Penhallow was a tall, thin, brown-skinned man, who wore checked suits and who had the long drooping mustache which fiction assigns to the calling of a sheriff. Whether fiction is right in this particular, or whether Sam wore the mustache to conform with the best standards, is not important. He was sitting in a tilted chair, on the narrow strip of flooring which served the hotel as a veranda when Mendoza and his party wheezed into view. Penhallow's conventional welcome expanded into real warmth when he recognized Scott, who was well known in Chula Vista. "Hullo," he said, his hand outstretched. "If it ain't Marc Scott! Drive you out down there, did they? Well, Mendoza--blamed if I didn't think you was dead long ago! No, I don't guess I know the ladies or your other friend, but any friend of Scott's has got the keys of the city all right." He turned and called into the house: "Mabel, come out here!" "One of these ladies, Miss Street, is on her way to Chicago," said Scott. Polly, restored to good looks by a few days rest and her prettiest lace blouse, beamed on Mr. Penhallow with the usual result. "Mrs. Conrad," continued Scott, "is a friend of ours and is going back with the young lady. No, we weren't driven out but things are rather bad down yonder." "Well, you ladies sure have courage, travelin' round at this time," said the admiring Penhallow. A tall pretty girl appeared in the doorway and was introduced as "my daughter, Mabel, who runs the ranch. Mabel, show these ladies the best rooms we've got. Give 'em the bridal soot if you can find it." Hard, suitcases in hand, followed the women into the hotel, while Mendoza steamed away to a haunt of his own. Scott sank into an armchair and settled himself for a talk with Penhallow. "That young Street's sister?" demanded the latter. Scott nodded. "I heard Bob Street had married a Douglas girl?" "He did." Scott explained the situation in regard to Polly. "Her people are anxious about her and wrote her to come back at once, so we're carrying out instructions. The other folks----" Scott paused and surveyed the sheriff with an eye that twinkled. "Are you good at keeping secrets, Sam?" he said. "Well, I have kept 'em," replied Sam, modestly. "Well, the lady is a widow, runs a ranch down South, and the tall chap is our chief engineer, a Boston man. They're up here to get spliced before she goes East." "So! Well, no reason why they shouldn't, I s'pose?" "None that I know of." "I kind of had a hunch 'twas her and you when you got out of the car, Marc." "Me!" "Yes. You needn't blush. You ain't too old to think of settlin' down if you pick a woman that ain't too young and giddy for you." "I'm not asking your advice on matrimony, you old fool, I'm asking if you've got anybody in this one-horse place who can marry folks legally," said Marc, touchily.