Beth Norvell

The dramatic situation slowly dawned on Winston while the clerk was

speaking.

"Do you mean to tell me Albrecht has actually skipped out?" he

questioned, anxiously. "Did he leave any money?"

"Sure; he paid your folks' board till Monday. You bet I looked after

that."

"Board till Monday!" and Winston totally forgot himself. "That is n't

salary, man; there is something infernally dirty about this whole deal.

Why, he took in over three thousand dollars to-night, and he's got all

of that, and at least a week's receipts besides--the infernal cur! Was

he alone?"

"Tall fellow with clipped black moustache, and bald head."

"Lane; I expected as much; they're birds of a feather. When can they

get out of the Junction?"

"Well, the first train scheduled goes east at four o'clock, but it 's

generally late."

Winston walked twice across the floor, alternately swearing and

thinking.

"Is there any way I could get there before that time?" he questioned,

finally, his square jaw setting firm.

"Well, I reckon you might, by goin' hossback across the old trail, but

you 'd need to have a guide in the dark, and you 'd find it a hell of a

hard ride."

The young engineer stood a moment staring out of the window into the

night. The street was well illumined by the numerous saloon lights,

and he could perceive scattering flakes of snow in the air, blown about

by the gusty wind. He no longer felt the slightest doubt regarding

Albrecht's desertion, and a wave of indignation swept over him. He did

not greatly care himself regarding the small amount of money due for

his services, but it was a dirty, contemptible trick, and he resented

being so easily made the victim of such a scheme. Suddenly he wondered

how this unexpected occurrence might affect the others. With one of

them alone in mind he strode back to the counter, his teeth clinched

savagely.

"What is the number of Miss Norvell's room?"

"Fifty-four--first door to the right of the stairs."

He took the steep flight of steps at a run, caught a glimpse of dimly

reflected light shining through the closed transom, and rapped sharply.

There was a hurried movement within, and her voice spoke.

"What is wanted?"

"I am Mr. Winston, and I must speak with you at once."

His tone was sufficiently low and earnest to make her realize instantly

some grave emergency. Without hesitation the door was held open, and

she stood before him in the faint light of the single lamp, wearing a

fleecy white wrapper, her dark hair partially disarranged, her eyes

seeking his own in bewilderment.