking about?” asked Custer, appealing -to his mother. - -“Your father----” Mrs. Pennington started to explain. - -“Oh, don’t tell him”; cried Eva. “I want to tell him myself.” - -“You have been explaining for several minutes,” said Custer; “but you -haven’t said anything yet.” - -“Well, I’ll start at the beginning, then. They’re going to have -Indians, and cowboys, and----” - -“That sounds more like the finish,” suggested Custer. - -“Don’t interrupt me! They’re going to take a picture on Ganado.” - -Custer turned toward his father with a look of surprise. - -“You needn’t blame papa,” said Eva. “It was all my fault--or, rather, -I should say our good fortune is all due to me. You see, papa wasn’t -going to let them come at first, but the cutest man came up to see -him--a nice, short, fat little man, and he rubbed his hands together -and said: ‘Vell, colonel?’ Papa told him that he had never allowed any -picture companies on the place; but I happened to be there, and that -was all that saved us, for I teased and teased and teased until finally -papa said that they could come, provided they didn’t take any pictures -up around the house. They didn’t want to do that, for they’re making a -Western picture, and they said the scenery at the back of the ranch is -just what they want. They’re coming up in a few days, and it’s going to -be perfectly radiant, and maybe I’ll get in the pictures!” - -“If I thought so,” said Custer, “I’d put a can of nitroglycerine under -the whole works the moment they drove on to the property!” He was -thinking of what the pictures had done for Grace Evans. “I am surprised -that you permitted it, father,” he said, turning to the colonel. - -“I’m rather surprised myself,” admitted the older Pennington; “but what -was I to do, with that suave little location manager rubbing his hands -and oiling me on one side, and this little rascal here pestering the -life out of me on the other? I simply had to give in. I don’t imagine -any harm will come from it. They’ve promised to be very careful of all -the property, and whenever any of our stock is used it will be handled -by our own men.” - -“I suppose they are going to pay you handsomely for it,” suggested -Custer. - -The colonel smiled. - -“Well, that wasn’t exactly mentioned,” he said; “but I have a -recollection that the location manager said something about presenting -us with a fine set of stills of the ranch.” - -“Generous of them!” said Custer. “They’ll camp all over the shop, -use our water, burn our firewood, and trample up our pasture, and in -return they’ll give us a set of photographs. Their liberality is truly -marvelous!” - -“Well, to tell you the truth,” said the colonel, “after I found how -anxious Eva was, I wouldn’t have dared mention payment, for fear they -might refuse to come and this young lady’s life might be ruined in -consequence!” - -“What outfit is it?” asked the son. - -“It’s a company from the K. K. S., directed by a man by the name of -Crumb.” - -“Wilson Crumb, the famous actor-director,” added Eva. “How perfectly -radiant! I danced with him in Los Angeles a year ago.” - -“Oh, that’s the fellow, is it?” said Custer. “I have a hazy -recollection that you were mad about him for some fifteen minutes after -you reached home, but I have never heard you mention him since.” - -“Well, to tell you the truth,” said Eva, “I had forgotten all about him -until that perfectly gorgeous little loquacious manager mentioned him.” - -“Location manager,” corrected her father. - -“He was both.” - -“Yes, he was,” said the colonel. “I rather hope he comes back. I -haven’t enjoyed any one so much since the days of Weber and Fields.” - -It was after eight o’clock when the Evanses arrived. Mrs. Evans was -genuinely affected at seeing Custer again, for she was as fond of -him as if he had been her own son. In Guy, Custer discovered a great -change. The boy that he had left had become suddenly a man, quiet and -reserved, with a shadow of sadness in his expression. His lesson had -been a hard one, Custer knew, and the price that he had had to pay for -it had left its indelible mark upon his sensitive character. - -Guy’s happiness at having Custer back again was overshadowed to some -extent by the shame that he must always feel when he looked into the -face of the man who had shouldered his guilt and taken the punishment -which should have been his. The true purpose of Pennington’s sacrifice -could never alter young Evans’s realization of the fact that the part -he had been forced to take had been that of a coward, a traitor, and a -cad. - -The first greetings over, Mrs. Evans asked Custer if he had seen Grace -before he left Los Angeles. - -“I saw her,” he said, “and she is not at all well. I think Guy should -go up there immediately, and try to bring her back. I meant to speak to -him about it this evening.” - -“She is not seriously ill?” exclaimed Mrs. Evans. - -“I cannot say,” replied Custer. “I doubt if she is seriously ill in a -physical sense, but she is not well. I could see that. She has changed -a great deal. I think you should lose no time, Guy,” he added, turning -to Grace’s brother, “in going to Los Angeles and getting her. She has -been gone almost a year. It is time she knew whether her dreams are -to come true or not. From what I saw of her, I doubt if they have -materialized.” - -“I will go to-morrow,” said young Evans. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -The six months that had just passed had been months of indecision and -sadness for Shannon Burke. Constantly moved by a conviction that she -should leave the vicinity of Ganado and the Penningtons, she was held -there by a force that she had not the power to overcome. - -Never before since she had left her mother’s home in the Middle West -had she experienced the peace and content and happiness that her -little orchard on the highway imparted to her life. The friendship of -the Penningtons had meant more to her than anything that had hitherto -entered her life; and to be near them, even if she saw them but seldom, -constituted a constant bulwark against the assaults of her old enemy, -which still occasionally assailed the ramparts of her will. - -After the departure of Custer she had conscientiously observed what she -considered to be his wishes as expressed in his reference comparing her -with the girl friend of Cousin William, whom he had practically ordered -out of the house. She had as far as possible avoided Eva’s society; and -though contemplation of the cause of this avoidance filled her with -humiliation, and with a sense of the injustice of all that it implied, -she nevertheless felt it a duty to the man she loved to respect his -every wish, however indirectly suggested. - -That she might put herself in Eva’s way as seldom as possible, Shannon -had formed the habit of riding at those hours at which the Penningtons -were not accustomed to ride. The habit of solitude grew upon her, and -she loved the loneliness of the hills. They never oppressed her--she -never feared them. They drew her to them and soothed her as a mother -might have done. There she forgot her sorrows, and hope was stimulated -to new life. - -Especially when the old craving seized her did she long for the hills, -and it was because of this that she first rode at night--on a night -of brilliant moonlight that imparted to familiar scenes the weird -beauties of a strange world. The experience was unique. It assumed -the proportions of an adventure, and it lured her to other similar -excursions. - -Even the Senator felt the spell of enchantment. He stepped daintily -with uppricked ears and arched neck, peering nervously into the depth -of each shadowy bush. He leaped suddenly aside at the movement of a -leaf, or halted, trembling and snorting, at the moon-bathed outlines of -some jutting rock that he had passed a hundred times, unmoved, by day. - -The moonlight rides led Shannon to others on moonless nights, so that -she was often in the saddle when the valley slept. She invariably -followed the same trail on these occasions, with the result that -both she and the Senator knew every foot of it so well that they had -traversed it beneath the blackness of heavy clouds, or when low fogs -obliterated all but the nearest objects. - -Never, in the hills, could her mind dwell upon depressing thoughts. -Only cheerful reflections were her companions of those hours of -solitude. She thought of the love that had come into her life, of the -beauty of it, and of all that it had done to make life more worth the -living; of the Penningtons and the example of red-blooded cleanliness -that they set--decency without prudery; of her little orchard and the -saving problems it had brought to occupy her mind and hands; of her -horse and her horsemanship, two never-failing sources of companionship -and pleasure which the Penningtons had taught her to love and enjoy. - -On the morning after Custer’s return, Guy started early for Los -Angeles, while Custer--Shannon not having joined them on their morning -ride--resaddled the Apache after breakfast and rode down to her -bungalow. He both longed to see her and dreaded the meeting; for, -regardless of Grace’s attitude and of the repulse she had given him, -his honor bound him to her. Loyalty to the girl had been engendered by -long years of association, during which friendship had grown into love -by so gradual a process that it seemed to each of them that there had -never been a time when they had not loved. Such attachments, formed in -the heart of youth, hallowed by time, and fortified by the pride and -honor of inherited chivalry, become a part of the characters of their -possessors, and as difficult to uproot as those other habits of thought -and action which differentiate one individual from another. - -Custer had realized, in that brief interview of the day before, that -Grace was not herself. What was the cause of her change he could -not guess, since he was entirely unacquainted with the symptoms of -narcotics. Even had a suspicion of the truth entered his mind, he would -have discarded it as a vile slander upon the girl, as he had rejected -the involuntary suggestion that she might have been drinking. His -position was distressing for a man to whom honor was a fetish, since -he knew that he still loved Grace, while at the same time realizing a -still greater love for Shannon. - -She saw him coming and came down the driveway to meet him, her face -radiant with the joy of his return, and with that expression of love -that is always patent to all but the object of its concern. - -“Oh, Custer!” she cried. “I am so glad that you are home again! It has -seemed years and years, rather than months, to all of us.” - -“I am glad to be home, Shannon. I have missed you, too. I have missed -you all--everything--the hills, the valley, every horse and cow and -little pig, the clean air, the smell of flowers and sage--all that is -Ganado.” - -“You like it better than the city?” - -“I shall never long for the city again,” he said. “Cities are -wonderful, of course, with their great buildings, their parks and -boulevards, their fine residences, their lawns and gardens. The things -that men have accomplished there fill a fellow with admiration; but how -pitiful they really are compared with the magnificence that is ours!” -He turned and pointed toward the mountains. “Just think of those hills, -Shannon, and the infinite, unthinkable power that uplifted such mighty -monuments. Think of the countless ages that they have endured, and then -compare them with the puny efforts of man. Compare the range of vision -of the city dweller with ours. He can see across the street, and to the -top of some tall building, which may look imposing; but place it beside -one of our hills, and see what becomes of it. Place it in a ravine in -the high Sierras, and you would have difficulty in finding it; and -you cannot even think of it in connection with a mountain fifteen or -twenty thousand feet in height. And yet the city man patronizes us -country people, deploring the necessity that compels us to pursue our -circumscribed existence.” - -“Pity him,” laughed Shannon. “He is as narrow as his streets. His -ideals can reach no higher than the pall of smoke that hangs over the -roofs of his buildings. I am so glad, Custer, that you have given up -the idea of leaving the country for the city!” - -“I never really intended to,” he replied. “I couldn’t have left, on -father’s account; but now I can remain on my own as well as his, and -with a greater degree of contentment. You see that my recent experience -was a blessing in disguise.” - -“I am glad if some good came out of it; but it was a wicked injustice, -and there were others as innocent as you who suffered fully as -much--Eva especially.” - -“I know,” he said. “She has been very lonely since I left, with Grace -away, too; and they tell me that you have constantly avoided them. Why? -I cannot understand it.” - -He had dismounted and tied the Apache, and they were walking toward -the porch. She stopped, and turned to look Custer squarely in the eyes. - -“How could I have done otherwise?” she asked. - -“I do not understand,” he replied. - -She could not hold her eyes to his as she explained, but looked down, -her expression changing from happiness to one of shame and sadness. - -“You forget that girl, the friend of Cousin William?” she asked. - -“Oh, Shannon!” he cried, laying a hand impulsively upon her arm. “I -told you that I wouldn’t say that to you. I didn’t want you to stay -away. I have implicit confidence in you.” - -“No,” she contradicted him. “In your heart you thought it, and perhaps -you were right.” - -“No,” he insisted. “Please don’t stay away--promise me that you will -not! You have hurt them all, and they are all so fond of you!” - -“I am sorry, Custer. I would not hurt them. I love them all; but I -thought I was doing the thing that you wished. There was so much that -you did not understand--that you can never understand--and you were -away where you couldn’t know what was going on; so it seemed disloyal -to do the thing I thought you would rather I didn’t do.” - -“It’s all over now,” he said. “Let’s start over again, forgetting all -that has happened in the last six months and a half.” - -Again, as his hand lay upon her arm, he was seized with an almost -uncontrollable desire to crush her to him. Two things deterred him--his -loyalty to Grace, and the belief that his love would be unwelcome to -Shannon. