at haughtiness.

``Of course you don't. But I know YOU--all about you. Come in
here and let's sit down a minute.''

They went into a saloon and the detective ordered two glasses of
beer. ``Now listen to me, young fellow,'' he said.

``You're played out in this town. You've got to get a move on
you, see? We've been looking you up, and you're wanted for
bigamy. But if you clear out, you won't be followed. You've got
to leave today, understand? If you're here to-morrow morning, up
the road you go.'' The detective winked and waggled his thumb
meaningly in a northerly direction.

Feuerstein was utterly crushed. He gulped down the beer and sat
wiping the sweat from his face. ``I have done nothing,'' he
protested in tragic tones. ``Why am I persecuted--I, poor,
friendless, helpless?''

``Pity about you,'' said the detective.

``You'd better go west and start again. Why not try honest work?
It's not so bad, they say, once you get broke in.'' He rose and
shook hands with Feuerstein. ``So long,'' he said. ``Good luck!
Don't forget!'' And again he winked and waggled his thumb in the
direction of the penitentiary.

Feuerstein went to his lodgings, put on all the clothes he could
wear without danger of attracting his landlady's attention,