Beth Norvell

Winston remained staring blankly at the closed door behind which she

had so swiftly vanished, his mind a chaos of doubt. He assuredly never

purposed saying what he had said under the spur of deprivation, yet he

regretted no single word that he had uttered. That he earnestly

worshipped this briefly known woman was a fact borne in upon him

suddenly; yet now, the fact once completely realized, he surrendered

unconditionally to the inevitable. For a moment his thought of her

obscured all lesser things; he saw nothing else in the wide world

really worth striving after--every aroused impulse thrilled to the fair

face, the soft voice of Beth Norvell. He was no "quitter," no

faint-heart either in love or in war, and he was now far too deeply in

earnest to accept as final a stingless rejection spoken by lips that

were so openly contradicted by the smiling eyes above. Whatever of

stern necessity might have inspired the utterance of such words of cold

renunciation, it was assuredly neither indifference nor dislike. He

forgave the lips, recalling only the eyes.

With his hand still pressed against the porch railing, the young man

suddenly recalled Biff Farnham, his cool gray eyes as instantly

hardening, his lips pressed together. What possible part in the dusk

of the shadowed past did that disreputable gambler play? What

connection could he hold, either in honor or dishonor, with the

previous life history of Beth Norvell? He did not in the least doubt

her, for it was Winston's nature to be entirely loyal, to be

unsuspicious of those he once trusted. Yet he could not continue

completely blind. That there once existed some connection it was

impossible to ignore entirely. Her laughing, yet clearly embarrassed,

attempt at explanation had not in the slightest deceived him, for

beyond it remained her quick surprise at that earliest unexpected

mention of the man's name, the suddenly blanched cheeks, the

unconcealed fright revealed by the dark eyes. The full truth was to be

read there, and not in her later more deliberate attempt at leading his

suspicions astray. There was nothing pleasant about this thought, and

Winston's sensitive face flushed, his glance wandering uneasily down

the midnight street. For the space of a block, or more, where numerous

tents and low wooden buildings stood deserted of tenants, all remained

dark and silent; but just beyond glowed brilliantly the many-hued

lights of the wide-awake Poodle-Dog, and he could even hear the band

playing noisily within the still more distant dance hall. This

combined sight and sound served to arouse him to action and a cool

resolve. If he really intended to play out this game successfully he

must learn something of its conditions. Besides, he had now two most

excellent reasons for desiring to form an early acquaintance with this

man Farnham--the fellow had come across his line of life twice within

the past twelve hours. For the purpose there could be no time better

than the present. He struck a match against the rough railing and

lighted for himself a fresh cigar, his clear-cut, manly features

showing calmly determined in that instant glare of sputtering flame.

Almost unconsciously, following the instinct of his long Western

training, he slipped a revolver from its customary resting-place at the

hip, and dropped the weapon conveniently into the side pocket of his

loose sack coat. He had heard some tales of this man he purposed

seeking, and it might prove well to be prepared for emergencies.