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -Guy Evans swept over the broad, smooth highway at a rate that would -have won him ten days in the jail at Santa Ana had his course led him -through that village. The impression that Custer’s words had implanted -in his mind was that Grace was ill, for Pennington had not gone into -the details of his unhappy interview with the girl, choosing to leave -to her brother a realization of her changed condition, which would have -been incredible to him even from the lips of so trusted a friend as -Custer. - -And so it was that when he approached the bungalow on Circle Terrace, -and saw a coupé standing at the curb, he guessed at what it portended; -for though there were doubtless hundreds of similar cars in the city, -there was that about this one which suggested the profession of its -owner. As Guy hurried up the walk to the front door, he was as positive -that he would find Grace ill and a doctor in attendance, as if some one -had already told him so. - -There was no response to his ring, and as the inner door was open he -entered. A door on the opposite side of the living room was ajar. As -Guy approached it, a man appeared in the doorway, and beyond him the -visitor could see Grace lying, very white and still, upon a bed. - -“Who are you--this woman’s husband?” demanded the man in curt tones. - -“I am her brother. What is the matter? Is she very ill?” - -“Did you know of her condition?” - -“I heard last night that she was not well, and I hurried up here. I -live in the country. Who are you? What has happened? She is not--my -God, she is not----” - -“Not yet. Perhaps we can save her. I am a doctor. I was called by a -Japanese, who said that he was a servant here. He must have left after -he called me, for I have not seen him. Her condition is serious, and -requires an immediate operation--an operation of such a nature that I -must learn the name of her own physician and have him present. Where is -her husband?” - -“Husband! My sister is not----” Guy ceased speaking, and went suddenly -white. “My God, doctor, you don’t mean that she--that my sister--oh, -no, not that!” - -He seized the other’s arm beseechingly. The doctor laid his hand upon -the younger man’s shoulder. - -“She had a fall night before last, and an immediate operation is -imperative. Her condition is such that we cannot even take the risk of -moving her to a hospital. I have my instruments in my car, but I should -have help. Who is her doctor?” - -“I do not know.” - -“I’ll get some one. I have given her something to quiet her.” - -The doctor stepped to the telephone and gave a number. Evans entered -the room where his sister lay. She was moving about restlessly and -moaning, though it was evident that she was still unconscious. - -Changed! Guy wondered that he had known her at all, now that he -was closer to her. Her face was pinched and drawn. Her beauty was -gone--every vestige of it. She looked old and tired and haggard, and -there were terrible lines upon her face that stilled her brother’s -heart and brought the tears to his eyes. - -He heard the doctor summoning an assistant and directing him to bring -ether. Then he heard him go out of the house by the front door--to get -his instruments, doubtless. The brother knelt by the girl’s bed. - -“Grace!” he whispered, and threw an arm about her. - -Her lids fluttered, and she opened her eyes. - -“Guy!” - -She recognized him--she was conscious. - -“Who did this?” he demanded. “What is his name?” - -She shook her head. - -“What is the use?” she asked. “It is done.” - -“Tell me!” - -“You would kill him--and be punished. It would only make it -worse--for--you--and mother. Let it die with me!” - -“You are not going to die. Tell me, who is he? Do you love him?” - -“I hate him!” - -“How were you injured?” - -“He threw me--against--a table.” - -Her voice was growing weaker. Choking back tears of grief and anger, -the young man rose and stood beside her. - -“Grace, I command you to tell me!” - -His voice was low, but it was vibrant with power and authority. The -girl tried to speak. Her lips moved, but she uttered no sound. Guy -thought that she was dying, and taking her secret to the grave. - -Her eyes moved to something beyond the foot of the bed, back to his, -and back again to whatever she had been looking at, as if she sought to -direct his attention to something in that part of the room. He followed -the direction of her gaze. There was a dressing table there, and on it -a photograph of a man in a silver frame. Guy stepped to the table and -picked up the picture. - -“This is he?” - -His eyes demanded an answer. Her lips moved soundlessly, and weakly she -nodded an affirmative. - -“What is his name?” - -She was too weak to answer him. She gasped, and her breath came -flutteringly. The brother threw himself upon his knees beside the bed, -and took her in his arms. His tears mingled with his kisses on her -cheek. The doctor came then and drew him away. - -“She is dead!” said the boy, turning away and covering his face with -his hands. - -“No,” said the doctor, after a brief examination. “She is not dead. Get -into the kitchen, and get some water to boiling. I’ll be getting things -ready in here. Another doctor will be here in a few minutes.” - -Glad of something to do, just to help, Guy hastened into the little -kitchen. He found a kettle and a large pan, and put water in them to -boil. - -A moment later the doctor came in. He had removed his coat and vest and -rolled up his sleeves. He placed his instruments in the pan of water on -the stove, and then he went to the sink and washed his hands. While he -scrubbed, he talked. He was an efficient-looking, businesslike person, -and he inspired Guy with confidence and hope. - -“She has a fighting chance,” he said. “I’ve seen worse cases pull -through. She’s had a bad time, though. She must have been lying here -for pretty close to twenty-four hours without any attention. I found -her fully dressed on her bed--fully dressed except for what clothes -she’d torn off in her pain. If some one had called a doctor yesterday -at this time, it might have been all right. It may be all right even -now. We’ll do the best we can.” - -The bell rang. - -“That’s the doctor. Let him in, please.” - -Guy went to the door and admitted the second physician, who removed -his coat and vest and went directly to the kitchen. The first doctor -was entering the room where Grace lay. He turned and spoke to his -colleague, greeting him; then he disappeared within the adjoining room. -The second doctor busied himself about the sink, sterilizing his hands. -Guy lighted another burner and put on another vessel with water in it. - -A moment later the first doctor returned to the kitchen. - -“It will not be necessary to operate, doctor,” he said. “We were too -late!” - -His tone and manner were still very businesslike and efficient, but -there was an expression of compassion in his eyes as he crossed the -room and put his arm about Guy’s shoulders. - -“Come into the other room, my boy. I want to talk to you,” he said. - -Guy, dry-eyed, and walking almost as one in a trance, accompanied him -to the little living room. - -“You have had a hard blow,” said the doctor. “What I am going to tell -you may make it harder; but if she had been my sister I should have -wanted to know about it. She is better off. The chances are that she -didn’t want to live. She certainly made no fight for life--not since I -was called.” - -“Why should she want to die?” Guy asked dully. “We would have forgiven -her. No one would ever have known about it but me.” - -“There was something else--she was a drug addict. That was probably the -reason why she didn’t want to live. The morphine I had to give her to -quiet her would have killed three ordinary men.” - -And so Guy Evans came to know the terrible fate that had robbed his -sister of her dreams, of her ambition, and finally of her life. He -placed the full responsibility upon the man whose picture had stood in -its silver frame upon the girl’s dressing table. As he knelt beside the -dead girl, he swore to search until he had learned the identity of that -man, and found him, and forced from him the only expiation that could -satisfy the honor of a brother. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -The death of Grace had, of course, its naturally depressing effect -upon the circle of relatives and friends at Ganado; but her absence of -more than a year, the infrequency of her letters, and the fact that -they had already come to feel that she was lost to them, mitigated -to some degree the keenness of their grief and lessened its outward -manifestations. Her pitiful end could not seriously interrupt the -tenor of their lives, which had long since grown over the wound of her -departure, as a tree’s growth rolls over the hurt of a severed limb, -leaving only a scar as a reminder of its loss. - -Mrs. Evans, Guy and Custer suffered more than the others--Mrs. Evans -because of the natural instincts of motherhood, and Custer from a sense -of loss that seemed to have uprooted and torn away a part of his being, -even though he realized that his love for Grace had been of a different -sort from his hopeless passion for Shannon Burke. It was Guy who -suffered most, for hugged to his breast was the gnawing secret of the -truth of his sister’s life and death. He had told them that Grace had -died of pneumonia, and they had not gone behind his assertion to search -the records for the truth. - -Locked in his desk was the silver frame and the picture of the man -whose identity he had been unable to discover. The bungalow had been -leased in Grace’s name. The Japanese servant had disappeared, and Guy -had been unable to obtain any trace of him. The dead girl had had no -friends in the neighborhood, and there was no one who could tell him -anything that might lead to the discovery of the man he sought. - -He did not, however, give up his search. He went often to Hollywood, -where he haunted public places and the entrances to studios, in the -hope that some day he would find the man he sought; but as the passing -months brought no success, and the duties of his ranch and his literary -work demanded more and more of his time, he was gradually compelled -to push the furtherance of his vengeance into the background, though -without any lessening of his determination to compass it eventually. - -To Custer, the direct effect of Grace’s death was to revive the habit -of drinking more than was good for him--a habit from which he had -drifted away during the past year. That it had ever been a habit he -would, of course, have been the last to admit. He was one of those men -who could drink, or leave it alone. The world is full of them, and so -are the cemeteries. - -Custer avoided Shannon when he could do so without seeming unfriendly. -Quite unreasonably, he felt that his love for Shannon was an indication -of disloyalty to Grace. The latter’s dismissal of him he had never -taken as a serious avowal of her heart. He had realized that the woman -who had spoken so bitterly had not been the girl he had loved, and -whose avowals of love he had listened to. Nor had she been the girl -upon whose sad, tired face he had looked for the last time in the -darkened living room of the Evans home, for then death had softened the -hard lines of dissipation, revealing again, in chastened melancholy, -the soul that sin had disguised but not destroyed. - -Shannon recognized the change in Custer. She attributed it to his -grief, and to his increased drinking, which she had sensed almost -immediately, as love does sense the slightest change in its object, -however little apparent to another. She did not realize that she was -purposely avoiding her. She was more than ever with Eva now, for Guy, -having settled down to the serious occupations of man’s estate, no -longer had so much leisure to devote to play. - -She still occasionally rode at night, for the daytime rides with -Custer were less frequent now. Much of his time was occupied closer -in around the ranch, with the conditioning of the show herds for -the coming fall--an activity which gave him a plausible excuse for -foregoing his rides with Shannon. The previous year they had been -compelled to cancel their entries because of Custer’s imprisonment, -since the colonel would not make the circuit of the shows himself, -and did not care to trust the herds to any one but his son. Now the -Morgans, the Percherons, the Herefords, and the Berkshires that were to -uphold the fame of Ganado were the center of arduous and painstaking -fitting and grooming, as the time approached when the finishing touches -were to be put upon glossy coat and polished horn and hoof. - -May, June, and July had come and gone--it was August again. Guy’s -futile visits to Los Angeles were now infrequent. The life of Ganado -had again assumed the cheerfulness of the past. The heat of summer had -brought the swimming pool into renewed demand, and the cool evenings -saved the ballroom from desertion. The youth of the foothills and -valley, reënforced by weekend visitors from the city, filled the old -house with laughter and happiness. Shannon was always of these parties, -for they would not let her remain away. - -It was upon the occasion of one of them, early in August, that Eva -announced the date of her wedding to Guy. - -“The 2nd of September,” she told them. “It comes on a Saturday. We’re -going to motor to----” - -“Hold on!” cautioned Guy. “That’s a secret!” - -“And when we come back we’re going to start building on Hill Thirteen.” - -“That’s a cow pasture,” said Custer. - -“Well, it won’t be one any more. You must find another cow pasture.” - -“Certainly, little one,” replied her brother. “We’ll bring the cows up -here in the ballroom. With five thousand acres to pick from, you can’t -find a bungalow site anywhere except in the best dairy cow pasture on -Ganado!” - -“With five thousand acres to pick from, I suppose you can’t find a cow -pasture anywhere but on the best bungalow site in southern California! -You radiant brother! You wouldn’t have your little sister living in the -hog pasture, now would you?” - -“Heavens, no! Those nine children you aspire to would annoy the brood -sows.” - -“You’re hideous!” - -“Put on a fox trot, some one,” cried Guy. “Dance with your sister, Cus, -and you’ll let her build bungalows all over Ganado. No one can refuse -her anything when they dance with her.” - -“I’ll say they can’t,” agreed Custer. “Was that how she lured you to -your undoing, Guy?” - -“What a dapper little idea!” exclaimed Eva. - -Guy danced that dance with Mrs. Pennington, and the colonel took out -Shannon. As they moved over the smooth floor with the easy dignity that -good dancers can impart to the fox trot, the girl’s eyes were often on -the brother and sister dancing and laughing together. - -“How wonderful they are!” she said. - -“Who?” inquired the colonel. - -“Custer and Eva. Theirs is such a wonderful relationship between -brother and sister--the way it ought to be, but very seldom is.” - -“Oh, I don’t know that it’s unique,” replied the colonel. “Guy and -Grace were that way, and so were my father’s children. Possibly it’s -because we were all raised in the country, where children are more -dependent upon their sisters and brothers for companionship than -children of the city. We all get better acquainted in the country, and -we have to learn to find the best that is in each of us, for we haven’t -the choice of companions here that a city, with its thousands, affords.” - -“I don’t know,” said Shannon. “Perhaps that is it; but anyway it is -lovely--really _lovely_, for they are almost like two lovers. At -first, when I heard them teasing each other, I used to think there -might be some bitterness in their thrusts; but when I came to know you -all better, I realized that your affection was so perfect that there -could never be any misunderstanding among you.” - -“That attitude is not peculiar to the Penningtons,” replied the -colonel. “I know, for instance, of one who so perfectly harmonized with -their lives and ideals that in less than a year she became practically -one of them.” - -He was smiling down into Shannon’s upturned face. - -“I know--you mean me,” she said. “It is awfully nice of you, and it -makes me very proud to hear you say so, for I have really tried to be -like you. If I have succeeded the least bit, I am so happy!” - -“I don’t know that you have succeeded in being like us,” he laughed; -“but you have certainly succeeded in being liked _by_ us. Why, do you -know, Shannon, I believe Mrs. Pennington and I discuss you and plan for -you fully as much as we do the children. It is almost as if you were -our other daughter.” - -The tears came to her eyes. - -“I am so happy!” she said again. - -It was later in the evening, after a dance, that she and Custer walked -out on the driveway along the north side of the ballroom, and stood -looking out over the moon-enchanted valley--a vista of loveliness -glimpsed between masses of feathery foliage in an opening through the -trees on the hillside just below them. They looked out across the -acacias and cedars of the lower hill toward the lights of a little -village twinkling between two dome-like hills