"The Reverend Francis Holliwell." Morena turned the card over and over

in his hand. "Holliwell. Holliwell. Frank Holliwell." Yes. One of the

fellows that had dropped out. Big, athletic youngster; left college in

his junior year and studied for the ministry. Fine chap. Popular.

Especially decent to him when he had begun to play that difficult role

of a man without a country. Now here was the card of the Reverend

Francis Holliwell and the man himself, no doubt, waiting below. Jasper

tried to remember. He'd heard something about Frank. Oh, yes. The

young clergyman had given up a fashionable parish in the East--small

Norman church, wealthy parishioners, splendid stipend, beautiful stone

Norman rectory--thrown it all up to go West on some unheard-of mission

in the sagebrush. He was back now, probably for money, donations

wanted for a building, church or hospital or library. Jasper in

imagination wrote out a generous check. Before going down he glanced

at the card again and noticed some lines across the back: This is to introduce one of my best friends, Pierre Landis, of

Wyoming. Please be of service to him. His mission has and deserves

to have my full sympathy.

So, after all, it wasn't Holliwell below and the check-book would not

be needed. "Pierre Landis, of Wyoming." Jasper went down the stairs

and on the way he remembered a letter received from Yarnall a long

time before. He remembered it with an accession of alarm. "I've

probably let hell loose for your protégée, Jane; given your address,

and incidentally hers, to a fellow who wants her pretty badly. His

name's Pierre Landis. You're a pretty good judge of white men. Size

him up and do what's best for Jane."

For some time after receiving this letter, Jasper had expected the

appearance of this Pierre Landis, then had forgotten him. The fellow

who wanted Jane so badly had been a long while on his way to her.

Remembering and wondering, the manager opened the crimson curtains and

stepped into the presence of Pierre.

Even if he had had no foreknowledge, Jasper felt that, at sight of his

visitor, his fancy would have jumped to Joan. It was the eyes; he had

seen no others but hers like them for clarity; far-seeing, grave eyes

that held a curious depth of light. Here was one of Joan's kindred,

one of the clean, wild things.

Then came the gentle Western drawl. "I'm right sorry to trouble you,

Mr. Morena."

Jasper took a brown hand that had the feel of iron. The man's face, on

a level with Jasper's, was very brown and lean. It had a worn look, a

trifle desperate, perhaps, in the lines of lip and the expression of

the smoke-colored eyes. Jasper, sensitive to undercurrents, became

aware that he stood in some fashion for a forlorn hope in the life of

this Pierre. At the same time the manager remembered a confidence of

Jane's. She had been "afraid of some one." She had been running away.

There was one that mustn't find her, and to run away from him, that

was the business of her life. Pierre Landis was this "one," the

something wild and clean that had at last come searching even into

this city. It was necessary that Jane's present protector should be

very careful. There must be no running away this time, and Pierre must

be warned off. Jasper had plans of his own for his star player. For

one thing she must draw Prosper Gael completely out of Betty's life.




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