"I wish I'd known he was going to Chicago. I'd have asked him to look in on my girl," said Jimmy, folding up his letter. "I don't like the way she writes--all jazz and picture shows. Some cuss is trying to cut me out with her." "More likely she's heard about you and the little Mexican over to Conejo," remarked the fireman, unsympathetically. "If you'd had her address she sure would have," replied Adams, promptly. "That Mexican girl----" "Yes, we remember her. She was a looker but she used too much powder--they all do." Hard's voice was judicial. "She always reminded me of a chocolate cake caught out in a snow-storm." "Hush up!" Mrs. Van's voice was tragic. "Do you want Dolores to get mad and quit? They've got their feelings same as we have. I guess I've got to catch a deaf and dumb one if I want to keep her on this place!" Marc Scott sat in his place, a pile of letters before him, when the others had gone, and Mrs. Van was helping Dolores with the dishes. "Say, Mrs. Van, when you get through with those dishes come outside a minute; I want to talk to you," he said as he threw open the door. The shack boasted no veranda, but there were three small steps. Scott seated himself on the top one and rolled a cigarette. The air was chilly. The sun had sunk behind the mountains and outlined their rugged shapes with golden lines against the purple. Everything was very still--there was not a sound except for the faint strains of the victrola, which Jimmy Adams always played for an hour after supper. A few figures moved about in and out of the other cabins; not many--for the working force was light these days. A light in the store showed that Williams was keeping open house as usual. The door opened and Mrs. Van came out and sat beside him on the step. "Well?" she said, quietly, "what's the matter?" "I'm in the deuce of a mess," replied Scott. "You mean Indians?" "Worse than that--it's a woman, Mrs. Van." "A woman!" Mrs. Van was plainly shocked. "My land, Marc Scott, you ain't been foolin' with that heathen in the kitchen?" Scott chuckled. "Listen, Mrs. Van, I oughtn't to string you like that--it is a woman, though. You heard me read that letter of Bob's?" "Yes." "He said to read the mail." "Well, haven't you?" "Yes, and the first one I tumbled into feet foremost was a confidential one from his sister. She says she's coming down here. She thinks he's here." "What? You mean here? Athens?" "That's what she says. The letter's been lying over at Conejo since Tuesday and the chances are she's there by this time." "But----" "Oh, that ain't the worst. It was a confidential letter. She said----" Scott paused in embarrassment. "I'm not telling you this for fun, Mrs. Van Zandt, but because I don't know what to do. You're a lady----" "Oh, go on, what's the matter with you? I guess if you know it it ain't going to hurt me. Has she run off with somebody, or has her Pa lost his money, or what?"