at the upper end of the -valley. It was an unusually warm evening, almost too warm to dance. - -“I think we’d get a little of the ocean breeze,” said Custer, “if -we were on the other side of the hill. Let’s walk over to the water -gardens. There is usually a breeze there, but the building cuts us off -from it here.” - -Side by side, in silence, they walked around the front of the building -and along the south drive to the steps leading down through the -water gardens to the stables. The steps were narrow and Custer went -ahead--which is always the custom of men in countries where there are -rattlesnakes. - -As Shannon stepped from the cement steps to the gravel walk above the -first pool, her foot came down upon a round stone, turning her ankle -and throwing her against Custer. For support she grasped his arm. Upon -such insignificant trifles may the fate of lives depend. It might have -been a lizard, a toad, a mouse, or even a rattlesnake that precipitated -the moment which, for countless eons, creation had been preparing; but -it was none of these. It was just a little round pebble--and it threw -Shannon Burke against Custer Pennington, causing her to seize his arm. -He felt the contact of those fingers, and the warmth of her body, and -her cheek near his shoulder. He threw an arm about her to support her. - -Almost instantly she had regained her footing. Laughingly she drew away. - -“I stepped on a stone,” she said in explanation; “but I didn’t hurt my -ankle.” - -But still he kept his arm about her. At first Shannon did not -understand, and, supposing that he still thought her unable to stand -alone, she again explained that she was unhurt. - -He stood looking down into her face, which was turned up to his. The -moon, almost full, revealed her features as clearly as sunlight--how -beautiful they were, and how close. She had not yet fully realized the -significance of his attitude when he suddenly threw his other arm about -her and crushed her to him; and then, before she could prevent, he had -bent his lips to hers and kissed her full upon the mouth. - -With a startled cry she pushed him away. - -“Custer!” she said. “What have you done? This is not like you. I do not -understand!” - -She was really terrified--terrified at the thought that he might have -kissed her without love--terrified that he might have kissed her _with_ -love. She did not know which would be the greater catastrophe. - -“I couldn’t help it, Shannon,” he said. “Blame the pebble, blame the -moonlight, blame me--it won’t make any difference. I couldn’t help it; -that is all there is to it. I’ve fought against it for months. I knew -you didn’t love me; but, oh, Shannon, I love you! I had to tell you.” - -He loved her! He had loved her for months! Oh, the horror of it! Her -little dream of happiness was shattered. No longer could they go on as -they had. There would always be this between them--the knowledge of his -love; and he would learn of her love for him, for she would not lie -to him if he asked her. Then she would either have to explain or to -go away--to explain those hideous months with Crumb. Custer would not -believe the truth--no man would believe the truth--that she had come -through them undefiled. She herself would not believe it of another -woman, and she was too sophisticated to hope that the man who loved her -would believe it of her. - -He had not let her go. They still stood there--his arms about her. - -“Please don’t be angry, Shannon,” he begged. “You may not want my love, -but there’s no disgrace in it. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you, but I -couldn’t help it, and I’m glad I did. I have that to remember as long -as I live. Please don’t be angry!” - -Angry! She wished to God that he would crush her to him again and kiss -her--kiss her--kiss like that now and forever. Why shouldn’t he? Why -shouldn’t she let him? What had she done to deserve eternal punishment? -There were countless wives less virtuous than she. Ah, if she could but -have the happiness of his love! - -She closed her eyes and turned away her head, and for just an instant -she dreamed her beautiful dream. Why not? Why not? Why not? There could -be no better wife than she, for there could be no greater love than -hers. - -He noticed that she no longer drew away. There had been no look of -anger in her eyes--only startled questioning; and her face was still so -near. Again his arms closed about her, and again his lips found hers. - -This time she did not deny him. She was only human--only a woman--and -her love, growing steadily in power for many months, had suddenly burst -forth in a consuming fire beneath his burning kisses. He felt her lips -move in a fluttering sob beneath his, and then her dear arms stole up -about his neck and pressed him closer in complete surrender. - -“Shannon! You love me?” - -“Ah, dear boy, always!” - -He drew her to the lower end of a pool, where a rustic seat stood half -concealed by the foliage of a drooping umbrella tree. There they sat -and asked each other the same questions that lovers have asked since -prehistoric man first invented speech, and that lovers will continue to -ask so long as speech exists upon earth; very important questions--by -far the most important questions in the world. - -They did not know how long they had sat there--to them it seemed but a -moment--when they heard voices calling their names from above. - -“Shannon! Custer! Where are you?” - -It was Eva calling. - -“I suppose we’ll have to go,” he said. “Just one more kiss!” - -He took a dozen; and then they rose and walked up the steps to the -south drive. - -“Shall I tell them?” he asked. - -“Not yet, please.” - -She was not sure that it would last. Such happiness was too sweet to -endure. - -Eva spied them. - -“Where in the world have you two been?” she demanded. “We’ve been -hunting all over for you, and shouting until I’m hoarse.” - -“We’ve been right down there by the upper pool, trying to cool off,” -replied Custer. “It’s too beastly hot to dance.” - -“You never thought so before,” said Eva suspiciously. “Do you know, I -believe you two have been off spooning! How perfectly gorgeristic!” - -“How perfectly nothing,” replied Custer. “Old people, like Shannon and -me, don’t spoon. That’s for you kids.” - -Eva came closer. - -“Shannon, you’d better go and straighten your hair before any one else -sees you.” She laughed and pinched the other’s arm. “I’d love it,” she -whispered in Shannon’s ear, “if it were true! You’ll tell me, won’t -you?” - -“If it ever comes true, dear”--Shannon returned the whisper--“you shall -be the first to know about it.” - -“Scrumptious! But say, I’ve got the divinest news--what do you think? -Popsy has known it all day and never mentioned it--forgot all about it, -he said, until just before he and mother trotted off to bed. Did you -ever hear of anything so outrageous? And now half the folks have gone -home, and I can’t tell ’em. Oh, it’s too spiffy for words! I’ve been -longing and longing for it for months and months and months, and now -it’s going to happen--really going to happen--actually going to happen -on Monday!” - -“For Heaven’s sake, little one, unwind, and get to the end of your -harrowing story. What’s going to happen?” - -“Why, the K. K. S. company is coming on Monday, and Wilson Crumb is -coming with them!” - -Shannon staggered almost as from the force of a physical blow. Wilson -Crumb coming! Coming to Ganado! Short indeed had been her sweet -happiness! - -“What’s the matter, Shannon?” asked Custer solicitously. - -The girl steadied herself quickly. - -“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “I just felt a -little dizzy for a moment.” - -“You had better go in the house and lie down,” he suggested. - -“No, I think I’ll go home, if you’ll drive me down, Custer. You know -ten o’clock is pretty late for us.” - -“It’s Saturday night,” said Eva. - -“But I don’t want to miss my ride in the morning. You’re all going, -aren’t you?” - -“I am,” said Custer. - -He noticed that she was very quiet as they drove down to her place, and -when they parted she clung to him as if she could not bear to let him -go. - -It was very wonderful--the miracle of this great love. As he drove back -home, he could not think of anything else. He was not egotistical, and -it seemed strange that from all the men she must have known Shannon had -kept her love for him. With Grace it had been different. Their love had -grown up with them from childhood. It had seemed no more remarkable -that Grace should love him than that Eva should love him, or that -he should love Grace; but Shannon had come to him out of a strange -world--a world full of men--where, with her beauty and her charm, she -must have been an object of admiration to many. Yet she had brought -her heart to him intact; for she had told him that she had never loved -another--and she had told him the truth. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -After Custer left her, Shannon entered the bungalow and sat for a long -time before the table on which stood a framed photograph of her mother. -Never before had she felt the need of loving counsel so sorely as now. -In almost any other emergency she could have gone to Mrs. Pennington, -but in this she dared not. She knew the pride of the Penningtons. She -realized the high altar upon which they placed the purity of their -women in the sacred temple of their love, and she knew that none but -the pure might enter. - -In her heart of hearts she knew that she had the right to stand there -beside his mother or his sister; but the pity of it was that she -could never prove that right, for who would believe her? Men had been -hanged upon circumstantial evidence less damning than that which might -be arrayed against her purity. No--if ever they should learn of her -association with Wilson Crumb, they would cast her out of their lives -as they would put a leper out of their home. - -Not even Custer’s love could survive such a blow to his honor and his -pride. She did not think the less of him because of that, for she was -wise enough in the ways of the world to know that pride and virtue are -oftentimes uncompromising, even to narrowness. - -Her only hope, therefore, lay in avoiding discovery by Wilson Crumb -during his stay at Ganado. Her love, and the weakness it had induced, -permitted her to accept the happiness from which an unkind fate had -hitherto debarred her, and to which even now her honor told her she had -no right. - -She wished that Custer had not loved her, and that she might have -continued to live the life that she had learned to love, where -she might be near him, and might constantly see him in the happy -consociation of friendship; but with his arms about her and his kisses -on her lips she had not had the strength to deny him, or to dissimulate -the great love which had ordered her very existence for many months. - -In the brief moments of bliss that had followed the avowal of his love, -she had permitted herself to drift without thought of the future; but -now that the sudden knowledge of the approaching arrival of Crumb had -startled her into recollection of the past and consideration of its -bearings upon the future, she realized only too poignantly that the -demands of honor required that sooner or later she herself must tell -Custer the whole sordid story of those hideous months in Hollywood. -There was no other way. She could not mate with a man unless she could -match her honor with his. There was no alternative other than to go -away forever. - -It was midnight before she arose and went to her room. She went -deliberately to a drawer which she kept locked, and, finding the key, -she opened it. From it she took the little black case, and, turning -back the cover, she revealed the phials, the needles, and the tiny -syringe that had played so sinister a part in her past. - -What she was doing to-night she had done so often in the past year that -it had almost assumed the proportions of a rite. It had been her wont -to parade her tempters before her, that she might have the satisfaction -of deriding them, and of proving the strength of the new will that her -love for Custer Pennington had been so potent a factor in developing. -To-night she went a little further. She took a bit of cotton, and, -placing it in the bowl of a spoon, she dissolved some of the white -powder with the aid of a lighted match held beneath the spoon, and then -she drew the liquid into the syringe. - -Her nerves were overwrought and unstrung from the stress of the -conflicting emotions they had endured that evening and the risk she -took was greater than she guessed. And yet, as she looked at the -syringe, and realized that its contents held surcease of sorrow, that -it held quiet and rest and peace, she felt only repugnance toward it. -Not even remotely did she consider the possibility of resorting again -to the false happiness of morphine. - -She knew now that she was freer from its temptations than one who had -never used it; but she felt that after to-night, with the avowal of -Pennington’s love still in her ears, she must no longer keep in her -possession a thing so diametrically opposed to the cleanliness of his -life and his character. For months she had retained it as a part of the -system she had conceived for ridding herself of its power. Without it -she might never have known whether she could withstand the temptation -of its presence; but now she had finished with it. She needed it no -longer. - -With almost fanatical savagery she destroyed it, crushing the glass -phials and the syringe beneath her heel and tearing the little case -to shreds. Then, gathering up the fragments, she carried them to the -fireplace in the living room and burned them. - - * * * * * - -On the following day the horses and several loads of properties from -the K. K. S. studio arrived at Ganado, and the men who accompanied -them pitched their camp well up in Jackknife Cañon. Eva was very much -excited, and spent much of her time on horseback, watching their -preparations. She tried to get Shannon to accompany her, but the latter -found various excuses to remain away, being fearful that even though -Crumb had not yet arrived, there might be other employees of the studio -who would recognize her. - -Crumb and the rest of the company came in the afternoon, although -they had not been expected until the following day. Eva, who had -made Custer ride up again with her in the afternoon, recalled to the -actor-director the occasion upon which she had met him, and they had -danced together, some year and a half before. - -As soon as he met her, Crumb was struck by her beauty, youth, and -freshness. He saw in her a possible means of relieving the tedium of -his several weeks’ enforced absence from Hollywood--though in the big -brother he realized a possible obstacle, unless he were able to carry -on his purposed gallantries clandestinely. - -In the course of conversation he took occasion to remark that Eva -ought to photograph well. “I’ll let them take a hundred feet of you,” -he said, “some day when you’re up here while we’re working. We might -discover an unsung Pickford up here among the hills!” - -“She will remain unsung, then,” said Custer curtly. “My sister has no -desire to go into pictures.” - -“How do you know I haven’t?” asked Eva. - -“After Grace?” he asked significantly. - -She turned to Crumb. - -“I’m afraid I wouldn’t make much of an actress,” she said; “but it -would be perfectly radiant to see myself in pictures just once!” - -“Good!” he replied. “We’ll get you all right some day that you’re up -here. I promise your brother that I won’t try to persuade you into -pictures.” - -“I hope not,” said Custer. - -As he and Eva rode back toward the house, he turned to the girl. - -“I don’t like that fellow Crumb,” he said. - -“Why?” she asked. - -“It’s hard to say. He