laughed.

"Quit your fooling, both of you," she said composedly, rising to her
feet. "I ain't going to have tales flying all over the desert about the
ructions stirred up the night I danced for the benefit of the flood
sufferers. Shake hands, you two," imperiously. "Go on, do what I tell
you. That's right," as the two men perfunctorily shook hands. "Bob don't
mean a thing, Mr. Hanson. It's just his temper, and there ain't going to
be any wine, because I'm going home, but--" and here she smiled into his
eyes--"you can walk a piece of the way with me, if you want to. Come on,
mother and Hughie. Good-night, Bob."




CHAPTER II


Hanson had decided that the best way to gain certain information he
desired was to seek the bar-keeper, who, after his constitution,
gossiped as naturally and as volubly as a bird sings; so, quite early
the next morning, he sauntered into Chickasaw Pete's place.

Jimmy, who was industriously polishing the bar and singing the while one
of the more lugubrious and monotonous hymns, looked up with his
customary little chuckle.

"Feeling fine, ain't you?" he said derisively. "Want to start right out
and corral the whole desert, don't you? Think you can travel right over
to San Bernardino yonder? Looks about three miles off, don't he?"