dull impassive face was lit for an instant by the trustful childish
smile, and through the glory of that infrequent facial expression
Harley P.'s three gold front teeth flashed like triple searchlights.

"I mean, Miss Corblay, have you any money?"

"Only a little bit, Mr. Hennage" Donna quavered. The question
frightened her and she hastened to assure the bad man that it was a
very little bit indeed, and all that her mother had been able to save.
She trembled lest the monster might take a notion to rob her of even
this meager amount.

"I just had a hunch it was that way with you." The worst man in San
Pasqual wagged his great head, as if to compliment himself on his
penetration. "I just knew it."

This was not strictly the truth. Sam Singer had managed to convey to
the gambler some hint of the Corblay fortunes, financial as well as
material, and had begged of him to exercise his superior white man
intelligence to aid the Indian in wrestling with this white man's
problem that confronted the dwellers at the Hat Ranch. Rather a queer
source, indeed, for Sam Singer to seek help for his young mistress; but
then Sam was not an educated aborigine; he was not given to reflecting
upon the ethics of any given line of procedure. The fact of the matter
was that Harley P. Hennage was the only white man in San Pasqual who
deigned to honor Sam Singer with a greeting and his cast-off shoes. In
return Sam had honored Harley P. with his confidence and an appeal to
him for further aid.

"I have attended to everything" continued Mr. Hennage. "Preacher,