just rubs me the wrong way; but I’d bet almost -anything that he’s a cad.” - -“Oh, I think he’s perfectly divine!” said Eva with her usual enthusiasm. - -Custer grunted. - -“The trouble with you,” announced Eva, “is that you’re jealous of him -because he’s an actor. That’s just like you men!” - -Custer laughed. - -“Maybe you’re right,” he said; “but I don’t like him, and I hope you’ll -never go up there alone.” - -“Well, I’m going to see them take pictures,” replied the girl; “and if -I can’t get any one to go with me, I’m going alone.” - -“I don’t like the way he looked at you, Eva.” - -“You’re perfectly silly! He didn’t look at me any differently than any -other man does.” - -“I don’t know about that. I haven’t the same keen desire to punch the -head of every man I see looking at you as I had in his case.” - -“Oh, you’re prejudiced! I’ll bet anything he’s just perfectly lovely!” - -Next morning, finding no one with the leisure or inclination to ride -with her, Eva rode up again to the camp. They had already commenced -shooting. Although Crumb was busy, he courteously took the time to -explain the scene on which they were working, and many of the technical -details of picture making. He had a man hold her horse while she came -and squinted through the finder. In fact, he spent so much time with -her that he materially delayed the work of the morning. At the same -time the infatuation that had had its birth on the preceding day grew -to greater proportions in his diseased mind. - -He asked her to stay and lunch with them. When she insisted that -she must return home, he begged her to come again in the afternoon. -Although she would have been glad to do so, for she found the work that -they were doing novel and interesting, she declined his invitation, as -she already had made arrangements for the afternoon. - -He followed her to her horse, and walked beside her down the road a -short distance from the others. - -“If you can’t come down this afternoon,” he said, “possibly you can -come up this evening. We are going to take some night pictures. I -hadn’t intended inviting any one, because the work is going to be -rather difficult and dangerous, and an audience might distract the -attention of the actors; but if you think you could get away alone, I -should be very glad to have you come up for a few minutes about nine -o’clock. We shall be working in the same place. Don’t forget,” he -repeated, as she started to ride away, “that for this particular scene -I really ought not to have any audience at all; so if you come, please -don’t tell any one else about it.” - -“I’ll come,” she said. “It’s awfully good of you to ask me, and I won’t -tell a soul.” - -Crumb smiled as he turned back to his waiting company. - -Brought up in the atmosphere that had surrounded her since birth, -unacquainted with any but honorable men, and believing as she did that -all men are the chivalrous protectors of all women, Eva did not suspect -the guile that lay behind the director’s courteous manner and fair -words. She looked upon the coming nocturnal visit to the scene of their -work as nothing more than a harmless adventure; nor was there, from her -experience, any cause for apprehension, since the company comprised -some forty or fifty men and women who, like any one else, would protect -her from any harm that lay in their power to avert. - -Her conscience did not trouble her in the least, although she -regretted that she could not share her good fortune with the other -members of her family, and deplored the necessity of leaving the house -surreptitiously, like a thief in the night. Such things did not appeal -to Pennington standards; but Eva satisfied these qualms by promising -herself that she would tell them all about it at breakfast the next -morning. - -After lunch that day Custer went to his room, and, throwing himself on -his bed with a book, with the intention of reading for half an hour, -fell asleep. - -Shortly afterward Shannon Burke, feeling that there would be no danger -of meeting any of the K. K. S. people at the Pennington house, rode up -on the Senator to keep her appointment with Eva. As she tied her horse -upon the north side of the house, Wilson Crumb stopped his car opposite -the patio at the south drive. He had come up to see Colonel Pennington -for the purpose of arranging for the use of a number of the Ganado -Herefords in a scene on the following day. - -Not finding Eva in the family sitting room, Shannon passed through the -house and out into the patio, just as Wilson Crumb mounted the two -steps to the arcade. Before either realized the presence of the other -they were face to face, scarce a yard apart. - -Shannon went deathly white as she recognized the man beneath his -make-up, while Crumb stood speechless for a moment. - -“My God, Gaza. You!” he presently managed to exclaim. “What are you -doing here? Thank God I have found you at last!” - -“Don’t!” she begged. “Please don’t speak to me. I am living a decent -life here.” - -He laughed in a disagreeable manner. - -“Decent!” he scoffed. “Where you getting the snow? Who’s putting up for -it?” - -“I don’t use it any more,” she said. - -“The hell you don’t! You can’t put that over on me! Some other guy is -furnishing it. I know you--you can’t get along two hours without it. -I’m not going to stand for this. There isn’t any guy going to steal my -girl!” - -“Hush, Wilson!” she cautioned. “For God’s sake keep still! Some one -might hear you.” - -“I don’t give a damn who hears me. I’m here to tell the world that no -one is going to take my girl away from me. I’ve found you, and you’re -going back with me, do you understand?” - -She came very close to him, her eyes blazing wrathfully. - -“I’m not going back with you, Wilson Crumb,” she said. “If you tell, or -if you ever threaten me again in any way, I’ll kill you. I managed to -escape you, and I have found happiness at last, and no one shall take -it away from me!” - -“What about my happiness? You lived with me two years. I love you, and, -by God, I’m going to have you, if I have to----” - -A door slammed behind them, and they both turned to see Custer -Pennington standing in the arcade outside his door, looking at them. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice chilling. “Did I interrupt?” - -“This man is looking for some one, Custer,” said Shannon, and turned to -reënter the house. - -Confronted by a man, Crumb’s bravado had vanished. Intuitively he -guessed that he was looking at the man who had stolen Gaza from him; -but he was a very big young man, with broad shoulders and muscles that -his flannel shirt and riding breeches did not conceal. Crumb decided -that if he was going to have trouble with this man, it would be safer -to commence hostilities at a time when the other was not looking. - -“Yes,” he said. “I was looking for your father, Mr. Pennington.” - -“Father is not here. He has driven over to the village. What do you -want?” - -“I wanted to see if I could arrange for the use of some of your -Herefords to-morrow morning.” - -Pennington was leading the way toward Crumb’s car. - -“You can find out about that,” he said, “or anything else that you may -wish to know, from the assistant foreman, whom you will usually find up -at the other end, around the cabin. If he is in doubt about anything, -he will consult with us personally; so that it will not be necessary, -Mr. Crumb, for you to go to the trouble of coming to the house again.” - -Custer’s voice was level and low. It carried no suggestion of anger, -yet there was that about it which convinced Crumb that he was fortunate -in not having been kicked off the hill physically rather than -verbally--for kicked off he had been, and advised to stay off, into -the bargain. - -He wondered how much Pennington had overheard of his conversation with -Gaza. Shannon Burke, crouching in a big chair in the sitting room, was -wondering the same thing. - -As a matter of fact, Custer had overheard practically all of the -conversation. The noise of Crumb’s car had awakened him, but almost -immediately he had fallen into a doze, through which the spoken -words impinged upon his consciousness without any actual, immediate -realization of their meaning, of the identity of the speakers. The -moment that he became fully awake, and found that he was listening to a -conversation not intended for his ears, he had risen and gone into the -patio. - -When finally he came into the sitting room, where Shannon was, he made -no mention of the occurrence, except to say that the visitor had wanted -to see his father. It did not seem possible to Shannon that he could -have failed to overhear at least a part of their conversation, for they -were standing not more than a couple of yards from the open window of -his bedroom, and there was no other sound breaking the stillness of -the August noon. She was sure that he had heard, and yet his manner -indicated that he had not. - -She waited a moment to see if he would be the first to broach the -subject, but he did not. She determined to tell him then and there all -that she had to tell, freeing her soul and her conscience of their -burden, whatever the cost might be. - -She rose and came to where he was standing, and, placing a hand upon -his arm, looked up into his eyes. - -“Custer,” she said. “I have something to tell you. I ought to have -told you before, but I have been afraid. Since last night there is no -alternative but to tell you.” - -“You do not have to tell me anything that you do not want to tell me,” -he said. “My confidence in you is implicit. I could not both love and -distrust at the same time.” - -“I must tell you,” she said. “I only hope----” - -“Where in the world have you been, Shannon?” cried Eva, breaking -suddenly into the sitting room. “I have been away down to your place -looking for you. I thought you were going to play golf with me this -afternoon.” - -“That’s what I came up for,” said Shannon, turning toward her. - -“Well, come on, then! We’ll have to hurry, if we’re going to play -eighteen holes this afternoon.” - -Custer Pennington went to his room again after the girls had driven off -in the direction of the Country Club. He wondered what it had been that -Shannon wished to tell him. Round and round in his mind rang the words -of Wilson Crumb: - -“You lived with me two years--you lived with me two years--you lived -with me two years!” - -She had been going to explain that, he was sure; but she did not have -to explain it. The girl that he loved could have done no wrong. He -trusted her. He was sure of her. - -But what place had that soft-faced cad had in her life? It was -unthinkable that she had ever known him, much less that they had been -upon intimate terms. - -Custer went to his closet and rummaged around for a bottle. It had -been more than two weeks since he had taken a drink. The return to his -old intimacy with Shannon, and the frequency with which he now saw her -had again weaned him from his habit; but to-day he felt the need of a -drink--of a big drink, stiff and neat. - -He swallowed the raw liquor as if it had been so much water. He wished -now that he had punched Crumb’s head when he had had the chance. The -cur! He had spoken to Shannon as if she were a common woman of the -streets--Shannon Burke--Custer’s Shannon! - -Feeling no reaction to the first drink, he took another. - -“I’d like to get my fingers on his throat!” he thought. “Before I -choked the life out of him, I’d drag him up here and make him kiss the -ground at her feet!” - -But no, he could not do that. Others would see it, and there would -have to be explanations; and how could he explain it without casting -reflections on Shannon? - -For hours he sat there in his room, nursing his anger, his jealousy, -and his grief; and all the time he drank and drank again. He went to -his closet, got his belt and holster, and from his dresser drawer took -a big, ugly-looking forty-five--a Colt’s automatic. For a moment he -stood holding it in his hand, looking at it. Almost caressingly he -handled it, and then he slipped it into the holster at his hip, put on -his hat, and started for the door. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - - -Custer’s gait showed no indication of the amount that he had drunk. -He was a Pennington of Virginia, and he could carry his liquor like -a gentleman. Even though he was aflame with the heat of vengeance, -his movements were slow and deliberate. At the door he paused, and, -turning, retraced his steps to the table where stood the bottle and the -glass. - -The bottle was empty. He went to the closet and got another. Again he -drank, and as he stood there by the table he commenced to plan again. - -There must be some reason for the thing he contemplated. There must be -some reason so logical that the discovery of his act could in no way -reflect upon Shannon Burke, or draw her name into the publicity which -must ensue. It required time to think out a feasible plan, and time -gave opportunity for additional drinks. - -The colonel and Mrs. Pennington were away somewhere down in the valley. -Eva and Shannon were the first to return. In passing along the arcade -by Custer’s open window, Eva saw him lying on his bed. She called to -him, but he did not answer. Shannon was at her side. - -“What in the world do you suppose is the matter with Custer?” asked Eva. - -They saw that he was fully dressed. His hat had fallen forward over -his eyes. The two girls entered the room, when they could not arouse -him by calling him from the outside. The two bottles and the glass -upon the table told their own story. What they could not tell Shannon -guessed--he had overheard the conversation between Wilson Crumb and -herself. - -Eva removed the bottles and the glass to the closet. - -“Poor Cus!” she said. “I never saw him like this before. I wonder what -could have happened! What had we better do?” - -“Pull down the shades by his bed,” said Shannon, and this she did -herself without waiting for Eva. “No one can see him from the patio -now. It will be just as well to leave him alone, I think, Eva. He will -probably be all right when he wakes up.” - -They went out of the room, closing the door after them, and a little -later Shannon mounted the Senator and rode away toward home. - -Her thoughts were bitter. Wherever Crumb went he brought misery. -Whatever he touched he defiled. She wished that he was dead. God, how -she wished it! She could have killed him with her own hands for the -grief that he had brought to Custer Pennington. - -She did not care so much about herself. She was used to suffering -because of Wilson Crumb; but that he should bring his foulness into -the purity of Ganado was unthinkable. Her brief happiness was over. No -indeed was there nothing more in life for her. She was not easily moved -to tears, but that night she was still sobbing when she fell asleep. - -When the colonel and Mrs. Pennington arrived at the ranch house, just -before dinner, Eva told them that Custer was not feeling well, and that -he had lain down to sleep and had asked not to be disturbed. They did -not go to his room at all, and at about half past eight they retired -for the night. - -Eva was very much excited. She had never before experienced the thrill -of such an adventure as she was about to embark upon. As the time -approached, she became more and more perturbed. The realization grew -upon her that what she was doing might seem highly objectionable to -her family; but as her innocent heart held no suggestion of evil, she -considered that her only wrong was the infraction of those unwritten -laws of well regulated homes which forbid their daughters going out -alone at night. She would tell about it in the morning, and wheedle her -father into forgiveness. - -Quickly she changed into riding clothes. Leaving her room, she -noiselessly passed through the living room