spoon, the little finger standing out from the others in a tricksy curve.
With an inward curse he straightened it, sudden red dyeing his face to
the temples. He began to hate himself and didn't know how to go on.

Chrystie unexpectedly came to the rescue.

"Sacramento County," she exclaimed with sudden animation, "not far from
the tules! There was a holdup round there two or three weeks ago. I read
it in the papers."

Aunt Ellen moved restlessly. She wanted to get to her chair in the
drawing-room.

"Holdup?" she murmured. "They're always having holdups somewhere."

"Not like this," said Chrystie. "It was a good one--Knapp and
Garland--and they shot Wells Fargo's messenger."

"It was while I was there," said Mark, "up toward the foothills above
our ranch."

The young ladies were immensely interested. They wanted to hear all about
it and moved into the parlor to be settled and comfortable. They tried to
make Mark sit in a massive, gold-trimmed armchair, but he had his wits
about him by this time and took a humbler seat beside Lorry. Aunt Ellen
sank into her rocker with a sigh of achievement and Chrystie perched on
the piano stool. Then he told them the story, forgetting his bashfulness
under the spell of their attentive eyes.

"Why can't they catch them," said Chrystie, "if they know their names?"