Bob Hampton of Placer

She swung off fiercely, and the man chuckled softly as he followed,

watchfully, through the circling, red dust cloud created by her hasty

feet. The truth is, Mr. Hampton possessed troubles and scruples of his

own in connection with this contemplated call. He had never met the

lady; indeed, he could recall very few of her sex, combining

respectability and refinement, whom he had met during the past ten

years. But he retained some memory of the husband as having been

associated with a strenuous poker game at Placer, in which he also held

a prominent place, and it would seem scarcely possible that the wife

did not know whose bullet had turned her for some weeks into a

sick-nurse. For Herndon he had not even a second thought, but the

possible ordeal of a woman's tongue was another matter. A cordial

reception could hardly be anticipated, and Hampton mentally braced

himself for the worst.

There were some other things, also, but these he brushed aside for the

present. He was not the sort of man to wear his heart upon his sleeve,

and all his life long he had fought out his more serious battles in

loneliness and silence. Now he had work to accomplish in the open; he

was going to stay with the Kid--after that, quien sabe? So he smiled

somewhat soberly, swore softly to himself, and strode on. He had never

yet thrown down his cards merely because luck had taken a bad turn.

It was a cheerless-looking house, painted a garish yellow, having

staring windows, and devoid of a front porch, or slightest attempt at

shade to render its uncomely front less unattractive. Hampton could

scarcely refrain from forming a mental picture of the woman who would

most naturally preside within so unpolished an abode--an angular,

hard-featured, vinegar-tempered creature, firm settled in her

prejudices and narrowed by her creed. Had the matter been left at that

moment to his own decision, this glimpse of the house would have turned

them both back, but the girl unhesitatingly pressed forward and turned

defiantly in through the gateless opening. He followed in silence

along the narrow foot-path bordered by weeds, and stood back while she

stepped boldly up on the rude stone slab and rapped sharply against the

warped and sagging door. A moment they stood thus waiting with no

response from within. Once she glanced suspiciously around at him,

only to wheel back instantly and once more apply her knuckles to the

wood. Before he had conjured up something worth saying the door was

partially opened, and a rounded dumpling of a woman, having rosy

cheeks, her hair iron-gray, her blue eyes half smiling in uncertain

welcome, looked out upon them questioningly.