and the east wing to the -kitchen, and from there to the basement, from which a tunnel led -beneath the driveway and opened on the hillside above the upper pool of -the water gardens. To get her horse and saddle him required but a few -moments, for the moon was full and the night almost like day. - -Her heart was beating with excitement as she rode up the cañon toward -the big sycamore that stood at the junction of Sycamore Cañon and El -Camino Largo, where Crumb had told her the night scenes would be taken. -She walked her horse past the bunk house, lest some of the men might -hear her; but when she was through the east gate, beyond the old goat -corral, she broke into a canter. - -As she passed the mouth of Jackknife she glanced up the cañon toward -the site of the K. K. S. camp, but she could not see any lights, as -the camp was fairly well hidden from the main cañon by trees. As she -approached El Camino Largo, she saw that all was darkness. There was no -sign of the artificial lights she imagined they would use for shooting -night scenes, nor was there anything to indicate the presence of the -actors. - -She continued on, however, until presently she saw the outlines of a -car beneath the big sycamore. A man stepped out and hailed her. - -“Is that you, Miss Pennington?” he asked. - -“Yes,” she said. “Aren’t you going to take the pictures to-night?” - -She rode up quite close to him. It was Crumb. - -“I am just waiting for the others. Won’t you dismount?” - -As she swung from the saddle, he led her horse to his car and tied him -to the spare tire in the rear; then he returned to the girl. As they -talked, he adroitly turned the subject of their conversation toward -the possibilities for fame and fortune which lay in pictures for a -beautiful and talented girl. - -Long practice had made Wilson Crumb an adept in his evil arts. -Ordinarily he worked very slowly, considering that weeks, or even -months, were not ill spent if they led toward the consummation of his -desires; but in this instance he realized that he must work quickly. He -must take the girl by storm or not at all. - -So unsophisticated was Eva, and so innocent, that she did not realize -from his conversation what would have been palpable to one more worldly -wise; and because she did not repulse him, Crumb thought that she was -not averse to his advances. It was not until he seized her and tried -to kiss her that she awoke to a realization of her danger, and of the -position in which her silly credulity had placed her. - -She carried a quirt in her hand, and she was a Pennington. What matter -that she was but a slender girl? The honor and the courage of a -Pennington were hers. - -“How dare you?” she cried, attempting to jerk away. - -When he would have persisted, she raised the heavy quirt and struck him -across the face. - -“My father shall hear of this, and so shall the man I am to marry--Mr. -Evans.” - -“Go slow!” he growled angrily. “Be careful what you tell! Remember that -you came up here alone at night to meet a man you have known only a -day. How will you square that with your assertions of virtue, eh? And -as for Evans--yes, one of your men told me to-day that you and he were -going to be married--as for him, the less you drag him into this the -better it’ll be for Evans, and you, too!” - -She was walking toward her horse. She wheeled suddenly toward him. - -“Had I been armed, I would have killed you,” she said. “Any Pennington -would kill you for what you attempted. My father or my brother will -kill you if you are here to-morrow, for I shall tell them what you -have done. You had better leave to-night. I am advising you for their -sakes--not for yours.” - -He followed her then, and, when she mounted, he seized her reins. - -“Not so damned fast, young lady! I’ve got something to say about this. -You’ll keep your mouth shut, or I’ll send Evans to the pen, where he -belongs!” - -“Get out of my way!” she commanded, and put her spurs to her mount. - -The horse leaped forward, but Crumb clung to the reins, checking him. -Then she struck Crumb again; but he managed to seize the quirt and hold -it. - -“Now listen to me,” he said. “If you tell what happened here to-night, -I’ll tell what I know about Evans, and he’ll go to the pen as sure as -you’re a silly little fool!” - -“You know nothing about Mr. Evans. You don’t even know him.” - -“Listen--I’ll tell you what I know. I know that Evans let your brother, -who was innocent, go to the pen for the thing that Evans was guilty of.” - -The girl shrank back. - -“You lie!” she cried. - -“No, I don’t lie, either. I’m telling you the truth, and I can bring -plenty of witnesses to prove what I say. It was young Evans who handled -all that stolen booze and sold it to some guy from L. A. It was young -Evans who got the money. He was getting rich on it till your brother -butted in and crabbed his game, and then it was young Evans who kept -still and let an innocent man do time for him. That’s the kind of -fellow you’re going to marry. If you want the whole world to know about -it, you just tell your father or your brother anything about me!” - -He saw the girl sink down in her saddle, her head and shoulders -drooping like some lovely flower in the path of fire, and he knew that -he had won. Then he let her go. - -It was half past nine o’clock when Colonel Pennington was aroused by -some one knocking on the north door of his bedroom--the door that -opened upon the north porch. - -“Who is it?” he asked. - -It was the stableman. - -“Miss Eva’s horse is out, sir,” the man said. “I heard a horse pass the -bunk house about half an hour ago. I dressed and come up here to the -stables, to see if it was one of ours--somethin’ seemed to tell me it -was--an’ I found her horse out. I thought I’d better tell you about it, -sir. You can’t tell, sir, with all them pictur’ people up the cañon, -what might be goin’ on. We’ll be lucky if we have any horses or tack -left if they’re here long!” - -“Miss Eva’s in bed,” said the colonel; “but we’ll have to look into -this at once. Custer’s sick to-night, so he can’t go along with us; but -if you will saddle up my horse, and one for yourself, I’ll dress and be -right down. It can’t be the motion-picture people--they’re not horse -thieves.” - -While the stableman returned to saddle the horses, the colonel dressed. -So sure was he that Eva was in bed that he did not even stop to look -into her room. As he left the house, he was buckling on a gun--a thing -that he seldom carried, for even in the peaceful days that have settled -upon southern California a horse thief is still a horse thief. - -As he was descending the steps to the stable, he saw some one coming -up. In the moonlight there was no difficulty in recognizing the figure -of his daughter. - -“Eva!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been? What are you doing out at -this time of night, alone?” - -She did not answer, but threw herself into his arms, sobbing. - -“What is it? What has happened, child? Tell me!” - -Her sobs choked her, and she could not speak. Putting his arm about -her, her father led her up the steps and to her room. There he sat down -and held her, and tried to comfort her, while he endeavored to extract -a coherent statement from her. - -Little by little, word by word, she managed at last to tell him. - -“You mustn’t cry, dear,” he said. “You did a foolish thing to go up -there alone, but you did nothing wrong. As for what that fellow told -you about Guy, I don’t believe it.” - -“But it’s the truth,” she sobbed. “I know it is the truth now. Little -things that I didn’t think of before come back to me, and in the light -of what that terrible man told me I know that it’s true. We always knew -that Custer was innocent. Think what a change came over Guy from the -moment that Custer was arrested. He has been a different man since. And -the money--the money that we were to be married on! I never stopped -to try to reason it out. He had thousands of dollars. He told me not -to tell anybody how much he had; and that was where it came from. It -couldn’t have come from anything else. Oh, popsy, it is awful, and I -loved him so! To think that he, that Guy Evans, of all men, would have -let my brother go to jail for something he did!” - -Again her sobs stifled her. - -“Crying will do no good,” the colonel said. “Go to bed now, and -to-morrow we will talk it over. Good night, little girl. Remember, -we’ll all stick to Guy, no matter what he has done.” - -He kissed her then and left her, but he did not return to his room. -Instead, he went down to the stables and saddled his horse, for the -stableman, when Eva came in with the missing animal, had put it in its -box and returned to the bunk house. - -The colonel rode immediately to the sleeping camp in Jackknife Cañon. -His calls went unanswered for a time, but presently a sleepy man stuck -his head through the flap of a tent. - -“What do you want?” he asked. - -“I am looking for Mr. Crumb. Where is he?” - -“I don’t know. He went away in his car early in the evening, and hasn’t -come back. What’s the matter, anyway? You’re the second fellow that’s -been looking for him. Oh, you’re Colonel Pennington, aren’t you? I -didn’t recognize you. Why, some one was here a little while ago looking -for him--a young fellow on horseback. I think it must have been your -son. Anything I can do for you?” - -“Yes,” said the colonel. “In case I don’t see Mr. Crumb, you can tell -him, or whoever is in charge, that you’re to break camp in the morning -and be off my property by ten o’clock!” - -He wheeled his horse and rode down Jackknife Cañon toward Sycamore. - -“Well, what the hell!” ejaculated the sleepy man to himself, and -withdrew again into his tent. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - - -Shannon Burke, after a restless night, rose early in the morning to -ride. She always found that the quiet and peace of the hills acted as a -tonic on jangling nerves, and dispelled, at least for the moment, any -cloud of unhappiness that might be hovering over her. - -The first person to see her that morning was the flunky from the -K. K. S. camp who was rustling wood for the cook’s morning fire. So -interested was he in her rather remarkable occupation that he stood -watching her from behind a bush until she was out of sight. As long -as he saw her, she rode slowly, dragging at her side a leafy bough, -which she moved to and fro, as if sweeping the ground. She constantly -looked back, as if to note the effect of her work; and once or twice -he saw her go over short stretches of the road a second time, brushing -vigorously. - -It was quite light by that time, as it was almost five o’clock, and the -sun was just rising as she dismounted at the Ganado stables and hurried -up the steps toward the house. The iron gate at the patio entrance had -not yet been raised, so she went around to the north side of the house -and knocked on the colonel’s bedroom door. - -He came from his dressing room to answer her knock, for he was fully -dressed and evidently on the point of leaving for his morning ride. The -expression of her face denoted that something was wrong, even before -she spoke. - -“Colonel,” she cried, “Wilson Crumb has been killed. I rode early this -morning, and as I came into Sycamore over El Camino Largo I saw his -body lying under the big tree there.” - -They were both thinking the same thought, which neither dared -voice--where was Custer? - -“Did you notify the camp?” he asked. - -“No--I came directly here.” - -“You are sure that it is Crumb, and that he is dead?” he asked. - -“I am sure that it is Crumb. He was lying on his back, and though I -didn’t dismount I am quite positive that he was dead.” - -Mrs. Pennington had joined them, herself dressed for riding. - -“How terrible!” she exclaimed. - -“Terrible nothing,” exclaimed the colonel. “I’m damned glad he’s dead!” - -Shannon looked at him in astonishment, but Mrs. Pennington understood, -for the colonel had told her all that Eva had told him. - -“He was a bad man,” said Shannon. “The world will be better off without -him.” - -“You knew him?” Colonel Pennington asked in surprise. - -“I knew him in Hollywood,” she replied. - -She knew now that they must all know sooner or later, for she could not -see how she could be kept out of the investigation and the trial that -must follow. In her heart she feared that Custer had killed Crumb. The -fact that he had drunk so heavily that afternoon indicated not only -that he had overheard, but that what he had heard had affected him -profoundly--profoundly enough to have suggested the killing of the man -whom he believed to have wronged the woman he loved. - -“The first thing to do, I suppose,” said the colonel, “is to notify the -sheriff.” - -He left the room and went to the telephone. While he was away Mrs. -Pennington and Shannon discussed the tragedy, and the older woman -confided to the other the experience that Eva had had with Crumb the -previous night. - -“The beast!” muttered Shannon. “Death was too good for him!” - -Presently the colonel returned to them. - -“I think I’ll go and see if the children are going to ride with us,” he -said. “There is no reason why we shouldn’t ride as usual.” - -He went to Eva’s door and looked in. Apparently she was still fast -asleep. Her hair was down, and her curls lay in soft confusion upon her -pillow. Very gently he closed the door again, glad that she could sleep. - -When he entered his son’s room he found Custer lying fully clothed -upon his bed, his belt about his waist and his gun at his hip. His -suspicions were crystallized into belief. - -But why had Custer killed Crumb? He couldn’t have known of the man’s -affront to Eva, for she had seen no member of the family but her -father, and in him alone had she confided. - -He crossed to the bed and shook Custer by the shoulder. The younger man -opened his eyes and sat up on the edge of his bed. He looked first at -his father and then at himself--at his boots and spurs, and breeches, -and the gun about his waist. - -“What time is it?” he asked. - -“Five o’clock.” - -“I must have fallen asleep. I wish it was dinner time! I’m hungry.” - -“Dinner time! It’s only a matter of a couple of hours to breakfast. -It’s five o’clock in the morning.” - -Custer rose to his feet in surprise. - -“I must have loaded on more than I knew,” he said with a wry smile. - -“What do you mean?” asked his father. - -“I had a blue streak yesterday afternoon, and I took a few drinks; and -here I have slept all the way through to the next morning!” - -“You haven’t been out of the room since yesterday afternoon?” asked the -colonel. - -“No, of course not. I thought it was still yesterday afternoon until -you told me that it is the next morning,” said Custer. - -The colonel ran his fingers through his hair. - -“I am glad,” he said. - -Custer didn’t know why his father was glad. - -“Riding?” he asked. - -“Yes.” - -“I’ll be with you in a jiffy. I want to wash up a bit.” - -He met them at the stables a few minutes later. The effect of the -liquor had entirely disappeared. He seemed his normal self again, and -not at all like a man who had the blood of a new murder on his soul. He -was glad to see Shannon, and squeezed her hand as he passed her horse -to get his own. - -In the few moments since his father had awakened him, he had reviewed -the happenings of the previous day, and his loyalty to the girl he -loved had determined him that he had nothing to grieve about. Whatever -had been between her and Crumb she would explain. Only the fact that -Eva had interrupted her had kept him from knowing the whole truth the -previous day. - -They were mounted, and had started out, when the colonel reined to -Custer’s side. - -“Shannon just made a gruesome find up in Sycamore,” he said, and paused. - -If he had intended to surprise Custer into any indication of guilty -knowledge, he failed. - -“Gruesome find!” repeated the younger man. “What was it?” - -“Wilson Crumb has been murdered. Shannon found his body.” - -“The devil!” ejaculated Custer. “Who do you suppose could have done it?” - -Then, quite suddenly, his heart came to his mouth, as he realized that -there was only one present there who had cause to kill Wilson Crumb. He -did not dare to look at Shannon for a long time. - -They had gone only a hundred yards when Custer pulled up the Apache and -dismounted. - -“I thought so,” he said, looking at the horse’s off forefoot. “He’s -pulled that shoe again. He must have done it in the corral, for it was -on when I put him in last night. You folks go ahead. I’ll go back and -saddle Baldy.” - -The stableman was still there, and helped him. - -“That was a new shoe,” Custer said. “Look about the corral and the box, -and see if you can find it. You can tack it back on.” - -Then he swung to Baldy’s back and cantered off after the others. - -A deputy sheriff came from the village of Ganado before they returned -from their ride, and went up the cañon to take charge of Crumb’s body -and investigate the scene of the crime. - -Eva was still in bed when they were called to breakfast. They insisted -upon Shannon’s remaining, and the four were passing along the arcade -past Eva’s room. - -“I think I’ll go in and waken her,” said Mrs. Pennington. “She doesn’t -like to sleep so late.” - -The others passed into the living room, and were walking toward the -dining room when they were startled by a scream. - -“Custer! Custer!” Mrs. Pennington called to her husband. - -All three turned and hastened back to Eva’s room, where they found Mrs. -Pennington half lying across the bed, her body convulsed with sobs. The -colonel was the first to reach her, followed by Custer and Shannon. The -bedclothes lay half thrown back, where Mrs. Pennington had turned them. -The white sheet was stained with blood, and in Eva’s hand was clutched -a revolver that Custer had given her the previous Christmas. - -“My little girl, my little girl!” cried the weeping mother. “Why did -you do it?” - -The colonel knelt and put his arms about his wife. He could not speak. -Custer Pennington stood like a man turned to stone. The shock seemed to -have bereft him of the power to understand what had happened. Finally -he turned dumbly toward Shannon. The tears were running down her -cheeks. Gently she touched his sleeve. - -“My poor boy!” she said. - -The words broke the spell that had held him. He walked to the opposite -side of the bed and bent close to the still, white face of the sister -he had worshiped. - -“Dear little sister, how could you, when we love you so?” he said. - -Gently the colonel drew his wife away, and, kneeling, placed his ear -close above Eva’s heart. There were no outward indications of life, -but presently he lifted his head, an expression of hope relieving that -of grim despair which had settled upon his countenance at the first -realization of the tragedy. - -“She is not dead,” he said. “Get Baldwin! Get him at once!” He was -addressing Custer. “Then telephone Carruthers, in Los Angeles, to get -down here as soon as God will let him.” - -Custer hurried from the room to carry out his father’s instructions. - -It was later, while they were waiting for the arrival of the doctor, -that the colonel told Custer of Eva’s experience with Crumb the -previous night. - -“She wanted to kill herself because of what he told her about Guy,” he -said. “There was no other reason.” - -Then the doctor came, and they all stood in tense expectancy and -mingled dread and hope while he made his examination. Carefully and -deliberately the old doctor worked, outwardly as calm and unaffected as -if he were treating a minor injury to a stranger; yet his heart was as -heavy as theirs, for he had brought Eva into the world, and had known -and loved her all her brief life. - -At last he straightened up, to find their questioning eyes upon him. - -“She still lives,” he said, but there was no hope in his voice. - -“I have sent for Carruthers,” said the colonel. “He is on his way now. -He told Custer that he’ll be here in less than three hours.” - -“I arranged to have a couple of nurses sent out, too,” said Custer. - -Dr. Baldwin made no reply. - -“There is no hope?” asked the colonel. - -“There is always hope while there is life,” replied the doctor; “but -you must not raise yours too high.” - -They understood him, and realized that there was very little hope. - -“Can you keep her alive until Carruthers arrives?” asked the colonel. - -“I need not tell you that I shall do my best,” was the reply. - -Guy had come, with his mother. He seemed absolutely stunned by the -catastrophe that had overwhelmed him. There was a wildness in his -demeanor that frightened them all. It was necessary to watch him -carefully, for fear that he might attempt to destroy himself when he -realized at last that Eva was likely to die. - -He insisted that they should tell him all the circumstances that had -led up to the pitiful tragedy. For a time they sought to conceal a part -of the truth from him; but at last, so great was his insistence, they -were compelled to reveal all that they knew. - -Of a nervous and excitable temperament, and endowed by nature with a -character of extreme sensitiveness and comparatively little strength, -the shock of the knowledge that it was his own acts that had led Eva -to self-destruction proved too much for Guy’s overwrought nerves and -brain. So violent did he become that Colonel Pennington and Custer -together could scarce restrain him, and it became necessary to send for -two of the ranch employees. - -When the deputy sheriff came to question them about the murder of -Crumb, it was evident that Guy’s mind was so greatly affected that he -did not understand what was taking place around him. He had sunk into a -morose silence broken at intervals by fits of raving. Later in the day, -at Dr. Baldwin’s suggestion, he was removed to a sanatorium outside of -Los Angeles. - -Guy’s mental collapse, and the necessity for constantly restraining -him, had resulted in taking Custer’s mind from his own grief, at least -for the moment; but when he was not thus occupied he sat staring -straight ahead of him in dumb despair. - -It was eleven o’clock when the best surgeon that Los Angeles could -furnish arrived, bringing a nurse with him, and Eva was still breathing -when he came. Dr. Baldwin was there, and together the three worked for -an hour while the Penningtons and Shannon waited almost hopelessly in -the living room, Mrs. Evans having accompanied Guy to Los Angeles. - -Finally, after what seemed years, the door of the living room opened, -and Dr. Carruthers entered. They scanned his face as he entered, but -saw nothing there to lighten the burden of their apprehension. The -colonel and Custer rose. - -“Well?” asked the former, his voice scarcely audible. - -“The operation was successful. I found the bullet and removed it.” - -“She will live, then!” cried Mrs. Pennington, coming quickly toward him. - -He took her hands very gently in his. - -“My dear madam,” he said, “it would be cruel of me to hold out useless -hope. She hasn’t more than one chance in a hundred. It is a miracle -that she was alive when you found her. Only a splendid constitution, -resulting from the life that she has led, could possibly account for -it.” - -The mother turned away with a low moan. - -“There is nothing more that you can do?” asked the colonel. - -“I have done all that I can,” replied Carruthers. - -“She will not last long?” - -“It may be a matter of hours, or only minutes,” he replied. “She is -in excellent hands, however. No one could do more for her than Dr. -Baldwin.” - -The two nurses whom Custer had arranged for had arrived, and when Dr. -Carruthers departed he took his own nurse with him. - -It was afternoon when deputies from the sheriff’s and coroner’s offices -arrived from Los Angeles, together with detectives from the district -attorney’s office. Crumb’s body still lay where it had fallen, guarded -by a constable from the village of Ganado. It was surrounded by members -of his company, villagers, and near-by ranchers, for word of the murder -had spread rapidly in the district in that seemingly mysterious way -in which news travels in rural communities. Among the crowd was Slick -Allen, who had returned to the valley after his release from the county -jail. - -A partially successful effort had been made to keep the crowd from -trampling the ground in the immediate vicinity of the body, but beyond -a limited area whatever possible clews the murderer might have left in -the shape of footprints had been entirely obliterated long before the -officers arrived from Los Angeles. - -When the body was finally lifted from its resting place, and placed -in the ambulance that had been brought from Los Angeles, one of the -detectives picked up a horseshoe that had lain underneath the body. -From its appearance it was evident that it had been upon a horse’s hoof -very recently, and had been torn off by force. - -As the detective examined the shoe, several of the crowd pressed -forward to look at it. Among them was Allen. - -“That’s off of young Pennington’s horse,” he said. - -“How do you know that?” inquired the detective. - -“I used to work for them--took care of their saddle horses. This young -Pennington’s horse forges. They had to shoe him special, to keep him -from pulling the off fore shoe. I could tell one of his shoes in a -million. If they haven’t walked all over his tracks, I can tell whether -that horse had been up here or not.” - -He stooped and examined the ground close to where the body had lain. - -“There!” he said, pointing. “There’s an imprint of one of his hind -feet. See how the toe of that shoe is squared off? That was made by the -Apache, all right!” - -The detective was interested. He studied the hoofprint carefully, and -searched for others, but this was the only one he could find. - -“Looks like some one had been sweeping this place with a broom,” he -remarked. “There ain’t much of anything shows.” - -A pimply-faced young man spoke up. - -“There was some one sweeping the ground this morning,” he said. “About -five o’clock this morning I seen a girl dragging the branch of a tree -after her, and sweeping along the road below here.” - -“Did you know her?” asked the detective. - -“No--I never seen her before.” - -“Would you know her if you saw her again?” - -“Sure I’d know her! She was a pippin. I’d know her horse, too.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - - -Eva was still breathing faintly as the sun dropped behind the western -hills. Shannon had not left the house all day. She felt that Custer -needed her, that they all needed her, however little she could do to -mitigate their grief. There was at least a sense of sharing their -burden, and her fine sensibilities told her that this service of love -was quite as essential as the more practical help that she would have -been glad to offer had it been within her power. - -She was standing in the patio with Custer, at sunset, within call of -Eva’s room, as they had all been during the entire day, when a car -drove up along the south drive and stopped at the patio entrance. Three -of the four men in it alighted and advanced toward them. - -“You are Custer Pennington?” one of them asked. - -Pennington nodded. - -“And you are Miss Burke--Miss Shannon Burke?” - -“I am.” - -“I am a deputy sheriff. I have a warrant here for your arrest.” - -“Arrest!” exclaimed Custer. “For what?” - -He read the warrant to them. It charged them with the murder of Wilson -Crumb. - -“I am sorry, Mr. Pennington,” said the deputy sheriff; “but I have been -given these warrants, and there is nothing for me to do but serve them.” - -“You have to take us away now? Can’t you wait--until--my sister is -dying in there. Couldn’t it be arranged so that I could stay here under -arrest as long as she lives?” - -The deputy shook his head. - -“It would be all right with me,” he said; “but I have no authority to -let you stay. I’ll telephone in, though, and see what I can do. Where -is the telephone?” - -Pennington told him. - -“You two stay here with my men,” said the deputy sheriff, “while I -telephone.” - -He was gone about fifteen minutes. When he returned, he shook his head. - -“Nothing doing,” he said. “I have to bring you both in right away.” - -“May I go to her room and see her again before I leave?” asked Custer. - -“Yes,” said the deputy; but when Custer turned toward his sister’s -room, the officer accompanied him. - -Dr. Baldwin and one of the nurses were in the room. Young Pennington -came and stood beside the bed, looking down on the white face and the -tumbled curls upon the pillow. He could not perceive the slightest -indication of life, yet they told him that Eva still lived. He knelt -and kissed her, and then turned away. He tried to say good-by to her, -but his voice broke, and he turned and left the room hurriedly. - -Colonel and Mrs. Pennington were in the patio, with Shannon and the -officers. The colonel and his wife had just learned of this new blow, -and both of them were stunned. The colonel seemed to have aged a -generation in that single day. He was a tired, hopeless old man. The -heart of his boy and that of Shannon Burke went out to him and to the -suffering mother from whom their son was to be taken at this moment -in their lives when they needed him most. In their compassion for the -older Penningtons they almost forgot the seriousness of their own -situation. - -At their arraignment, next morning, the preliminary hearing was set for -the following Friday. Early in the morning Custer had received word -from Ganado that Eva still lived, and that Dr. Baldwin now believed -they might hold some slight hope for her recovery. - -At Ganado, despair and anxiety had told heavily upon the Penningtons. -The colonel felt that he should be in Los Angeles, to assist in the -defense of his son; and yet he knew that his place was with his wife, -whose need of him was even greater. Nor would his heart permit him to -leave the daughter whom he worshiped, so long as even a faint spark of -life remained in that beloved frame. - -Mrs. Evans returned from Los Angeles the following day. She was almost -prostrated by this last of a series of tragedies ordered, as it seemed, -by some malignant fate for the wrecking of her happiness. She told them -that Guy appeared to be hopelessly insane. He did not know his mother, -nor did he give the slightest indication of any recollection of his -past life, or of the events that had overthrown his reason. - -At ten o’clock on Wednesday night Dr. Baldwin came into the living -room, where the colonel and his wife were sitting with Mrs. Evans. For -two days none of them had been in bed. They were tired and haggard, but -not more so than the old doctor, who had remained constantly on duty -from the moment when he was summoned. Never had man worked with more -indefatigable zeal than he to wrest a young life from the path of the -grim reaper. There were deep lines beneath his eyes, and his face was -pale and drawn, as he entered the room and stood before them; but for -the first time in many hours there was a smile upon his lips. - -“I believe,” he said, “that we are going to save her.” - -The others were too much affected to speak. So long had hope been -denied that now they dared not even think of hope. - -“She regained consciousness a few moments ago. She looked up at me and -smiled, and then she fell asleep. She is breathing quite naturally now. -She must not be disturbed, though. I think it would be well if you all -retired. Mrs. Pennington, you certainly must get some sleep--and you -too, Mrs. Evans, or I cannot be responsible for the results. I have -left word with the night nurse to call me immediately, if