Bob Hampton of Placer

The gratified president of the Pleasure Club had occasion to expand his

chest with just pride. Jauntily twirling his silky mustaches, he

pushed his way through the jostling, good-natured crowd already surging

toward the entrance of the hall, and stepped briskly forth along the

moonlit road toward the Herndon home, where the fair queen of the

revels awaited his promised escort. It was his hour of supreme

triumph, and his head swam with the delicious intoxication of

well-earned success, the plaudits of his admirers, and the fond

anticipation of Miss Spencer's undoubted surprise and gratitude. His,

therefore, was the step and bearing of a conqueror, of one whose cup

was already filled to the brim, and running over with the joy of life.

The delay incident to the completion of an elaborate toilet, together

with the seductive charms of a stroll through the moon-haunted night

beneath the spell of bright eyes and whispered words, resulted in a

later arrival at the scene of festivities than had been intended. The

great majority of the expected guests had already assembled, and were

becoming somewhat restless. No favored courtier ever escorted beloved

queen with greater pride or ceremony than that with which Mr. Moffat

led his blushing charge through the throng toward her chair of state.

The murmuring voices, the admiring eyes, the hush of expectancy, all

contributed to warm the cockles of his heart and to color his face with

the glow of victory. Glancing at his companion, he saw her cheeks

flushed, her head held proudly poised, her countenance evidencing the

enjoyment of the moment, and he felt amply rewarded for the work which

had produced so glorious a result. A moment he bent above her chair,

whispering one last word of compliment into the little ear which

reddened at his bold speech, and feasting his ardent eyes upon the

flushed and animated countenance. The impatient crowd wondered at the

nature of the coming ceremony, and Mr. Moffat strove to recall the

opening words of his introductory address.

Suddenly his gaze settled upon one face amid the throng. A moment of

hesitation followed; then a quick whisper of excuse to the waiting

divinity in the chair, and the perturbed president pressed his way

toward the door. Buck Mason stood there on guard, carelessly leaning

against the post, his star of office gleaming beneath the light.

"Buck," exclaimed Moffat, "how did that feller McNeil, and those other

cow-punchers, get in here? You had your orders."

Mason turned his quid deliberately and spat at the open door. "You bet

I did, Jack," he responded cheerfully, yet with a trifle of

exasperation evident in his eyes. "And what's more, I reckon they was

obeyed. There ain't nobody got in yere ternight without they had a

cyard."