necessary, -and if you will all go to your rooms I will lie on the sofa here in the -living room. I feel at last that it will be safe for me to leave her in -the hands of the nurse, and a little sleep won’t hurt me.” - -The colonel took his old friend by the hand. - -“Baldwin,” he said, “it is useless to try to thank you. I couldn’t, -even if there were the words to do it with.” - -“You don’t have to, Pennington. I think I love her as much as you -do. There isn’t any one who knows her who doesn’t love her, and who -wouldn’t have done as much as I. Now, get off to bed all of you, and I -think we’ll find something to be very happy about by morning. If there -is any change for the worse, I will let you know immediately.” - - * * * * * - -In the county jail in Los Angeles, Custer Pennington and Shannon -Burke, awaiting trial on charges of a capital crime, were filled with -increasing happiness as the daily reports from Ganado brought word of -Eva’s steady improvement, until at last that she was entirely out of -danger. - -The tedious preliminaries of selecting a jury were finally concluded. -As witness after witness was called, Pennington came to realize for -the first time what a web of circumstantial evidence the State had -fabricated about him. Even from servants whom he knew to be loyal and -friendly the most damaging evidence was elicited. His mother’s second -maid testified that she had seen him fully dressed in his room late -in the evening before the murder, when she had come in, as was her -custom, with a pitcher of iced water, not knowing that the young man -was there. She had seen him lying upon the bed, with his gun in its -holster hanging from the belt about his waist. She also testified that -the following morning, when she had come in to make up his bed, she had -discovered that it had not been slept in. - -The stableman testified that the Apache had been out on the night -of the murder. He had rubbed the animal off earlier in the evening, -when the defendant had come in from riding. At that time the two had -examined the horse’s shoes, the animal having just been reshod. He said -that on the morning after the murder there were saddle sweat marks on -the Apache’s back, and that the off fore shoe was missing. - -One of the K. K. S. employees testified that a young man, whom he -partially identified as Custer, had ridden into their camp about nine -o’clock on the night of the murder, and had inquired concerning the -whereabouts of Crumb. He said that the young man seemed excited, and -upon being told that Crumb was away he had ridden off rapidly toward -Sycamore Cañon. - -Added to all this were the damaging evidence of the detective who had -found the Apache’s off fore shoe under Crumb’s body, and the positive -identification of the shoe by Allen. The one thing that was lacking--a -motive for the crime--was supplied by Allen and the Penningtons’ house -man. - -The latter testified that among his other duties was the care of the -hot water heater in the basement of the Pennington home. Upon the -evening of Saturday, August 5, he had forgotten to shut off the burner, -as was his custom. He had returned about nine o’clock, to do so. When -he had left the house by the passageway leading from the basement -beneath the south drive and opening on the hillside just above the -water gardens, he had seen a man standing by the upper pool, with his -arms about a woman, whom he was kissing. It was a bright moonlight -night, and the house man had recognized the two as Custer Pennington -and Miss Burke. Being embarrassed by having thus accidentally come upon -them, he had moved away quietly in the opposite direction, among the -shadows of the trees, and had returned to the bunk house. - -The connecting link between this evidence and the motive for the crime -was elicited from Allen in half an hour of direct examination, which -constituted the most harrowing ordeal that Shannon Burke had ever -endured; for it laid bare before the world, and before the man she -loved, the sordid history of her life with Wilson Crumb. It portrayed -her as a drug addict and a wanton; but, more terrible still, it -established a motive for the murder of Crumb by Custer Pennington. - -Owing to the fact that he had lain in a drunken stupor during the night -of the crime, that no one had seen him from the time when the maid -entered his room to bring his iced water until his father had found -him fully clothed upon his bed at five o’clock the following morning, -young Pennington was unable to account for his actions, or to state his -whereabouts at the time when the murder was committed. - -He realized what the effect of the evidence must be upon the minds -of the jurors when he himself was unable to assert positively, even -to himself, that he had not left his room that night. Nor was he -very anxious to refute the charge against him, since in his heart he -believed that Shannon Burke had killed Crumb. He did not even take the -stand in his own defense. - -The evidence against Shannon was less convincing. A motive had been -established in Crumb’s knowledge of her past life and the malign -influence that he had had upon it. The testimony of the camp flunky who -had seen her obliterating what evidence the trail might have given in -the form of hoofprints constituted practically the only direct evidence -that was brought against her. It seemed to Custer that the gravest -charge that could justly be brought against her was that of accessory -after the fact, provided the jury was convinced of his guilt. - -Many witnesses testified, giving evidence concerning apparently -irrelevant subjects. It was brought out, however, that Crumb died from -the effects of a wound inflicted by a forty-five-caliber pistol, that -Custer Pennington possessed such a weapon, and that at the time of -his arrest it had been found in its holster, with its cartridge belt, -thrown carelessly upon his bed. - -When Shannon Burke took the stand, all eyes were riveted upon her. -They were attracted not only by her youth and beauty, but also by the -morbid interest which the frequenters of court rooms would naturally -feel in the disclosure of the life she had led at Hollywood. Even to -the most sophisticated it appeared incredible that this refined girl, -whose soft, well modulated voice and quiet manner carried a conviction -of innate modesty, could be the woman whom Slick Allen’s testimony had -revealed in such a rôle of vice and degradation. - -Allen’s eyes were fastened upon her with the same intent and searching -expression that had marked his attitude upon the occasion of his last -visit to the Vista del Paso bungalow, as if he were trying to recall -the identity of some half forgotten face. - -Though Shannon gave her evidence in a simple, straightforward manner, -it was manifest that she was undergoing an intense nervous strain. The -story that she told, coming as it did out of a clear sky, unguessed -either by the prosecution or by the defense, proved a veritable -bombshell to them both. It came after it had appeared that the last -link had been forged in the chain that fixed the guilt upon Custer -Pennington. She had asked, then, to be permitted to take the stand and -tell her story in her own way. - -“I did not see Mr. Crumb,” she said, “from the time I left Hollywood on -the 30th of July, last year, until the afternoon before he was killed; -nor had I communicated with him during that time. What Mr. Allen told -you about my having been a drug addict was true, but he did not tell -you that Crumb made me what I was, or that after I came to Ganado to -live I overcame the habit. I did not live with Crumb as his wife. He -used me to peddle narcotics for him. I was afraid of him, and did not -want to go back to him. When I left, I did not even let him know where -I was going. - -“The afternoon before he was killed I met him accidentally in the patio -of Colonel Pennington’s home. The Penningtons had no knowledge of my -association with Crumb. I knew that they wouldn’t have tolerated me, -had they known what I had been. Crumb demanded that I should return to -him, and threatened to expose me if I refused. I knew that he was going -to be up in the cañon that night. I rode up there and shot him. The -next morning I went back and attempted to obliterate the tracks of my -horse, for I had learned from Custer Pennington that it is sometimes -easy to recognize individual peculiarities in the tracks of a shod -horse. That is all, except that Mr. Pennington had no knowledge of what -I did, and no part in it.” - -Momentarily her statement seemed to overthrow the State’s case -against Pennington; but that the district attorney was not convinced -of its truth was indicated by his cross-examination of her and other -witnesses, and later by the calling of new witnesses. They could not -shake her testimony, but on the other hand she was unable to prove that -she had ever possessed a forty-five-caliber pistol, or to account for -what she had done with it after the crime. - -During the course of her cross-examination many apparently unimportant -and irrelevant facts were adduced, among them the name of the Middle -Western town in which she had been born. This trivial bit of testimony -was the only point that seemed to make any impression on Allen. Any -one watching him at the moment would have seen a sudden expression of -incredulity and consternation overspread his face, the hard lines of -which slowly gave place to what might, in another, have suggested a -semblance of grief. - -For several minutes he sat staring intently at Shannon. Then he crossed -to the side of her attorney, and whispered a few words in the lawyer’s -ear. Receiving an assent to whatever his suggestion might have been, he -left the court room. - -On the following day the defense introduced a new witness in the person -of a Japanese who had been a house servant in the bungalow on the Vista -del Paso. His testimony substantiated Shannon Burke’s statement that -she and Crumb had not lived together as man and wife. - -Then Allen was recalled to the stand. He told of the last evening that -he had spent at Crumb’s bungalow, and of the fact that Miss Burke, who -was then known to him as Gaza de Lure, had left the house at the same -time he did. He testified that Crumb had asked her why she was going -home so early; that she had replied that she wanted to write a letter; -that he, Allen, had remarked “I thought you lived here,” to which she -had replied, “I’m here nearly all day, but I go home nights.” The -witness added that this conversation took place in Crumb’s presence, -and that the director did not in any way deny the truth of the girl’s -assertion. - -Why Allen should have suddenly espoused her cause was a mystery to -Shannon, only to be accounted for upon the presumption that if he could -lessen the value of that part of her testimony which had indicated a -possible motive for the crime, he might thereby strengthen the case -against Pennington, toward whom he still felt enmity, and whom he had -long ago threatened to “get.” - -The district attorney, in his final argument, drew a convincing picture -of the crime from the moment when Custer Pennington saddled his horse -at the stables at Ganado. He followed him up the cañon to the camp in -Jackknife, where he had inquired concerning Crumb, and then down to -Sycamore again, where, at the mouth of Jackknife, the lights of Crumb’s -car would have been visible up the larger cañon. - -He demonstrated clearly that a man familiar with the hills, and -searching for some one whom sentiments of jealousy and revenge were -prompting him to destroy, would naturally investigate this automobile -light that was shining where no automobile should be. That the prisoner -had ridden out with the intention of killing Crumb was apparent -from the fact that he had carried a pistol in a country where, under -ordinary circumstances, there was no necessity for carrying a weapon -for self-defense. He vividly portrayed the very instant of the -commission of the crime--how Pennington leaned from his saddle and shot -Crumb through the heart; the sudden leap of the murderer’s horse as he -was startled by the report of the pistol, or possibly by the falling -body of the murdered man; and how, in so jumping, he had forged and -torn off the shoe that had been found beneath Crumb’s body. - -“And,” he said, “this woman knew that he was going to kill Wilson -Crumb. She knew it, and she made no effort to prevent it. On the -contrary, as soon as it was light enough, she rode directly to the spot -where Crumb’s body lay, and, as has been conclusively demonstrated by -the unimpeachable testimony of an eyewitness, she deliberately sought -to expunge all traces of her lover’s guilt.” - -He derided Shannon’s confession, which he termed an eleventh hour -effort to save a guilty man from the gallows. - -“If she killed Wilson Crumb, what did she kill him with?” - -He picked up the bullet that had been extracted from Crumb’s body. - -“Where is the pistol from which this bullet came? Here it is, -gentlemen!” - -He picked up the weapon that had been taken from Custer’s room. - -“Compare this bullet with those others that were taken from the clip in -the handle of this automatic. They are identical. This pistol did not -belong to Shannon Burke. It was never in her possession. No pistol of -this character was ever in her possession. Had she had one, she could -have told where she obtained it, and whether it had been sold to her -or to another; and the records of the seller would show whether or not -she spoke the truth. Failing to tell us where she procured the weapon, -she could at least lead us to the spot where she had disposed of it. -She can do neither, and the reason why she cannot is because she never -owned a forty-five-caliber pistol. She never had one in her possession, -and therefore she could not have killed Crumb with one.” - -When at length the case went to the jury, Custer Pennington’s -conviction seemed a foregone conclusion, while the fate of Shannon -Burke was yet in the laps of the gods. The testimony that Allen and -the Japanese servant had given in substantiation of Shannon’s own -statement that her relations with Wilson Crumb had only been those of -an accomplice in the disposal of narcotics, removed from consideration -the principal motive that she might have had for killing Crumb. - -And so there was no great surprise when, several hours later, the -jury returned a verdict in accordance with the public opinion of Los -Angeles--where, owing to the fact that murder juries are not isolated, -such cases are tried largely by the newspapers and the public. They -found Custer Pennington, Jr., guilty of murder in the first degree, and -Shannon Burke not guilty. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - - -On the day when Custer was to be sentenced, Colonel Pennington and -Shannon Burke were present in the court room. Mrs. Pennington had -remained at home with Eva, who was slowly convalescing. Shannon reached -the court room before the colonel. When he arrived, he sat down beside -her, and placed his hand on hers. - -“Whatever happens,” he said, “we shall still believe in him. No matter -what the evidence--and I do not deny that the jury brought in a just -verdict in accordance with it--I know that he is innocent. He told me -yesterday that he was innocent, and my boy would not lie to me. He -thought that you killed Crumb, Shannon. He overheard the conversation -between you and Crumb in the patio that day, and he knew that you had -good reason to kill the man. He knows now, as we all know, that you did -not. Probably it must always remain a mystery. He would not tell me -that he was innocent until after you had been proven so. He loves you -very much, my girl!” - -“After all that he heard here in court? After what I have been? I -thought none of you would ever want to see me again.” - -The colonel pressed her hand. - -“Whatever happens,” he said, “you are going back home with me. You -tried to give your life for my son. If this were not enough, the fact -that he loves you, and that we love you, is enough.” - -Two tears crept down Shannon’s cheeks--the first visible signs of -emotion that she had manifested during all the long weeks of the ordeal -that she had been through. Nothing had so deeply affected her as the -magnanimity of the proud old Pennington, whose pride and honor, while -she had always admired them, she had regarded as an indication of a -certain puritanical narrowness that could not forgive the transgression -of a woman. - -When the judge announced the sentence, and they realized that Custer -Pennington was to pay the death penalty, although it had been almost a -foregone conclusion, the shock left them numb and cold. - -Neither the condemned man nor his father gave any outward indication of -the effect of the blow. They were Penningtons, and the Pennington pride -permitted them no show of weakness before the eyes of strangers. Nor -yet was there any bravado in their demeanor. The younger Pennington did -not look at his father or Shannon as he was led away toward his cell, -between two bailiffs. - -As Shannon Burke walked from the court room with the colonel, she could -think of nothing but the fact that in two months the man she loved -was to be hanged. She tried to formulate plans for his release--wild, -quixotic plans; but she could not concentrate her mind upon anything -but the bewildering thought that in two months they would hang him by -the neck until he was dead. - -She knew that he was innocent. Who, then, had committed the crime? Who -had murdered Wilson Crumb? - -Outside the Hall of Justice she was accosted by Allen, whom she -attempted to pass without noticing. The colonel turned angrily on the -man. He was in the mood to commit murder himself; but Allen forestalled -any outbreak on the old man’s part by a pacific gesture of his hands -and a quick appeal to Shannon. - -“Just a moment, please,” he said. “I know you think I had a lot to do -with Pennington’s conviction. I want to help you now. I can’t tell you -why. I don’t believe he was guilty. I changed my mind recently. If I -can see you alone, Miss Burke, I can tell you something that might give -you a line on the guilty party.” - -“Under no conceivable circumstances can you see Miss Burke alone,” -snapped the colonel. - -“I’m not going to hurt her,” said Allen. “Just let her talk to me here -alone on the sidewalk, where no one can overhear.” - -“Yes,” said the girl, who could see no opportunity pass which held the -slightest ray of hope for Custer. - -The colonel walked away, but turned and kept his eyes on the man when -he was out of earshot. Allen spoke hurriedly to the girl for ten or -fifteen minutes, and then turned and left her. When she returned to -the colonel, the latter did not question her. When she did not offer -to confide in him, he knew that she must have good reasons for her -reticence, since he realized that her sole interest lay in aiding -Custer. - - * * * * * - -For the next two months the colonel divided his time between Ganado and -San Francisco, that he might be near San Quentin, where Custer was held -pending the day of execution. Mrs. Pennington, broken in health by the -succession of blows that she had sustained, was sorely in need of his -companionship and help. Eva was rapidly regaining her strength and some -measure of her spirit. She had begun to realize how useless and foolish -her attempt at self-destruction had been, and to see that the braver -and nobler course would have been to give Guy the benefit of her moral -support in his time of need. - -The colonel, who had wormed from Custer the full story of his -conviction upon the liquor charge, was able to convince her that -Guy had not played a dishonorable part, and that of the two he had -suffered more than Custer. Her father did not condone or excuse Guy’s -wrong-doing, but he tried to make her understand that it was no -indication of a criminal inclination, but rather the thoughtless act of -an undeveloped boy. - -During the two months they saw little or nothing of Shannon. She -remained in Los Angeles, and when she made the long trip to San -Quentin to see Custer, or when they chanced to see her, they could not -but note how thin and drawn she was becoming. The roses had left her -cheeks, and there were deep lines beneath her eyes, in which there was -constantly an expression of haunting fear. - -As the day of the execution drew nearer, the gloom that had hovered -over Ganado for months settled like a dense pall upon them all. On the -day before the execution the colonel left for San Francisco, to say -good-by to his son for the last time. Custer had insisted that his -mother and Eva must not come, and they had acceded to his wish. - -On the afternoon when the colonel arrived at San Quentin, he was -permitted to see his son for the last time. The two conversed in low -tones, Custer asking questions about his mother and sister, and about -the little everyday activities of the ranch. Neither of them referred -to the event of the following morning. - -“Has Shannon been here to-day?” the colonel asked. - -Custer shook his head. - -“I haven’t seen her this week,” he said. “I suppose she dreaded coming. -I don’t blame her. I should like to have seen her once more, though!” - -Presently they stood in silence for several moments. - -“You’d better go, dad,” said the boy. “Go back to mother and Eva. Don’t -take it too hard. It isn’t so bad, after all. I have led a bully life, -and I have never forgotten once that I am a Pennington. I shall not -forget it to-morrow.” - -The father could not speak. They clasped hands once, the older man -turned away, and the guards led Custer back to the death cell for the -last time. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - - -It was morning when the colonel reached the ranch. He found his wife -and Eva sitting in Custer’s room. They knew the hour, and they were -waiting there to be as near him as they could. They were weeping -quietly. In the kitchen across the patio they could hear Hannah sobbing. - -They sat there for a long time in silence. Suddenly they heard a door -slam in the patio, and the sound of some one running. - -“Colonel Pennington! Colonel Pennington!” a voice cried. - -The colonel stepped to the door of Custer’s room. It was the bookkeeper -calling him. - -“What is it?” he asked. “Here I am.” - -“The Governor has granted a stay of execution. There is new evidence. -Miss Burke is on her way here now. She has found the man who killed -Crumb!” - -What more he said the colonel did not hear, for he had turned back into -the room, and, collapsing on his son’s bed, had broken into tears--he -who had gone through those long weeks like a man of iron. - -It was nearly noon before Shannon arrived. She had been driven from -Los Angeles by an attaché of the district attorney’s office. The -Penningtons had been standing on the east porch, watching the road with -binoculars, so anxious were they for confirmation of their hopes. - -She was out of the car before it had stopped and was running toward -them. The man who had accompanied her followed, and joined them on the -porch. Shannon threw her arms around Mrs. Pennington’s neck. - -“He is safe!” she cried. “Another has confessed, and has satisfied the -district attorney of his guilt.” - -“Who was it?” they asked. - -Shannon turned toward Eva. - -“It is going to be another blow to you all,” she said; “but wait until -I’m through, and you will understand that it could not have been -otherwise. It was Guy who killed Wilson Crumb.” - -“Guy? Why should he have done it?” - -“That was it. That was why suspicion was never directed toward him. -Only he knew the facts that prompted him to commit the deed. It was -Allen who suggested to me the possibility that it might have been Guy. -I have spent nearly two months at the sanatorium with this gentleman -from the district attorney’s office, in an effort to awaken Guy’s -sleeping intellect to a realization of the past, and of the present -necessity for recalling it. He has been improving steadily, but it was -only yesterday that memory returned to him. We worked on the theory -that if he could be made to realize that Eva lived, the cause of his -mental sickness would be removed. We tried everything, and we had -almost given up hope when, almost like a miracle, his memory returned, -while he was looking at a kodak picture of Eva that I had shown him. -The rest was easy, especially after he knew that she had recovered. -Instead of the necessity for confession resulting in a further shock, -it seemed to inspirit him. His one thought was of Custer, his one hope -that we would be in time to save him.” - -“Why did he kill Crumb?” asked Eva. - -“Because Crumb killed Grace. He told me the whole story yesterday.” - -Very carefully Shannon related all that Guy had told of Crumb’s -relations with his sister, up to the moment of Grace’s death. - -“I am glad he killed him!” said Eva. “I would have had no respect for -him if he hadn’t done it.” - -“Guy told me that the evening before he killed Crumb he had been -looking over a motion picture magazine, and he had seen there a -picture of Crumb which tallied with the photograph he had taken from -Grace’s dressing table--a portrait of the man who, as she told him, -was responsible for her trouble. Guy had never been able to learn this -man’s identity, but the picture in the magazine, with his name below -it, was a reproduction of the same photograph. There was no question -as to the man’s identity. The scarfpin, and a lock of hair falling in -a peculiar way over the forehead, marked the pictures as identical. -Though Guy had never seen Crumb, he knew from conversations that he -had heard here that it was Wilson Crumb who was directing the picture -that was to be taken on Ganado. He immediately got his pistol, saddled -his horse, and rode up to the camp in search of Crumb. It was he whom -one of the witnesses mistook for Custer. He then did what the district -attorney attributed to Custer. He rode to the mouth of Jackknife, and -saw the lights of Crumb’s car up near El Camino Largo. While he was in -Jackknife, Eva must have ridden down Sycamore from her meeting with -Crumb, passing Jackknife before Guy rode back into Sycamore. He rode -up to where Crumb was attempting to crank his engine. Evidently the -starter had failed to work, for Crumb was standing in front of the car, -in the glare of the headlights, attempting to crank it. Guy accosted -him, charged him with the murder of Grace, and shot him. He then -started for home by way of El Camino Largo. Half a mile up the trail he -dismounted and hid his pistol and belt in a hollow tree. Then he rode -home. - -“He told me that while he never for an instant regretted his act, he -did not sleep all that night, and was in a highly nervous condition -when the shock of Eva’s supposed death unbalanced his mind; otherwise -he would gladly have assumed the guilt of Crumb’s death at the time -when Custer and I were accused. - -“After we had obtained Guy’s confession, Allen gave us further -information tending to prove Custer innocent. He said he could not give -it before without incriminating himself; and as he had no love for -Custer, he did not intend to hang for a crime he had not committed. He -knew that he would surely hang if he confessed the part that he had -played in formulating the evidence against Custer. - -“Crumb had been the means of sending Allen to the county jail, after -robbing him of several thousand dollars. The day before Crumb was -killed, Allen’s sentence expired. The first thing he did was to search -for Crumb, with the intention of killing the man. He learned at the -studio where Crumb was, and he followed him immediately. He was hanging -around the camp out of sight, waiting for Crumb, when he heard the -shot that killed him. His investigation led him to Crumb’s body. He -was instantly overcome by the fear, induced by his guilty conscience, -that the crime would be laid at his door. In casting about for some -plan by which he might divert suspicion from himself, he discovered -an opportunity to turn it against a man whom he hated. The fact that -he had been a stableman on Ganado, and was familiar with the customs -of the ranch, made it an easy thing for him to go to the stables, -saddle the Apache, and ride him up Sycamore to Crumb’s body. Here he -deliberately pulled off the fore shoe from the horse and hid it under -Crumb’s body. Then he rode back to the stable, unsaddled the Apache, -and made his way to the village. - -“The district attorney said that we need have no fear but that Custer -will be exonerated and freed. And, Eva”--she turned to the girl with -a happy smile--“I have it very confidentially that there is small -likelihood that any jury in southern California will convict Guy, if he -bases his defense upon a plea of insanity.” - -Eva smiled bravely and said: - -“One thing I don’t understand, Shannon, is what you were doing brushing -the road with a bough from a tree, on the morning after the killing of -Crumb, if you weren’t trying to obliterate some one’s tracks.” - -“That’s just what I was trying to do,” said Shannon. “Ever since Custer -taught me something about tracking, it has held a certain fascination -for me, so that I often try to interpret the tracks I see along -the trails in the hills. It was because of this, I suppose, that I -immediately recognized the Apache’s tracks around the body of Crumb. I -immediately jumped to the conclusion that Custer had killed him, and I -did what I could to remove this evidence. As it turned out, my efforts -did more harm than good, until Allen’s explanation cleared up the -matter.” - -“And why,” asked the colonel, “did Allen undergo this sudden change of -heart?” - -Shannon turned toward him, her face slightly flushed, though she looked -him straight in the eyes as she spoke. - -“It is a hard thing for me to tell you,” she said. “Allen is a bad -man--a very bad man; yet in the worst of man there is a spark of good. -Allen told me this morning, in the district attorney’s office, what it -was that had kindled to life the spark of good in him. He is my father.” - - -THE END - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they -were not changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation -marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left -unbalanced. - -Transcriber removed redundant half-title page. - -Page 60: “some one’s else happiness” was printed that way. - -Page 78: “an unkind face” was printed that way; may be a typographical -error for “fate”. - -Page 79: “the possessor a quiet humor” was printed that way, likely -omitting an “of”. - -Page 87: “Half an hour later he emerged” originally was printed as -“merged”. - -Page 189: “which had arisen in his mind and would not down.” was printed -that way; probably should be “go down.” - -Page 200: “she cared about just then” originally was printed as “just -them”. - -Page 248: “There’s be a whole regiment” was printed that way. - -Page 263: “she was purposely avoiding her” was printed that way, but -“she” perhaps should be “he”. - -Page 310: “leap of the murderer’s horse” originally was printed as -“murder’s”. - -Page 319: “pulled off the fore shoe” originally was printed as “the -off”. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Girl from Hollywood, by Edgar Rice Burroughs - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL FROM HOLLYWOOD *** - -***** This file should be named 62409-0.txt or 62409-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/4/0/62409/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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